Breathlessness

It hit me just going up the stairs to the pavilion.

 Manchild stopped me from going up these stairs earlier in the week.  Might have gone all lineman on me:)

It was 104°, not too hot.  I was dressed appropriately in a heat-wicking tank top, and my hair was twisted up.  The Buckeye had pulled in seconds before me, so I hastily repacked my day pack-three bottles of water, inhaler.  My gaze fell on the newly purchased Camelback bladder I had bought but not yet washed and readied for use; I sighed, wishing I could be a bit better with this "preparedness" thing.  Grabbing my poles and smiling broadly, I greeted the man I had seen less than 24 hours before.  I had made him dinner, and after we had sat idly in the orchard, sharing a cold Ionic spiced honey cocktail.  Tonight we were doing the "easy" hike of Dreamy Draw, a three mile loop with three intense climbs interspersing the route.  While I had no issue keeping up with him inbetween the climbs, I also had no issue with him outpacing me while I took my time going up the steep washes.  I'd had no problems with this hike a week ago, after having to bail on Piestewa the day prior to it.  While it was hotter today, I was hydrated, had had a good lunch several hours earlier and even had on my hiking boots for a change.

 Because, snakes.  We saw this guy the prior week.

I took a hit off the inhaler when I had left the cottage, so technically I was prepared.  Slinging the pack on my shoulders, we headed for the trailhead.  Before we hit the main trail, my chest felt funny, and I mentioned it to him.  I suspected maybe I'd need the inhaler sooner than later, but I wasn't too concerned.

So we start our hike, and I note I'm not feeling good.  Like someone is sitting on my chest.  With asthma, I typically find that it's my throat feeling tight is my first symptom-so this was different.  Although it was hot, and I was already drinking fluid, it just felt...odd.

As we hiked, we chatted:  My sister was surprising our mother with a visit, and we had solidified our plans that morning.  The Buckeye had been generous in understanding the impromptu trip, and we went over the weekend as we hiked.  I've always used my ability to keep up my end of a conversation as a marker:  if I can talk I'm doing fine. 

But I wasn't.

At the base of the first climb I stopped, drank some water and took a short rest.  I knew something wasn't right-but it still had not clicked that it was asthma.  I felt a wee nauseous and this pressure on my chest was weird...but I knew my legs were strong.  I also knew I'd have to call it at the top if I felt any worse; so I deliberately quieted my pace.  I went slow like a granny, and shockingly felt every ounce of strength pour out of me like a sieve.

My face said it all when I made it to the top; the Buckeye didn't give me the opportunity to decide.  "I think you should go back-you need to call it right here."  I nodded in agreement, sitting down and fishing desperately for my rescue inhaler.  I willed myself not to panic as my carabiner got caught and I couldn't move through the pack contents quickly enough.  While the inhaler helped, I've never felt quite so miserable.  I was grateful for not having the option to continue, and grateful to know I'd be going downhill from here.  Or so I thought.

I had no qualms when we decided to separate-it was only my asthma kicking in, and I was confident a return trip would be no issue.  I half-joked that this is when I usually threw rocks and had a temper tantrum; I was so disappointed by my body's inability to exercise.  The Buckeye smiled, and promised me I could throw all the rocks I wanted once we had parted ways-just not in his direction.  We shared a lingering kiss, and he headed up the trail, while I immediately started down the steep wash I had just come up.

And was almost immediately in trouble.

It was very steep-and the loose shale did me no favors.  I was thankful for my poles and my boots, but it was tediously exhausting.  I could feel my heart racing, and that concerned me. I was heading down, what was going on?  Midway, I sat to collect myself in a spot of shade.  Yes it was hot...but I was well hydrated.  I was a full bottle in, and partly through my second.  I debated calling the Buckeye to come back, but decided I was fine to go on.

Mistake #1.  When you think you need help, you need help.  Go with that thought!!

By the time I reached the base, not a 100 yards from where we had separated, a significant amount of time had passed and I was miserable.  I was slightly nauseous, really hot, and the pressure in my chest intense.  I slowly walked to the next spot of shade, and regrouped.

 This is "shade."

Opening my pack, I cursed the fact my hat was in the car.  In my hasty departure from it, I had left it.

Mistake #2.  No hat.

 

It was pretty grim....and looking on this now I can see my face is red.

It's so stinking hot - and I'm feeling it for the first time.  I dig out an electrolyte supplement and add it to my remaining second bottle.  I drank it down, and waited five minutes, looking out for snakes.  While my boots were far too hot and heavy compared to my beloved Minimus, they did afford more protection.  From snakes, of course.  That bare calf?  Nah...they'd miss that, right?  It was at this point I wondered if it might be the heat.  I knew my asthma had been triggered, hard.  I decided to take another hit off the inhaler, and moved the inhaler to my front pocket, as well as my phone to pack straps in front for easy access should I get in trouble.  I realized I had taken a higher route back (I'd never traversed this trail in reverse) and decided to drop down to what I thought was the right trail.  Slowly I got up, realizing belatedly I was now weak.

That scared me.  Mistake #3-heading out on my own.  I vowed then I would never, ever, split up with a hiking partner ever again.

