Walking

On New Year's day, I decided to go for a walk. Ipod firmly in place, I set out with no particular goal, just wanting to walk. The wind was very strong, white-capping the river. In my bulky winter jacket, I was about as aerodynamic as a tank but I was full of energy and walking at a brisk pace.

When you walk without a fixed destination, you go wherever your steps take you. First I crossed the bridge, and then went up the hill. The mountain was looming above me, white and grey. Resistance was futile, as I believe the Vogons mentioned before. So up I went. Once on the mountain, I shut down my Ipod and the sound of the roaring wind and falling water filled my ears.

All around me, it looked like the thawing forest in Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The climb was steep and I was reminded that the most exercise I had taken in ten days was lifting a glass to my lips (ok, many) and a book to my eyes (ok, many). In no time, I was sweating heavily, completely soaking up the t-shirt I had on. I own four of those wonderful synthetic shirts that keep the moisture away from you. I just thought I'd mention it. Just owning some doesn't necessarily mean you're bright enough to wear them, right? Well a wet t-shirt sucks. Thankfully, I had enough layers covering it to not have to worry about the cold.

I climbed on and on, still not worried about any destination. I passed crossroads. The world was silent and empty around me. Eventually, I reached some signs. They said: Parking 2.2 km and Pain de sucre 1.1 km. By that time, my heart was back within my rib cage. I still felt strong. Although I knew it would be steep, what's 1.1 km? And to the right I veered, now aiming for the mountain’s highest peak (yeah, ok, we're not talking Everest here).

The ground was a mixture of ice, half-melted snow, rocks and roots. There was no sure footing and the going was hard. The last 0.3 km felt worse than the whole rest of the climb, but huffing, puffing and sweating, I finally reached the top.

The weather was nasty up there, the wind icy. Turning my back to it, I got my cell phone out (never leave home without it). It beeped, flashed CHARGE BATTERY and turned itself right back off. Let me amend: never leave your effing home without your effing cell phone charged to the effing max. I was still prepared. My pockets still held my Ipod (charged), my keys (car is approximately seven km away in a straight line), my bank card (never leave home without it) and several dollar coins. After all, pay phones were invented way before cell phones. Of course, the nearest pay phone stood about three km of heavy terrain away.

I started back down and quickly realized the way down would be much trickier than up: still no sure footing, but gravity now tugging hard at my five feet ten. My progress was so slow I figured I'd be back home around six that night. My foot hit a rock hidden in the snow and a shot of pain went up my ankle. I stopped. I'm alone on the mountain, three km away from help, and my cell phone is dead. Spraining an ankle is NOT an option, I decided. Keep walking.

After several near-misses, I slipped almost elegantly and slid down several feet on bare ice. I came to a stop with what is gracefully called my buttocks area sitting in a pool of melted snow. I got up, squeezed the water out of my jeans and went on. Eventually, the terrain evened out and although I still had to deal with ice, melted snow and rocks, I was no longer climbing down but walking. It became easier.

I finally reached the parking lot and a pay phone. I called home just to let them know that I wasn't lost in the wild suburbs and then started on the ten km that would bring me home. By that time, my hip flexors were screaming obscenities at me. When I crossed the bridge again, I honestly wasn't exactly "enjoying my walk" anymore. I was walking fast, with a mechanical purpose: getting home! When I reached it, I looked at my watch: I had been walking non-stop for four hours, covered an estimated twenty km, a third of that in rough, hilly terrain. I was hurting about everywhere I could think of except the top of my left ear. But it was nice to know it could be done. It's all about pushing limits, isn't it?

(Now if I hear a single marathonian or triathlonian snigger, you're dead meat. I know you guys would have probably ran the whole thing. Hey, to each his/her challenge dammit.)