Since November, I’ve been flying like a wide-eyed ostrich caught in the jet stream. At 40,000 feet. At 500 MPH. All legs, all neck. And a flabby core that can’t keep the gangly body aligned. Moving those little flaps of wings as if they should carry this body the way a 777 carries its own weight. Praying it smoothens out but only feeling turbulence and ongoing tumultuous motion as a big flightless bird tumbling ass over appetite at high altitude. Tuesday I felt the painful ping of muscles in my thighs and the burn of cold air in my lungs while I plodded and huffed up hills. I have been walking on flat land for weeks, but the hills make me work harder -- physically and mentally.
Panting up a hill, I realized that I’m not built to fly at high altitude nor to cover hundreds of miles in such a short span of time, but I have strong legs. And I can consistently put my feet one in front of the other. Mentally. Physically. Soulfully.
Taking one step at a time on ground I can feel beneath my feet, I find more calm, more power, and more endurance.
Wishing you solid ground this hump day.