Once on the lower trail, I realized, again, I was not on the trail we had come in on.  Dreamy Draw runs right by Highway 51, so I wasn't lost, just flipping out of my way and feeling horrid.  I'd be passed by an occasional biker, so I wasn't necessarily alone.  Getting my bearings, I spied out the main trail.  I decided to traverse to it-more shadey spots, and if I passed out, I'd definitely be found.  I turned on my playlist, and skipped every slow song in favor of GnR.

This winter and spring I had run this very trail; a few weeks ago I had flung rocks from it.  Now I focused on the task of putting one foot in front of the other and walking, slowly, out of it.  I splashed some water on my hand and smeared it on my face, the wind cooled it instantly and that two second reprieve felt good.  I was down to a half a bottle of water, and for the first time in ages I worried about running out.  This bottle had also been in my pack from a prior hike...having sat in my bag in the car...it was hot. 

Like I could have made tea with it hot.  

While I've never minded it before, I noted it wasn't as effective as cooler water...and I longed for the empty Camelback in my car.  Why hadn't I been better prepared?

I took one last break, knowing I needed to get out of the situation.  This time I rested standing up in the shade of a tree, worried that if I sat down I'd not be able to get up.  Determined, I kept a slow steady pace, and was mightily relieved to see the Buckeye heading towards me on the side trail we had initially taken.  He saw me and made his way quickly over to me; I noted with small pleasure he looked relieved, too.

It's been a long time since someone cared.

The first words out of my mouth?  "We are never separating like that again!"

Just having him there took off half of my burden; when we got to the pavilion I paused, soaking in the shade.  At our cars I threw in my poles and grabbed another hot bottle of water; I tried to hide my concern about my ability to drive by distracting him with a kiss.

"You're shaking," he said, and I knew my ruse was up. I felt terrible.  "I don't think I can drive," I admitted, and we decided to sit in his car with the air on.  Peeling off my boots, we chatted about my hike, and how I had gotten immediately turned around on the trail.  While I had made some good decisions-resting, electrolytes, getting on the main trail-we both knew I had narrowly avoided a mishap.  Ten minutes into our chat I suddenly broke out in a sweat-it was then I realized I hadn't sweated the entire hike.  My body had put a priority on breathing, and I was suffering from heat exhaustion.

I was humbled to the core.

I've hiked in Arizona for six years, and prided myself in knowing the desert.  But I'd never hiked in intense heat with full blown asthma, which had been getting worse since my move to the valley.  That not being factored in, I had fallen prey, despite being hydrated.

Sometimes water isn't enough.

The Buckeye chuckled as my spirits recovered, and he assured me he wouldn't kick me to the curb over my crazy lungs.  My heart skipped a beat again, for the twentieth time that day.  I already adored this man, and every moment we'd spent together in the past few days had left me wanting more time with him.  If falling in love can be compared to skydiving, I was in free fall.  My here and now was to be savored, even as I was drenched in sweat and not quite recovered from heat exhaustion, brought on by asthma in a 104° hike.

 As compared to heat exhaustion, which does not!

Returning home, I hit the easy button and got some Chick-fil-a and indulged in a frosted lemonade (ice cream mixed with lemonade, truly one of the world's most delicious concoctions!)  In hindsight, a plain iced tea might have been a better option...as soon after eating my food and "beverage" I became chilled in my 79° living room.  Like bone-chillingly cold.  My face was flushed, and I suspected I had a temp...but in the apartment I didn't have a thermometer.  Taking a shower helped, and I ate cold watermelon and downed some green tea.  As my temperature regulated, I read up on asthma and heat...and discovered summer asthma (temperatures over 100° are a huge trigger) as well as ozone triggers (it had been a red flag ozone day in Phoenix.). I read about the correlation between asthma and heat exhaustion, and how my body prioritized breathing over cooling, thus triggering heat exhaustion even though I was hydrated (I didn't sweat at all, as that energy was conserved for the lungs.)  As I shared this with the Buckeye, he made the call I knew was right-I wasn't hiking with him in the heat this summer.  As much as we enjoyed it-my asthma was not under control, and today had been a tough lesson.  I groaned, knowing he was right...but feeling keenly the extra weight I was desperate to shift.  I hazarded to bring it up, fully expecting to be told to watch what I ate or finding a gym.

Instead, he assuaged my fears...assuring me that this was temporary.  That there were other options, including the early morning for hiking, and that we'd still find time together during the week.  We chatted for some time, and my mind harkened back to that jump just a few weeks ago.

Free falling.  The intense overload of immediate sensations, followed by a controlled plummet.  Reaching terminal velocity, stabilized and in my case, completely trusting that my instructor would pull the cord when the time was right.  All I had to do after finding the right position was enjoy the ride...and smile for my cameraman.  I had no fear of the approaching horizon, not a doubt in my mind that the canopy wouldn't open.  Once again, that's how I feel; just now it's whenever his name pops up on a text, I see his smiling face across from me, or when I hear his voice.  Is it a delicious irony that he used to be a tandem instructor in skydiving?  I think not:)

At the tail end of my free fall, I remember I had to focus on breathing:  whether it was asthma, my harness or the experience I have no clue, but it was suddenly more difficult.  Once the chute opened everything was fine; I could easily breath again and grasping the toggles I flew.  The landing came too soon, and as many have requested before me, I wanted immediately to go again.  Time went too quickly, I didn't want it to end; yet a few weeks later time seemed to stop as I struggled to get back to safety when a hike went wrong.  In both cases, fear could have played a major role:  in both cases I refused it entry.  The end result was good...and another lesson is learned.

