The Rain, The Park and Other Things

Anyone who was around at the end of the 1960's or early 1970's, will recognize the title of today's entry as a song by the Cowsills. The Cowsills was a family singing group from that era. I think of that song every time we have had weird weather that prevents me from getting outside and doing what I want to do, namely going to the park or riding my bike. We've had so much strange weather this year. I really hope it goes to being blistering hot soon, like it's supposed to. The family and I have been wanting to go ride our bikes at what we lovingly call "The Greenway", which is a strip of bicycle path, 2 1/2 miles long at this writing, which winds along the Wolf River. There was a time, a couple of years ago, when we went riding every evening. Last year, I couldn't make it even a quarter of the way.

When we were going regularly, I was feeling strong... stronger than I had in a long time. I wasn't working outside the home at the time, but was spending most of my time getting healthy. (That was undone last year when I got this lung thing, but I digress.) We would use our daily bike rides as our cardio exercise, and boy, was it! The trail we ride isn't a straight shot. It's a long, winding, up and downhill asphalt trail. There are several hills that are hard for me to get up, and one that is impossible if you're not ready for it. Well guess what! I'm not. At the time, it took me several weeks before I was able to get up that last hill, and it wasn't without extreme effort on my part. That hill just wasn't gonna lay down and die for me. I had to work up speed from the two previous hills, and even though my quads were screaming by then, I had to push them even harder. Making it to the top was always an accomplishment. I was always the last one to make it up the hill, and was always the last one to meet back at the truck afterward. Sometimes, Steve would go further than than the allotted 2 1/2 miles. I wish I were strong enough to do that. I'll be glad just to make a mile the first time.

Along the path, there was always something of nature to witness. I remember the time the boys saw a bobcat on the other side of the river, and the time I almost ran over what I thought was a stick on the path until it moved! God, I hate snakes. Last year, I knew there was something wrong when I couldn't go very far on our rides. Once I even had to turn around very close to where we parked and go back. It wasn't long afterward when I was diagnosed with this lung thing. Even though I'd love to go riding, I realize it may not be possible for a while. I wish I didn't do everything as if a marathon was riding on it. I'd like to go riding just for the fun of it. But there's no where to go riding just for the "fun" of it. It's not like when we were young, and we could go riding in our neighborhoods, testing out the newly laid asphalt, racking up the miles as we sped back and forth. I'm not sure my lungs would hold out. I'm not sure my thighs would hold out.

Why is it everything I do has to have a "purpose" associated with it. When did we forget how to play? I haven't played in so long that I really don't remember how. I guess being a mother has made me forget. I've been making sure the boys have a good time for years. Maybe it's time I started having a good time too. Maybe when it gets warm, I can get Steve to take me paddleboating on the lake some weekend. I miss the years when we used to take Rebel (our black and tan coonhound, now long passed) to the park for "off the leash" hours. Rebel would howl all the way into the park, and people would point and laugh at him. But people loved him. He was a good dog, and made friends at the park easily.

Steve and I also used to take weekend morning walks at the park, taking the long trail (3 1/2 miles) from one end of the park to the other, where it winds back into itself and back to the parking lot. We would bring a couple of water bottles with us, and they were usually gone within minutes of returning. Steve was running at the time, and although I could never run, I never begrudged him his time with himself. I just trudged along as best I could, with my short little legs hauling me around. There was a time in my life when I used to go walking with a girlfriend every evening. The friend has long since moved away, never to be heard from again, and I never got my love of walking back. I was pregnant with Rhys when I had to stop; for some reason, that pregnancy just didn't sit right with me for walking. I always had a stitch in my side and had to stop early on.

I miss the times when my body would obey my mind and move freely and gracefully. The years of damage and disease are taking their toll. I do the best I can just to make it from one day to the next, trying to keep my mind sharp in the process. I keep trying to learn new things. After all, why would I want to keep doing the same things over and over? Didn't Einstein say that was the definition of insanity? I struggle now with giving myself new challenges that actually spark my interest. I want hobbies and I want to play. Anyone want to join me?

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta