Stupid Things I Have Done, Part VI

Thank heavens, not something that happened during my presentation, which went very well. Everyone on my panel was really interesting and supportive, being much further along in their careers than I am. I got to catch up with some old friends I haven't seen in a while, see a city I'd never seen before, have some fun road trip action with my guy.

Enter stupidity. We were driving back yesterday, making good time, and we decided to stop at Mammoth Cave National Park in southern Kentucky. A lovely spot, and a very interesting park. At the very first pull off we spotted, we parked and noticed a trail map. Cool! Just what we needed after a long drive and a weekend of poor diet involving ice cream and breakfast buffets. It was a hike/bike trail and looked like it would be about ten miles to the end and back. We merrily set off on the level gravel trail, hand in hand.

It was all very fun at first: the interesting historical signs, the lovely woods, the increasingly sunny day. Until we went down a huge hill and suddenly realized we weren't anywhere near the end. My guy started to get really frustrated and thirsty. Having had a less Southern breakfast than he had, I for my part was feeling lightheaded, and my hippy shoes, which I had worn thinking the trail was too developed to require hiking shoes and socks, were biting into my feet. At the side of the road in front of us, plump families sucked down large bottles of liquid and feasted on ample picnic spreads. With my hubby reaching his breaking point, we decided to turn around, since we had no idea how much further ahead the visitors center/end of the trail lay.

The first mile after we turned around was awful. We trudged silently along, feeling every pang of our discomfort. But then, slowly but surely, we started to feel fine again. Our pace quickened. Soon we were swinging along, talking and even laughing. The lightheadedness turned to a minor pang in my stomach, the pain in my feet dulled to a minor annoyance, and my guy stopped glowering at every puddle he couldn't drink from and looking like he was on the verge of assaulting every biker with a water bottle.

By the time we reached the car, we were very happy, but no longer distressed. The stupid thing--setting off on a 12-mile hike with bad shoes and no water--became a humorous adventure, as well as a lesson of sorts. I touched the edge of my endurance, and saw that there was so much more there my body could give and adjust to. We had just scratched the surface, and we were built to handle so much more.

Toward the end of the Kentucky march, we saw something extraordinary: a bright yellow and black butterfly. Though spring is definitely further along there than it is in our neck of the woods, I was really surprised to see it, the only indication of larger insect life on our very long walk. I couldn't help but think, "it's a sign." Of what? I can't say. But my guy and I laughed out loud when we saw it, fluttering past us and high up into the trees.