Fear genuinely has no place-other than as a warning that things are amiss.  That warning heeded, the next steps need to be of wisdom; a successful outcome happens when small steps are taken in order to achieve a greater result.  My bad hike wasn't fun-I admit I'm loath to get back out there-but it wasn't a trauma because I heeded the warning signs.  Likewise, I'm fully aware I'm falling in love.

 Well, not the shy part😜

When I first divorced and began this new journey, I feared being alone.  As time progressed and I learned to exercise by myself (trail running, in particular) I came to see the benefits of being alone:  failures weren't recorded to be later tossed up in your face, I "won" every decision, I felt stronger knowing I was in charge just to name a few.  As my contentment grew, I also came to see that one-sided love was among the most dangerous of traps...and began to guard my heart more judiciously as this was an area I'd been so badly hurt in.  My sister pointed out to me I've never been with someone "normal" before...and I admit, I was content with nothing but crumbs tossed from the table by too many men in my past.  Now however, I no longer fear being alone; I'm enjoying these unexpected days of cottage and sabbatical living.  A little over a month ago I was overwhelmed by the choices before me:  move home and be forced to share our still not sold home with the King, travel (the best choice it seemed at the time), or live alone.  Fear prompted the two hour, tear fueled prayer down the mountain as I drove from Prescott to Phoenix; the resulting answer of staying put and skydiving seemed a wee extraordinary at the time.  As I put each small step into play, however, I have seen an amazing outcome.  Despite the great turmoil of an unsold house, waiting on others to decided about career opportunities and the like, I have had great peace.  I'm doing all I can do, and am relaxing in the peace that passes all understanding.  To have then a relationship change from friendship to more?

Unexpected, and I admit, I'm holding my breath.

This morning I need to go exercise-my first time since the hike that went wrong...and I'm hesitating.  Just like falling in love-I'm so in free fall at this moment-but I was surprised to find shielding around my heart.  In both cases, the warning I heed:  I'm have to go early to hike, and I'll need to take it slow.  Falling in love?  Behind me is 25 years of mixed heart ache: joys, disappointments, highs and lows.  I feel at this moment exactly as I did right before the ripcord was pulled-I'm  enjoying it, I love it so much-yet I suddenly had to focus on breathing.  Nothing was wrong, per se, and the second that chute filled I was fine.  But those milliseconds before hand?

I'm right there.

I cannot love again if it is only me giving love....nor will I be content with crumbs, as I once was.  This ripcord is not mine to pull, but someone else's.

 

He already has 100% of my trust.

I guess right now?  

I'm going to enjoy the remainder of this free fall; relaxing in the fact I'm not in charge.  Fear threw up a warning, and I've heeded it:  don't fall in love if it's only going be you.  

Pretty sure it's not.

There's no guarantees of the canopy even opening, of course.  Or that it will open cleanly, or that a cutaway won't be needed.  But for now?  This moment?

 

This Wolverine is trusting a Buckeye...

I think it's going to be just fine.  More than fine...it's time to fly:)

What Dreams May Come

Today marks the 21st day that I have made my bed every morning.

My picturesque cottage bedroom; there are peach trees outside my window.

They say it takes 21 days to make a habit; I've been testing that theory as of late.  This is also the 21st day I have gone to bed in a perfectly neat and clean house,  despite 9 days of two teenagers hanging out and doing their best to make a mess.  Manchild noticed I'm more fastidious and admitted it made the place comforting to come to; it's been years since my son has been so happy.  The calm consistency of coming to Mom's happy cottage three weeks in a row has worked wonders on his soul; I am seeing in him positive changes.  

As I am seeing them in me.

 I love this drainboard sink.  Love, love, love it!!

Never before in my life have I lived alone, save for a stint as an orientation counselor at college for one month when I was 19.  I woke up the morning of my wedding to the Knight in my childhood bedroom and started my adult life by sharing his home at 21.  Widowhood at 24 I shared with the baby Commander, then came a 17 year marriage to the King.  The last 18 months I've lived with Manchild, the Princess, my parents and again the Commander....this sweet bliss of being here, in this cottage?

A gift from God.

 From my Bible.  I don't like the florid images of James 1:17 I find on the internet.

I am hopeful I will be able to stay here another month; I'll know later today.  I also have what is essentially a fourth interview this afternoon; an opportunity to add to my income in a way that should not only fully utilize my skill sets,but also bring in the health insurance we should wisely have.  As things in my life change, I am pulled back 21 days to this:

 The moment I loved the most...that I had feared so much!

