What walking is to me
Getting up early in the morning to go see hundreds of friends you didn't know you had
Training walks with friends
Everyone in high spirits, ready to conquer the day
Knowing in your mind that a (relatively) very small percentage will cross the finish line on their feet, but hoping in your heart that you will be one of them
Putting one foot in front of the other
First rest stop? Time to drink!
More walking
Talking to random people along the way -- each with their reasons for being there, but most not willing to share them this early. Conversations fade in and out as everyone develops their own pace and relaxes into it.
Cheering stations rock -- the energy provided by these people is phenominal. Most are people who have come out meaning to cheer on a single friend or family member, but since they aren't there at the moment, they unconditionally give their energy to you. Others are faces that you'll see again and again. The guy with the pickup and the pair of dogs. The megaphone guy who spent the weekend shouting "Heeeeeeyyyyy Walkers!" every time a cluster came in sight (Did he miss a single cheering station? I don't think so.)
Time for another rest stop. Refill the water bottle. Woops, didn't finish the last one, but should have, so hold up the line in order to finish the one in hand before refilling it. Grab a snack; the body needs it. Stand in line at the portajohns, but not for long.
Back onto the trail. Walk more.
Talk more.
Walk more.
Start hearing stories about people's reasons for being there. This one is a survivor. This one walking in memory of someone who died years ago. This one walking for someone who's currently undergoing chemo. And that one walking just because they've got the energy.
Walk more.
Finish the water bottle and realize that it's still a while before the next rest stop. No worries.
Another rest stop. Drink more. And more. Pee.
Fall in with walkers who are walking close to your own pace. Find out more than stories and names. Talk about work and about families. Walk more.
Conversations fade again at the next rest stop. They want to stop for longer than you want to stop. That's okay, there's plenty more miles to cover.
Walk alone for a bit. Feel your body relax. Enjoy the silence. Feel the power of what you're accomplishing. Drink more. Be at peace.
Another cheering station. Some familiar faces. There's the guy with the megaphone. And wasn't that person with the odd hat at the last one too? Yeah, they're here for you. And you and you and you. Shouts of "thank you" and "great job" and "you can do it" are commonplace. Thank you? Why are strangers thanking you for walking for a cause in which you believe? Because it's a cause of which they are a part, too. This one lost a child. That one lost a parent. They don't walk, not because they don't want to but because their lives weren't able to be turned upside down for the weeks and months ahead of time. But they're as much a part of this Walk as you are.
More walking.
More talking.
Smiling.
Cheering.
Drink more.
Lunch break. See the stops that have been pulled all out to provide a laugh for you. The antics of the people working there. Working just as hard as they ever have -- all to give you a nutritious meal in the rain.
Go over to first aid. Hear the anguish in the voices of the people who thought they could make it but know now that they can't go on. Hear the comforting words of the doctors, nurses, EMTs, and all the rest who give their time so that you can go on. Words of encouragement spoken by them. Words of support and commiseration spoken by you to complete strangers. After all, they were part of this and now they have to choose between the physical pain of continuing and the emotional pain of stopping.
Grab some foot powder and move off to an empty spot to apply it. Feel the soothing powder as you rub it into your feet. Can anything have ever felt this good before?
Change clothes if you've got dry ones. If the rain didn't soak the ones you started in, your sweat has done it. Clean and dry and fed, it's time to walk on. But wait... one more pit stop before you go.
More and more conversations. More snippets of other people's lives.
The next few cheering stations and rest stops start to blur. You're drinking enough. You're snacking. You're putting one foot in front of another. And you're still smiling. This is cool. You can do this. More alone-time to reflect.
Talking with a group that formed up randomly. This one from out of town, this one's lived here for their entire life. This is a good group, good mix, good pace. Stick with them for a while. Watch as other people join up and fade away. Join up and move on. Laughter is good.
Before you know it, you're walking with just one other person again. Someone for whom there is a deep bond. The bond of making it this far. But they're fading. Not falling behind, but fading away. They want to cross the finish line. They need to cross the finish line.
They made promises. They accepted donations. But they're suffering. Walk with them some more. Take a break and ask them to break with you. Walk some more. Talk with them about what they *have* accomplished. Talk about tomorrow. Keep them talking. But when they can't continue, then convince them to stop. Convince them to do the hardest thing that anyone has to do. Convince them to hold out their hand, thumb-down. Call for a ride on the sweep van. It's hard to do. But it's what they need to do to be able to keep walking. Damn this sucks.
Walk alone for a while longer. Will you be the next one to put out your hand? Will you actually make it? You didn't train that much more than they did? Doubts. Fears. Weakness.
Another cheering station restores your faith. Someone is handing out cookies. More thank you's. Hugs from strangers. Rhyming signs. You can make it. You can do this.
Keep walking. You know you can do it.
More walking. More talking. Talk to someone who has heard of your team. Talk with them about their team. Keep walking. Keep drinking.
The sun isn't rising any more, it's slowly setting. What do you mean, that was the last rest stop? It can't be almost done -- but it is. Crossing the last bridge, and into the Wellness Village. Teammates there to greet you. Find your tent assignment. Hope that your tentmate -- nice to meet you -- has already arrived and gotten it set up.
