hiking

I did it?

Yes, read that with as much dubiosity as it sounds. I'm staring at my phone health/fit bit app. 18.3- the number of kilometers my Fitbit calculated today.

Wow. I'm amazed. But I remember a text convo with a friend just a few hours ago...

"Made it home safe?" "Yeah just barely."

My sugar bottomed out a few times on the two hikes I did today. First time I barely made it back to the car for lunch food. Second time I accepted a friend's kind offer of chocolate. Thirdly, another's preferred banana. And finally, my bag of cherry tomatoes.

I had the rare occasion of a car and yet stopped for cookies and blueberries and to steady myself, as I felt another low. Thankfully, I made it safely home where I downed a bowl of cut fruit and hydrated to combat any further incidents. 

But the real kicker is the pain. My shoulders, my knees, my thighs, and my entire being is screaming in pain. I can barely move. Even breathing to type this is shallow and labored, an exercise in trying to hold perfectly still and trick the pain into leaving.

We did a lot today. Last night, I hosted a movie slumber party, which ensured some disrupted sleep. But it was as solid a night as any other, so I soldiered on. First, the family hike, for 5k. Seeing the children infused me with life, and it was fun chattering away. A brief lunch then a second, young adults only hike for another 10k. Ice creams, water playground teetertotters, and everyone home safe. Then second round to take someone home, followed by cleaning and vacuuming a car. Finally, I arrived home, in time to make a bit of fresh salmon and snack on random things in site.

The texts continued. "Good pain or bad pain?" Bad. Definitely very very bad.

 I tried to get up off the leftover inflated air mattress I had collapsed on when I got home. It seemed almost impossible and took numerous attempts. Every tiny movement was excrutiating. It felt like someone had clubbed me all over, and left me in the crumpled heap on the deflating air mattress. 

The next day we had an in-person conversation on why I pushed myself so far. For one, the practical Jen knew she couldn't exactly just plop herself in the middle of the woods and stay, and for another the stubborn Jen was determined to finish the hike. 

I know I can be incredibly stubborn, but I do feel like hiking is me taking back my life. I've always been inclined to couch potatoness, but hiking is me defying the odds. Telling my body it doesn't control me, and I will not listen to it. I will be able to hike. I will be able to keep up with the other young adults in my age range, and not be a sick person. I will not be left behind. I can keep up. 

And practical Jen is preparing to be sick again. If/when I get cancer again, my body will be in the best possible shape to fight cancer again. It will be able to tolerate chemo, and it will be able to have the strength to walk or use the toilet unassisted. It will be able to accept the toxins and allow me the muscles to sit up, or to breathe and maybe even cook a dinner. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last weekend was another 12 km, with quite a large contingent. We had a rookie leader, who had planned and shared a gorgeous route, but struggled with the navigation. My head and heart had capacity for the 10 scheduled km, but after a few backtracks and detours, I realized that I couldn't afford any more of the unscheduled hiking portions, so I started navigating myself and ensured that I wouldn't have to do extra mileage. I managed it once again, but the more leisurely pace allowed me less pain than the previous weekend. 

And tomorrow - I'm joining a scheduled 18km, but planning on 14. I recalled the words of two of the hiking group leaders when I first joined, in my extreme uncertainty of joining these expeditions- Jen, if we post in the group chat, it is open to the group. That was back when 8km nearly took me out. So when I saw the 18km listed, with a brief warning of consideration for one's own physical capacity, I decided to actually consider joining. And I plan to make it. I know my body will feel like death after, and perhaps the pain will be so bad I can't stand or function or do anything other than lie in a crumpled heap. But sometimes that happens without having hiked a number of miles, so at least I'll have the satisfaction of defying my body.