28 days ago I woke up to Skydive Arizona groupons as ads on every website I visited, the relics of having visited their page the night before.  That Sunday had been tough; I was grappling with were I should live as homelessness approached.  Yes, I own a home in Prescott, and yes, I had a dozen friends encouraging me to travel the month of May.  I had options-and one of them was to stay.  As the stress of that decision built, and more stresses grew at alarming rates I prayed for answers and sought out a tough hike. The hike went terribly, and I had to call it early.  That night as I surfed the web, the thought came I should just go skydiving to dump the stress that was eating me alive.  The adrenaline rush would surely clean out all the bad stuff, right?

Yep, that's seriously how it started.

 But if you like lightening....!?!

28 days ago I got up super early, and noted all the skydiving ads.  Then I went and hiked...

 And sat right here on Piestewa Peak's summit and decided to skydive.

Why?

Because I knew it wasn't me wanting to do it.  Just a few weeks before I had blogged a bucket list with the hashtag, #notskydiving.  The Buckeye said I wouldn't do it, based on my past statements.  Even Flyboy was initially incredulous; he had, afterall, been unsuccessful in getting me to go for the prior 18 months.  Was it any coincidence he'd be working at Skydive Arizona the following week, and my jumping the following Monday would work out perfectly for him to be there?

My God rocks.

 On the video, you can clearly read my lips as I say "I absolutely love this!"

My whole life, I've walked with God.  I've always known His tender love, grace and oh! His mercy.  I know God speaks to me not in an audible voice but through scripture, and through gentle thoughts that are typically fairly obvious that they are not my own.  To go skydiving to relieve stress?

Definitely not something I would ever think of.

Over the week between my decision to go and the actual jump, my anticipation and giddiness grew.  I knew this was directed from above-and I threw myself into God's arms in complete trust.  I experienced the peace that passes all understanding as promised in scripture-and had joy throughout the entire process.  The only momentary lick with fear was in the plane and I was not yet harnessed to my instructor...and I was right by the open door! Even then, I can say it was only mild concern...not fear for potential harm.  I just know I'm pretty clutzy and to trip and fall out the door did seem like a possibility....

 I had just been welcomed into their world:)

Jumping into Flyboy's arms after the jump was the cherry on top--here was the man who had comforted me through so many tough spots, and had encouraged me when no one else was there.  His counsel (had I listened) was always spot on-and he had been right.  I had needed this in my life.  Not only for the the thrill, but for the lesson that would reveal itself in the following weeks.  For while it did work-the adrenaline dump relieved my night shakes and did wonders reducing my stress-it was the larger lesson that unfolded that has changed everything.

I moved into the cottage, and was (I had suspected I would be) a wee bored.  I despise boredom, yet what else could I do?  Ride is entering its slow summer months, and it wasn't right to establish haunts down here until I knew where I'd live permanently.  I began looking in earnest for an additional position; knowing I needed to utilize these years before Ride grew bigger.  It's terribly frustrating being in the job market, as I'm a jack of all trades (and a master of many-not none!) and can adapt quite easily.  Who did I want to be when I grew up?  Add in ghosts from the past reemerging from the shadows and the still-there stresses of a house unsold in Prescott, teenagers who need a mummy, parents and an ex....

This.

 I'm about to do the thing I always thought would terrify me--and I felt nothing but pure joy.

Every time I felt the tension build, I'd look at my phone.  Lock screen/home screen, they both showed pictures from that day.  An immediate reminder that when I fully trusted God with a decision, I had nothing but pure joy.  No fear, no stress.  All I had to do was trust Him.  Do what I knew to do (work Ride, apply for jobs, write, climb mountains, be a mum, be a daughter, focus on the house selling and not the side stories) and trust fully on Him.

And peace would come.

Every time.

As the month went on, the joys piled on top of one another:

 The Commander adding up her credit hours and discovering she was officially a senior as ASU.

 Dressing up as a Captain America groupie...on Cinco de Mayo (oops!) 😂😂😂

 Spending wonderful days with my two youngest and my parents.

 

And more and more time with this guy in particular...

 

Even though I still had tough days like this.

Peace.  These 21 days of making habits and breaking habits has been about peace.

Thus far, I've made my bed for 21 days.  I've consistently been very tidy, and find it soothing-and my visiting children are learning this, too.  I don't have a microwave (I know, right?!) and I have to cook...wow.  Everyday.  Nothing convenient, and I'm enjoying it.  Silly as it sounds, I'm reestablishing all the little things that I'd compromised on as the stresses had built up.

As for breaking habits?

 Manchild and I, loving our time playing inside a B-17.

Manchild and I had many opportunities to talk this past weekend: about God, faith and daily life.  As many teenagers do, he has struggled with unanswered prayers--yet nearly every one had been a request to change others.  Gently I have been sharing that prayers for others to change are the ones that lead mostly to disappointments, as there's the wonderful gift of free will; given to us by a gracious God Who forces no one. We talked how my prayer had become one of asking for wisdom to know what to change, and grace to daily try to make those changes.  Rushing has been a big habit for me to break-my whole life I rush to give answers, rush to resolution, rushing to meet (I hate being bored, so arriving right on time aleviates that risk!) 

Another bad habit?  Living in the future, which is kinda like rushing time.

 Which is really funny when you are soooooo absorbed in the past!!!  I cannot put that dictionary down...this morning I was dancing in my living room that I could look up "florid" in a real book!

