Stronger at the Broken Places

Rod’s knee is hurt. That means I’m pulling the cart all the time, and at least every other day is a slack day of 0-5 miles to allow for recovery. So, today we walked a mile, then ate a huge diner breakfast, then we walked another three miles and got a room for the night. Yesterday we walked a full 17 miles from East Port Angeles to Sequim. The day before that was just 3.5 miles, and before that a rest day. The walk into Port Angeles clocked in at 8 miles. We’ve walked just under 29 miles in 5 days. It’s slow going, but WE’VE WALKED MORE THAN 100 MILES! And Rod’s knee is almost recovered, so tomorrow we’ll return to a more normal ~15 mile/day pace.

In other news, the cart is HEAVY. We’d always intended for Rod to pull uphill, utilizing his superior weight to our mutual advantage, while I’d take downhills and rely on my healthier joints. I’m now pulling it all the time though, and the uphills are brutal. Frankly, the downhills are no picnic either. I have to lean back in the belt and use my weight as resistance, taking tiny, even steps and praying I keep my footing. I live for flats, or gentle rolling hills, where I can treat my legs like pistons and trundle along in fast and easy rhythm.

Stream valleys are the shady, beautiful enemy. The dark and leafy cuts appear suddenly in the landscape, the path angling sharply down, and the creeks’ siren song calling cooly from the green heat depths. I tread slowly, carefully, down the moss-slick path on one bank and heave and sweat  up the other. In the gloam between, I sit by the musical creek and provide a moveable feast for mosquitoes and question my life choices.