- Daleville, Va Zero (704.9)
- 0 feet rise, 0 feet of descent
Walking along the trail of the Apalaches is difficult. Mile after mile, day after day. Explosion packaging, replacement, water filter, drink water, filter more water. Wash your hands. Eat, eat again. Eat a little more. Sleep, go again.
All this is expected. What is not expected is the importance of rest. The hiker midnight is absolute. The dream is inviolate. If we want to fly, rest is necessary.
First thought in the morning
Silence falls at sunset. Attention time is more variable. In first light, some people escape early, eager to reach the city or get miles before the heat of the day accumulates. Others turn around and go back to sleep.
Regardless of the time one wakes up, the first thought is «How does my body feel?» Gently we flex our fingers and squeeze our buttocks.
We have our central muscles and sit down. If it works well, we start the day with energy. If it is an effort, sometimes we turn around and go back to sleep. The day foreshadows to be difficult.
Pastor de Medicare, Mary E DavidsonHe says that while his body feels recovered from the previous day, he is ready to start. His words remain in my brain. During his working years, he was physiotherapist and then Lutheran pastor. After retiring, he completed a triple crown and then surpassed it with the 4,000 -mile Discovery path. He retired from long distance hiking at 81. Throughout the years he walked, he experienced injuries, degeneration related to age and surgeries.
With reflexive care, she kept walking.
I had three main knee surgeries in the year before our walk. Almost every day, Maria’s words resonated in my mind. Paraphrasing of his book Old woman on the way, I wonder «am I recovering yesterday?»
Recovery is as important as walking
With the assurance that I am not doing something silly, I am 100 percent all to rest. All my anxiety that pushed me to keep trying when I was injured. It is my job to rest. My body needs me to collaborate with him.
Pushing when the pain is reduced but is not clear is disrespectful with my muscles and bones. They need me to respect them. My desire to attack is only part of the story. I need to let my body gather its strength to fly.
My grandfather, born in 1906, taught me to take care of my tools. He always said: «Take care of your tools and your tools will take care of you.» While they were screwdrivers and mountains with him, for me, now, it is my body.
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