While it is good to look forward to future events, and to set goals to attain, living for the future is not.  It is a bad habit created in the worst days of my marriage-days that were wished away because the pain of living them was too great.  February 2013 was the month this started; I recall the torment of waking up each morning from the only peace I knew of sleep.  The company I had poured my career into was failing, my marriage had been shipwrecked.  Each day my spirit and soul took on fresh wounds; the heartache of widowhood did not hurt as much as these days.  Only the future of my children kept me focused; I remember thinking if I could just get through February better days would be awaiting me.  As things slowly got better, and worse, then better still, I thought perhaps it would all be ok...and then the head injury and the company close.  That journey is all recorded in this Fitness Quest...and the continuing thread is hope:  hope for better days.

At the expense of not always enjoying that very day.

While as a mum I've always enjoyed and savored the "right now" (and so thankful as that never changed and I have many wonderful moments the last few difficult years) I had dropped that in my own life.  If only I could make it through this month... if only the King would change... if only the house would sell... if only I had some sort of commitment... if only I had a job I loved... if only, if only and always looking away to the future, instead of right now.

 Good lord.  To think the day I woke up to the fact I was not living in the here and now was the night I wore this?!?  Blahhhh!!!!!

Two months ago was the first time the Buckeye said "can't you just enjoy right now?" as I had chattered on about some future plan.  We were out celebrating his birthday, and I had lost a birthday bet and was wearing scarlet and grey as a result.  We were at dinner when he said it, and his words had pierced my heart.  Up until that moment, I had not thought of his "no pressure" request as anything other than a challenge for me to respect...I had not applied what it meant in my own life.  When we parted that night I jokingly said he was teaching me patience...quite unaware I wouldn't see him again for three weeks as he'd fall ill with influenza.  It was then I remembered one of my favorite verses, one I had clung to in my teenage years and through widowhood:

 

Florid, but effective in this case.

Should I not be counting each day as joy?

A month later, I skydived.

Each day since, when I feel stressed and frustrations build I think first, to count it all joy.  I am on the right path.  And second, to savor today.

 

Just as early today I savored every bite of these juicy, tree-ripened peaches from the orchard outside my window.

The sweetness of each day this month of May, which could have been filled with anguish as I "waited for better days" have been amongst the happiest of my life.  This morning I awoke delighted, realizing I had dreamt repeatedly of a simple dinner the night before-so savoring the moment even subconsciously I hadn't wanted it to end.  This morning as peach juice dribbled down my chin and made my fingers sticky, a thought popped up in my head in response to a text for the very first time...and I lingered on it.  Pondered it.  

Who said breaking bad habits was hard?

Yes.  Undoubtedly, 100% yes.

28 days ago, I listened to that quiet thought that I should jump out of an airplane, and experienced a peace that passed all understanding.  I often remind myself of that brilliant memory of 21 days ago:  kneeling at the airplane's door, the one part I thought would terrify me, and plummeting towards the earth below.  As I got into position, my overflowing heart spoke as I whispered the words "Thank you, Jesus!" as the joy was too much to contain.   My overloaded brain yelled "I'M SKYDIVING!" as we dropped out the door, and my heart responded in an explosion of ecstasy I could have never imagined.  When the chute opened, and I had the toggles in hand for the first time my words were "I'm flying!" (much to the chagrin of all experienced skydivers everywhere!)  The pure joy I treasure, every day I think back to those moments:  For when I fully trusted God, He gave me peace to do something I had always thought unimaginable.  The memory of that has made the past 21 days a joy, instead of a trial.  Add in the unexpected changes, the moments to be savoured?

One could get drunk on the sweetness of these days.🍑

 

My God is so good.  May I forever sing His praises (and all the better if from inside a B-17!)

Yes, I have goals and hopes for the future.  But today? "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."  May I never forget to live like this ever again.

 

Too Much

It's too much, and I've already over extended it.

 Point of giving up, 572 ft from trail's end and the flipping top.

It's super windy, as Arizona often is in the spring.  Temperature wise it's lovely-the low 80's-almost unusually cool.

Yep, I'm a desert rat now.  80's feels a wee nippy.

So today was going to be a piece of cake-a hike to the top, poles on the up, and actually wearing shoes with a cushion on the way down.

 See?  Not "slippers."

The hike to the first bench is swift; I can tell I'm getting stronger as my arms are getting used to pulling 25% off my hips and knees.  I pass the second bench unwinded, and the creepy old 20% thought of looking at my time pops up.  I'm doing good-it's actually my personal record to the first bench at 2:03.

I wonder if I can break the two minute mark?

 But then...way too soon....

I have a full blown asthma attack.

 I posed for this after...because, you know, blog.

 I knew then I wouldn't make it to the top.

Oh, I slowed down.  And had another attack.

 This IS the trail, btw.

I admit, I was daunted.  I had just passed the third bench.  It was extremely dusty, and I highly suspected that to be the culprit.

Did I mention I'm still sitting on the mountain?

Yeah.  This isn't even over yet.

I'm in the middle of a wretched hike, and I've had, at this count, four asthma attacks.

And frankly, I'm a little scared.

