Unwilling to Allow

My Spidey sense is tingling.

And it's not necessarily good.

The past two weeks I haven't hiked as my hiking partner was hiking the Canyon.

Someday!

Of course, that's a lame excuse for me not to hike, but there's that whole "partner" thing-I really prefer to exercise with someone else.

Oh, I'm still seeking to get fit (preferably without exercising if possible) but life has expanded in ways I never imagined-and moxie would be a definite asset in all areas of my life!  Being newly divorced and newly fired, I feel as if I am spinning in circles trying to find the right direction in my life....with limited success.  

The Air I Breathe

Time to make the donuts.

With a view like this from my pillow, why would I want to get up...nevertheless exercise?!?

I honestly look forward to hiking this morning.  Really, I do.

Yep, completely NuttZo.

Of course at this moment, however, I don't even want to move from my bed.

This is why most people don't exercise:  we hate it.

There's this great rule in business called the 80/20.  80% of the work is done by just 20% of the people.  It applies in nearly every organization-and in the world of exercise, while it seems everyone out there is "just do it" in truth only about 20% actually exercise regularly.  The difference between the fitness industry and all other businesses?  

The 20% make us feel guilty.

We 80% who don't exercise regularly, and indulge in Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar chips by the entire bag (Monday night) are made to feel bad.

Guilty!!!!  Apparently I'm not thin enough, or healthy enough or smart enough to know what is good for me.

If I don't take "my vitamins" I'm looked down upon.  If I don't "workout" I'm not dealing with stress properly.  

My stress release button was here on Monday.

Right now I'm unemployed, the sale on my house fell through and money is crazy  tight.  I had the worse eye ulcer I've ever had Monday night, on the tail end of a nasty cold sore.  I also hiked five times in eight days-three of them shreds that left me sore for days!  I'm doing my part to rid myself of the stress but let's be honest:

Sometimes exercise doesn't help anything, and can actually make things worse.

Thrice broken hand, anyone?

Today I knew my partner would likely have to cancel, but since I'm slow to climb the steep side I decided I'd head up anywise, and if he could squeeze in the hike he'd easily catch up.

Too many dang people going up the steep side.  Another reason I don't like it-it's what everyone does.

Let's talk about this climb, shall we?

It starts at the base of the Prescott National Forest.

A few minutes later-literally THREE MINUTES- and you are here:

Well over the treetops!!!!

Hm.  I think I forgot to brush my hair before I left the house.

Then it's the battle with the Air Monster-the continual fight to keep breathing:

Which involves continually putting one foot infront of the other.

Not as easy as it looks.

This guy has nothing on me!

Of course, the reward bench at the top gives a nice respite, and today, now officially sans partner, I decided to look around.

Afterall, I have time being unemployed and all.

But this I did not expect to find:

Is this where she died?

My heart plummeted in my chest.

Thumb Butte is the rare trail I'll do alone, because there is so much foot traffic on it.  Yet thirty years ago, Cathy Sposito was brutally murdered here. 

I headed back up the trail, momentarily hesitant to head down the not so steep side.

A friend called from Michigan, and we chatted as I hiked down.  Driving home, I reflected on my hike, my relationships and the opportunities I have right now.  

One year ago, I told the King I needed these things.  The postconcussion syndrome had thrown me for a loop; these little reassurances would have meant a lot.  Instead, my heart was broken not soon after my head had been cracked.

Im not settling for anything less than butterflies.

Afterall, this is my playground:

And this is my goal:

Black with a desert sand interior, btw.

I'll get there.  And with the right partner by my side.

The Day my Baby Drank from a Straw

Papago Park in Phoenix harkens back to the days before air conditioning and the rise of the Valley; nestled against it are two of the city's fair jewels, the Desert Botanical Gardens and the Phoenix Zoo.

Sigh....it almost glows, doesn't it?

Friday night was Agave on the Rocks, a tasting fundraiser for the Desert Botanical Gardens.  Lit sculpture and dramatic lighting dominated the walkways.

Water bottle art

War of the Worlds-like lighting

Dramatic mountainside illumination (and a great optical illusion!)

We wandered the trails for hours, drinking in the lights, grazing on the feasts and absorbing the sounds of conversations, music and nature.  Enchanting and seductive at the same time; the darkness lent itself to the interpretation.  In time my feet began to hurt, and my lower back ache, unaccustomed to standing for any length of time.  It reminded me of last year, and the constant throb in my lower back.

Why was it hurting now?  Why were my feet sore?  It felt good sitting down and singing along with a Xicano band; getting up to leave my back twinged again. Hmmm...what was going on?  The stress of the week catching up?

The next morning I woke up sore, like I had hiked instead of strolled.  I decided to head to Dutch Bros for a White Annihilator with an extra shot of espresso on ice, and thought the walk might do me good.  I stopped at the car to get my sunglasses, and laughed out loud.  Who was I kidding?

I parked and stood in line when I got there.

The guilt crept in a little bit then.  It was one city block.  I had driven it.  Driving back to the apartment I resolved to make up for it and went on a walk.

Tempe:)

I purposefully made it longer, and was rewarded by a sign.

"Stop living in reality start living your dream."  (A word is missing-which may be important, but in my case, is not.)

I know my dream.  To go back to owning my own business.  To control my destiny by what I put in.

Earlier, a friend in Michigan had posted this on their Facebook timeline.  June and Johnny, at Folsom State Prison.  I've been listening to a lot of Cash lately, in particular Folsom Prison Blues.

Granted, I've never killed a man to watch him die, but hearing a train whistle blowing holds a mystique.  I don't want to hang my head and cry because I let this opportunity slip by.  These days are precious-an unexpected gift of time.  What would I do with them?

As I contemplated that, I got ready for my next adventure:  the zoo.

Twenty years ago this month, I was widowed at 24, with a 3 1/2 month old baby.  In the weeks that followed I sought solace in Arizona, vacationing in Prescott and having a chance to be a new mom without the scrutiny of widowhood.  On my return trip home I spent the morning at the Phoenix Zoo; my four month old baby delighted me in drinking water from a straw.  With no social media to announce it, I recalled wanting to stand on the picnic table to let everyone know-I was so proud of my Little One.  Instead tears poured down my cheeks, the wave of widowed grief splashing momentarily against my joy.

Then, as now, I faced the world without a partner.  No cheerleader by my side.

But no devil's advocate, either.

My trip to the zoo was pure delight; the company incredible and just as enchanted as I.

Pink Champagne?

Prickly Pear in bloom.

We both couldn't stop snickering at the lions.  Juvenile entertainment but so fun to laugh!

The day ended with a drive back to Prescott; I could have stayed another day but I chose to return home.  Today I got my house in order, tomorrow I plot out my goals and my plan.

My old dreams have withered and died.

That's ok.

I have new dreams to make reality now.

Funny, my feet and back don't hurt anymore.