(Part 5 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)
Today was my second attempt on the new trail. This time I was determined to go further, explore the entire course, take it to...well, where-ever it went.
Nekoda had already nursed, he & Serene & the boys were happily hanging out with the big kids, lunch dishes were cleaned up, and I had no pressing responsibilities for the afternoon. (did I really just type that? wow.) I would even have time for a peaceful shower before having my arms full of babies again.
So I headed out, invigorated, excited, jogging on the now familiar path, toward the lesser-known section.
I picked my way across the narrow-ledge, washed-out switchbacks, coming to forks in the trail where I had to randomly decide: right & up, or down & left? After each intersection I would stop & glance back, looking briefly at the trail from that perspective, so as to know how to make my way home. To be honest, I’m not exactly great with directions. Okay, I’m severely directionally-challenged. Which contributes to my fear of taking off on barely-marked trails into national forest.
I was intent on taking the trail to some ending destination, assuming it would terminate somewhere down in Woodland Park. So at each fork in the trail I took the downward slope, feeling energized, fast, & maintaining a steady jog. The further down I went, the broader & more obviously traversed the path became. Before too long I began to see rooftops, glimpses of asphalt road, a neighborhood water tank...and suddenly, there was an opening in the trees, and the wide open space of a cul-de-sac.
With a wide grin of satisfaction I decided I must’ve ended up behind a neighborhood on the north side of town, not too far down from Kevin’s office. I tried to catch my breath, stood for a bit recovering, and savored the glorious afternoon. What a gorgeous day! What a place to call home! Who am I, Lord? Look at where we live!
A quick glance at my watch told me it had taken only 15 minutes to descend this course, so after another 5 minutes or so of praying, praising & relishing the beautiful CO day, I leisurely headed back up the path.
UP being the key word here. Within three minutes any false pretensions I had about my fitness were laboriously quelled. Any attempt at a jog petered out within a few strides. It was all I could do to lumber up the steep, sandy trail at a slow hike. I pressed my palms flat on my quads with each lift of my leg, already feeling the burn after traversing only a few hundred yards. I had to stop & breath every few minutes, and even so, ended up with the rasping cough of lung burn by the time I got to the first of the trail intersections. I stood there, gasping, thighs & rear & calves aching, head swimming...
which way did I come from?
I know it should head upwards, but both ways seemed to ascend?
And had I turned left or right at that little berm?
I think you get the picture. The bottom line is that I gave little thought to the steep trail while embarking on my new adventure.
My quest began with excitement & speed & joy...
but I disregarded the most important part: how to get home.
While I had taken only 15 minutes to descend the steep trail, I now had to suffer through 45 minutes of precipitous climbing to finally have our rock-lined home-trail in sight. Gone was my peaceful margin of time for a relaxing shower before little ones would need me. And instead of feeling invigorated by my outing, I was utterly exhausted, sore, cranky, and wheezing from the unaccounted-for overexertion.
As I rounded the corner of our Aspen-log sandbox & headed down to the house, I realized that this little episode paralleled so many of the ventures in my life. Heading out with a vague goal in mind, excited, invigorated, hopeful...only to realize at the halfway point that I had not counted the cost of finding my way home...
and the way home was long.
Longer than I expected.
So wearying that it obscured the joy of the journey.
Oh, that I will learn! Learn to count the cost, to figure in the steep, arduous parts of the path, on this road-less-traveled. Have you too, found yourself out at the far end of your journey, forgetting to count the cost of your adventures?
(Part 5 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)
Today was my second attempt on the new trail. This time I was determined to go further, explore the entire course, take it to...well, where-ever it went.
Nekoda had already nursed, he & Serene & the boys were happily hanging out with the big kids, lunch dishes were cleaned up, and I had no pressing responsibilities for the afternoon. (did I really just type that? wow.) I would even have time for a peaceful shower before having my arms full of babies again.
So I headed out, invigorated, excited, jogging on the now familiar path, toward the lesser-known section.
I picked my way across the narrow-ledge, washed-out switchbacks, coming to forks in the trail where I had to randomly decide: right & up, or down & left? After each intersection I would stop & glance back, looking briefly at the trail from that perspective, so as to know how to make my way home. To be honest, I’m not exactly great with directions. Okay, I’m severely directionally-challenged. Which contributes to my fear of taking off on barely-marked trails into national forest.
I was intent on taking the trail to some ending destination, assuming it would terminate somewhere down in Woodland Park. So at each fork in the trail I took the downward slope, feeling energized, fast, & maintaining a steady jog. The further down I went, the broader & more obviously traversed the path became. Before too long I began to see rooftops, glimpses of asphalt road, a neighborhood water tank...and suddenly, there was an opening in the trees, and the wide open space of a cul-de-sac.
With a wide grin of satisfaction I decided I must’ve ended up behind a neighborhood on the north side of town, not too far down from Kevin’s office. I tried to catch my breath, stood for a bit recovering, and savored the glorious afternoon. What a gorgeous day! What a place to call home! Who am I, Lord? Look at where we live!
A quick glance at my watch told me it had taken only 15 minutes to descend this course, so after another 5 minutes or so of praying, praising & relishing the beautiful CO day, I leisurely headed back up the path.
UP being the key word here. Within three minutes any false pretensions I had about my fitness were laboriously quelled. Any attempt at a jog petered out within a few strides. It was all I could do to lumber up the steep, sandy trail at a slow hike. I pressed my palms flat on my quads with each lift of my leg, already feeling the burn after traversing only a few hundred yards. I had to stop & breath every few minutes, and even so, ended up with the rasping cough of lung burn by the time I got to the first of the trail intersections. I stood there, gasping, thighs & rear & calves aching, head swimming...
which way did I come from?
I know it should head upwards, but both ways seemed to ascend?
And had I turned left or right at that little berm?
I think you get the picture. The bottom line is that I gave little thought to the steep trail while embarking on my new adventure.
My quest began with excitement & speed & joy...
but I disregarded the most important part: how to get home.
While I had taken only 15 minutes to descend the steep trail, I now had to suffer through 45 minutes of precipitous climbing to finally have our rock-lined home-trail in sight. Gone was my peaceful margin of time for a relaxing shower before little ones would need me. And instead of feeling invigorated by my outing, I was utterly exhausted, sore, cranky, and wheezing from the unaccounted-for overexertion.
As I rounded the corner of our Aspen-log sandbox & headed down to the house, I realized that this little episode paralleled so many of the ventures in my life. Heading out with a vague goal in mind, excited, invigorated, hopeful...only to realize at the halfway point that I had not counted the cost of finding my way home...
and the way home was long.
Longer than I expected.
So wearying that it obscured the joy of the journey.
Oh, that I will learn! Learn to count the cost, to figure in the steep, arduous parts of the path, on this road-less-traveled. Have you too, found yourself out at the far end of your journey, forgetting to count the cost of your adventures?
(Part 5 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)