Yep, lots of people around.  In fact, the Buckeye lapped me and is on his way to the top.  So it's not like I won't have company on the way down.  It's just I feel wretched.

Exercise is not supposed to do this to you.  Over three dozen people have hiked by me, three-quarters of them breathing heavily as befits a 1200ft elevation gain.  It makes me angry that my body isn't cooperating, and jealous.  I have the willpower and I have the muscle strength.

I simply do not have air.

Which is highly underrated by you normal breathers...I have a stitch in my side, and I'm shaking.  As my Pilates instructor Lucille used to say, "I'm cooked."  My body has given up on me, even though I can feel the coiled power in my legs, and can see definition in my guns.  My brain (and the knowledge that the Buckeye was behind me) had willed me further than I should have gone...when I sat down, I knew I was toast.

The day had served up some mysteries that needed solving; I was preoccupied with them when I started.  Perhaps I hiked too quick; it had to have been the wind. I could see dust hanging in the air as I waited for the Buckeye's return.  I was disappointed not to make the top (I so love it there) but the upside was the Buckeye was going to get to deal with a very sullen Kate.

Huh.  Have I ever referred to myself in third person before?  Should I give myself a nickname?  Squirrel!

 

Grim determination would be needed for the hike down.

The Buckeye reappears, having completed the trail to the summit and returns to my side.  I get up to start the hike down, and I'm distracted by my wobbly knees-how will this be possible?! Thankfully, the wonderful man I'm dating pulls me in for a kiss; momentarily my fears are assuaged.

Have I mentioned he gave me a dictionary?  I have a huge 8" thick dictionary!!  I may be a bit obsessed with it:)

Starting down I start tripping on the grippy, springy shoes, and as I fall further behind I tell him to go on without me.  This is his workout, and I don't want to mess it up for him when it's my lungs that are the problem.  I sit down trail side and take off the wretched, feels-like-you're-walking-on-a-mattress shoes, and pull my beloved Minimus from my pack.  I take my time to stow my poles; pulling on my pack I see the Buckeye is waiting for me just around the trail's bend.  I'm relieved; I feel simply awful.  It's still hard to breathe, and I've over used the inhaler.  To his credit he doesn't mention my distress; I'm pretty quiet as he shares tales that make me smile.  Did he read me correctly that I don't want to talk about it, or was he ignoring it? I thought, trying not to assume either/or.  

Hiking down, I learned there's such a thing as coffee bread, and that there's more cookies at his house that his mom made:). I learned he's an excellent fudge maker....now these are very important skills....and I learn, again, he's a giver.  He goes on to tell me high school tales, including the fact he was expelled!  I was totally envious as I listened; I'd wanted to do everything he had actually done.  Being the oldest child of all girls, I totally believed my mother would find out anything I did-literally I had the fear of God in me concerning her wrath.  I had hoped to escape by joining the military (Air Force!  Sorry, Buckeye:) but by high school I knew I'd never survive basic.  

Now I know I never would have survived the enlistment physical.

So I went to college instead...and still lead a very sheltered life.  Marriage brought freedom; the Knight and I had just started adventuring when he got sick.  Adventuring while widowed is kinda difficult with a breastfed infant...and then the King.  Who doesn't ever adventure.  Well, ziplining.  So yeah for that!!!

So if he's still around later this year...😂😘...the Buckeye promised me pulla & fudge.  Writing it here so I remember to bug him for it:)

We finish, and I'm trembling still-my body was quite upset with me it seems.  I'm able to chatter a bit at the bottom...and I don't tell him about the crazy day I've had.  I'm just thankful to have survived and off the mountain on my own will power.  We make plans for tomorrow, and I steal as many kisses as I can get away with before a nice lady asks if we're just arriving or leaving shortly.  She asked so nicely even we had to return the kindness; our good byes were brief .  Flopping in my car, I reached for the phone, intent on finishing the tale of this hike.

Undoubtedly, the heavy dust in the air triggered the asthma attacks.  As I'm not on a daily control regime, I had no defense.  I also have a theory too-cushy shoes are to blame, but the Buckeye didn't seem to think that one held water.  I retorted that at least it was entertaining...when the coughing fits I had definitely were not.  Since getting home I'm unusually exhausted, and I've not felt right.

"Pride goeth before the fall," and tonight was proof of that.  I should have called it at the third bench.  It's not like I was being pushed to do it, or that my partner wouldn't understand.  It wasn't to impress him I kept going, rather it was my pride.  I'd done this hike six times in the last four weeks, why couldn't I tag the summit tonight?!  My times had been outstanding-and I wasn't even winded!  To have your main source of energy-air!-virtually tapped out?  After two years of exercise?

It's why I hate exercise.  

Tonight, it was too much.  Tomorrow I'll be doing an easier hike...but tonight?

Ugh.

I hate that quitting was my only option.

 

At least I do own a dictionary now...:)

Cakes and Ale

Many years ago, I fancied myself a historian.

I wore a bomber jacket for inspiration, of course.

I completed my Bachelor of Liberal Arts degree with a double major in History and Earth Science, and a minor in English.  I was involved in Student Government (as both a senator and Commissioner of Campus Affairs), the History Honorary (served as its president my senior year), I had a radio show (inspired by Rush Limbaugh), I wrote editorials for the college newspaper (all extremely conservative and tearing up the left, which was easy as Clinton was running for president), I was in LINCS (leaders in college service), worked three jobs (medical secretary, campus receptionist and at Jo-Ann Fabrics) while always taking 18 credits.  My goal was to be a college history professor, and I began my Master's degree in American History (with an emphasis on early American History) shortly after I married, oh, exactly 24 years ago this week.  I never finished that degree as my husband was diagnosed with brain cancer.  And we had a baby.  And he died.  BUT - this isn't about that (thank God!  It's not fun talking about that.)  This is about history...the one passion that continually inspired me that I've had throughout my life.  

 Howard Chandler Christy's war art has always inspired me:)

I can trace back my love of history to the writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I read Little House in the Big Woods at age 7, and clearly recall struggling over the word "Charlotte."  From that point on I read every book in the Lincoln Elementary School library on the past - eating up biographies and historical fiction, as well as history books written for elementary readers.  When Prince Charles married Lady Di I was not quite ten, and that Christmas I was gifted two books on the wedding.  Each contained a more recent history of the British Royal Family, with genealogies.

I was hooked.

Not only with royal history, but with genealogy.  I interviewed all my grandparents, and carefully wrote out my very tiny chart.  I knew only the names of my great grandparents, and one was missing:  my dad's paternal grandfather.  He had been illegitimate...and that also meant the last name I had technically wasn't even mine.  We weren't related to any others with my maiden name; it was simply the last name of the man my great grandmother married after my grandfather was born (supposedly his real father died before he was born.)  This was a bitter disappointment, as I greatly disliked being teased about my last name...and to have another would have been nice, not to mention the fact your paternal lineage was the most important.  On the flip side, this did mean I was potentially descended from royalty.

You know, 'cause that Prince of Wales dude was a really busy guy:)

As my love of history grew, I figured becoming a history teacher was inevitable.  There was only one problem:  I hated teenagers.

Me at 19, holding Poor Richard.  You can see my obsession with Arizona was also clearly defined by then. 

Having just been a teenager, I had no tolerance for teenagers at any age.  They were rude, bullying brutes, especially the females.  With that in mind, and with an utter love of college, I decided I would get my PhD and teach history at the college level.  Then fate intervened, and school ended and my career began.

My liberal arts degree came in very handy as I became a salesperson and quickly rose through the ranks as I knew how to write, give speeches and do all sorts of liberal arts stuff.  My ability to persuade people to action was a skill I first honed in debate and in writing editorials, now I used it to pitch and sell.  My desire to teach shone as I gave trainings, my ability to read metrics, data and analytics came from my days studying meteorology and climatology.  I loved my career and the opportunities it gave my family; my love of history shone as I toured every brown sign historical site with them,  instilling in all three children a mutual love of the past. 

 
Colonial Williamsburg, 2007.  We met Neil Armstrong later that day....!!

Life shifts and turns (as it often does) and when my sister committed suicide, a dear mentor suggested I find a hobby as a way to assuage my grief.  It was then I committed to Ancestry.com, and started to collect cousins of my then husband, my late husband, and occasionally, myself.  To my dismay, my lineage didn't extend back very far; my mother was only a second generation American on both sides of her family.  My dad?  At best, a third generation American; first if you considered the fact his father was most likely born in Canada.  The King however?  13 generations in America...a fact he cared nothing for.  As I collected over 3000 cousins for my children, I consoled myself that maybe someday they'd find interest in my hours of research.  The King thought it silly...but his father had not.  The few years before his death I would call him with my finds, he'd chuckle softly and let out a low whistle.  "And here Duch thought she had the monopoly on American ancestors and it turns out my people were here first..."  My father-in-law was a kindred spirit; he loved every new find, every new ancestor I uncovered. 

 
Manchild and I about a week before Pap died in 2001.  This happy lad often reminds me of his late grandfather.

Since Pap, I've had no one to share my love of genealogy.  When I insisted the family tromp over the graves in the old Alverton, Pennsylvania cemetery some years ago, my brother-in-law stumbled on Peter's grave.  I remember running down the hill, knowing in my heart he had found his gr3grandfather's grave.  The GAR marker confirmed it, and I choked back tears standing at the grave of his and the King's great-great-great grandfather, who had fought in the civil war.  Both brothers stood before me, neither caring.  It was "cool" they said, more wrapped up in when we might be getting lunch.  As I stood at Peter and Amanda's final resting place, where generations had been buried after them, I wept, thinking of the hard life they had had in these hills of Pennsylvania.  I imagined Peter's life after the war, working in the mines, and Amanda struggling to keep their family together.  This was America - this was the backbone of the country we founded.  My people weren't there yet...but the King's people were.

So were the Buckeye's....

Lately, I've been entranced by a new family tree.  The Buckeye's maternal line is 100% pure buckeye...having settled in Ohio prior to 1800.  With his permission granted to dig through his roots, those long stilled passions have been awoken to reclaim history...God, I love it so.  His history is wrought with civil war AND Revolution soldiers...and on his trip to Ohio to see Mom for Mother's Day what does he do?  Goes to visit a gravesite...of his Revolutionary War Captain gr5grandfather.   

 Where he found the obelisk tipped over possibly years before, and he uprighted it.

 Bestill my little historian's heart....😍

His acknowledgment and respect of history spoke volumes; as was the fact he shared his adventures with his 77 years old mother.  As he sent pictures from a beautiful Midwestern spring day I was reminded of our shared Midwestern roots...and the fact we'd grown up only a few hours apart.  Cedar Point had been both of our stomping grounds, he even suggested we may have    once shared a ride without knowing it.  As we chatted the next day about his cemetery pilgrimage and his garage-cleaning ventures (more brownie points; he cleaned his mom's garage as her gift) he mentioned again the papers his mom had given him about family history...and we made plans to meet for lunch after his flight home early the next day.

Because everyone has a lunch date the second they get home, right? 😎

Scooting up next to him at the bar, I commented on how gorgeous our Phoenix day was-so much like the Midwest he had just left.  It was so good to see him, this man who had impressed me by lifting a several-hundred pound obelisk simply to show respect to an ancestor and fellow veteran.  We had chatted a few minutes when I finally spied the manila folder in front of him--and I'm pretty sure it's safe to say I pounced on it when I realized what it was.  He chuckled as I could not contain my glee as I poured over the papers-gasping in shock as I read "...family history from 1458!"  He had waited to see my reaction in person; I'm certain I did not disappoint.

We eventually remembered to order lunch, and savored the beautiful spring weather by extending lunch with an obligatory dessert (which involved my beloved salted caramel sauce.  Which I might have gotten everywhere.  Oops.)  Walking to his Jeep he reminded me he had brought me his father's old Webster's dictionary; it had been destined for Goodwill when he remembered my love of books.  He had asked me if I'd like it; I think it took me all of two milliseconds to accept.  I used to pour over one at my Grama's and I assured him I'd be delighted.

 

I was more than delighted...I was inspired.

As the afternoon slipped away, I couldn't imagine a more perfect moment than now.  Newly wrapped up in each other, exploring history with the same passion.  Just two weeks before, I had sat bored...until in casual conversation the Buckeye mentioned an ancestor of his had died at Gettysburg.

Killed in battle.

It's amazing what sparks dormant passion.  Those little words kindled a blaze...in more ways than one.  From just the name of that one ancestor (and his permission) I created a tree...lovingly tracing out the branches in hopes it might be appreciated.  To have it passionately loved as I loved it, even though it wasn't my people?

My goodness, the other things it has sparked.

Last night I couldn't tear myself away from the 2000 page dictionary, after lugging it out to the orchard's rocking chair.  As the evening cooled and the light faded, I retreated indoors to pour myself an icy mug of milk to enjoy with some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.  That the Buckeye's mom had made, which he had brought me from Ohio.  Sitting in my overstuffed armchair, the dictionary in my lap as I perused the maps and facts in the back, I thought back on that night, just two weeks before.

 

Literally I was stuck on these pages for over an hour!!!

Now.  My delight is in the right now.  How can one be bored, with massive ten pound dictionaries, soft chocolate chip cookies and cold milk in hand?  A year ago I was traveling, racing to Ohio (of all places) to join the Knight's family as his father slipped from this life.  As I caught up with my sisters after years apart (we marveled how it didn't seem so due to modern social media) and I told them my newly formed dreams for Ride, the "hot guy" I had just started to date and the interview I had in the following week...I see now I was only looking towards what the future held.  Looking back a year later, I appreciate now more than then how precious those days were; how bittersweet the memories even as we made them.  Even then, rushing each day to see one more friend, get in one more memory...  You see, as a historian with an incredible memory for detail, I knew I'd look back fondly on those days.  Now I see I missed half of the memory, by not slowing down to fully appreciate them as they happened.

 

The Buckeye is actually in this photo....right over my shoulder and wearing scarlet and grey.  Please note this was the 1/1/16 Ohio State/Notre Dame game....and I don't like either team so I wore Maize & Blue instead;)

We didn't meet the first time we connected (I stored him in my phone as "another dang buckeye"...Flyboy was the first) and we both conceded that had we met then, it likely would have been a disaster.  Who we are now, and how we look at things has changed considerably since...it's interesting as I continue this sabbatical of faith to see how nuanced and orchestrated these days are.  My prayer has been for my eyes to be opened to what I need to change in me...habits to be made, habits to be broken.  As I floss a bit more, and regularly cook, make my bed and clean I am delighted by the happy stability these little things bring...as are my visiting children.  At the same time, while slowing down drove me crazy at first, it was then I realized rushing had brought me tremendous grief over the years, and many missed opportunities.

 

The light was so perfect behind the sunflower; I know I didn't do it justice as some might, but I still love it.

Right now, there is a battle going on all around me that should terrify my soul.  Work issues, but primarily the wait for an offer on my home had me griped just weeks ago...when prayer led me to trust God to jump out of a plane.  The joy of that day, and the complete lack of fear has stayed with me as a real example of trusting in God and relaxing in His hands.

Being content with what I have:  living in the now, today.

What a wonderful way to live...as I'm enjoying it, savoring it.  Even sweeter still?  That someone else is enjoying it with me.