Blessed shower. Oh. My. God. Hot water, soothing the aches. Cool water soothing the chafe. Standing there in the stream for minutes and more minutes. Muscles aching, but accomplished. Time to dry off. Muscles are screaming now -- muscles that have been ignored in favore of those required to walk are now being used.
Sitting outside of the shower trailer. More conversations. Taking a luxuriously long time to dry off. Sitting down and knowing that you don't have to stand up immediately and keep walking.
Stagger back to your tent. Put on clean, dry clothes. Put on shoes that aren't designed for walking -- slippers, flip flops, something comfy. Take the ibuprofren that you forgot to take earlier. Walk off the sore muscles. See the displays. See the shared stories. Walk over to the mess tent. Find teammates, find walking/talking partners from the day. Fill your plate and eat. A hot meal has never tasted so good.
More conversation over dinner. Tales from the day. Tales of accomplishment, tales of imagined failure, tales of tales of tales. Speeches from the stage.
Realizing that you're barely awake. Muscles screaming as you stand after the longest sit-down of the day. Walking back to your tent and collapsing, knowing that there's more tomorrow.
More of the same and none of it the same. It never is the same. Walk. Talk. Drink. And then walk some more, knowing that no matter how far you manage to go the next day, it was worth it. You've done something magical.
And now to sleep.
That was last year... and here I go again.
Training walks with friends
Everyone in high spirits, ready to conquer the day
Knowing in your mind that a (relatively) very small percentage will cross the finish line on their feet, but hoping in your heart that you will be one of them
Putting one foot in front of the other
First rest stop? Time to drink!
More walking
Talking to random people along the way -- each with their reasons for being there, but most not willing to share them this early. Conversations fade in and out as everyone develops their own pace and relaxes into it.
Cheering stations rock -- the energy provided by these people is phenominal. Most are people who have come out meaning to cheer on a single friend or family member, but since they aren't there at the moment, they unconditionally give their energy to you. Others are faces that you'll see again and again. The guy with the pickup and the pair of dogs. The megaphone guy who spent the weekend shouting "Heeeeeeyyyyy Walkers!" every time a cluster came in sight (Did he miss a single cheering station? I don't think so.)
Time for another rest stop. Refill the water bottle. Woops, didn't finish the last one, but should have, so hold up the line in order to finish the one in hand before refilling it. Grab a snack; the body needs it. Stand in line at the portajohns, but not for long.
Back onto the trail. Walk more.
Talk more.
Walk more.
Start hearing stories about people's reasons for being there. This one is a survivor. This one walking in memory of someone who died years ago. This one walking for someone who's currently undergoing chemo. And that one walking just because they've got the energy.
Walk more.
Finish the water bottle and realize that it's still a while before the next rest stop. No worries.
Another rest stop. Drink more. And more. Pee.
Fall in with walkers who are walking close to your own pace. Find out more than stories and names. Talk about work and about families. Walk more.
Conversations fade again at the next rest stop. They want to stop for longer than you want to stop. That's okay, there's plenty more miles to cover.
Walk alone for a bit. Feel your body relax. Enjoy the silence. Feel the power of what you're accomplishing. Drink more. Be at peace.
Another cheering station. Some familiar faces. There's the guy with the megaphone. And wasn't that person with the odd hat at the last one too? Yeah, they're here for you. And you and you and you. Shouts of "thank you" and "great job" and "you can do it" are commonplace. Thank you? Why are strangers thanking you for walking for a cause in which you believe? Because it's a cause of which they are a part, too. This one lost a child. That one lost a parent. They don't walk, not because they don't want to but because their lives weren't able to be turned upside down for the weeks and months ahead of time. But they're as much a part of this Walk as you are.
More walking.
More talking.
Smiling.
Cheering.
Drink more.
Lunch break. See the stops that have been pulled all out to provide a laugh for you. The antics of the people working there. Working just as hard as they ever have -- all to give you a nutritious meal in the rain.
Go over to first aid. Hear the anguish in the voices of the people who thought they could make it but know now that they can't go on. Hear the comforting words of the doctors, nurses, EMTs, and all the rest who give their time so that you can go on. Words of encouragement spoken by them. Words of support and commiseration spoken by you to complete strangers. After all, they were part of this and now they have to choose between the physical pain of continuing and the emotional pain of stopping.
Grab some foot powder and move off to an empty spot to apply it. Feel the soothing powder as you rub it into your feet. Can anything have ever felt this good before?
Change clothes if you've got dry ones. If the rain didn't soak the ones you started in, your sweat has done it. Clean and dry and fed, it's time to walk on. But wait... one more pit stop before you go.
More and more conversations. More snippets of other people's lives.
The next few cheering stations and rest stops start to blur. You're drinking enough. You're snacking. You're putting one foot in front of another. And you're still smiling. This is cool. You can do this. More alone-time to reflect.
Talking with a group that formed up randomly. This one from out of town, this one's lived here for their entire life. This is a good group, good mix, good pace. Stick with them for a while. Watch as other people join up and fade away. Join up and move on. Laughter is good.
Before you know it, you're walking with just one other person again. Someone for whom there is a deep bond. The bond of making it this far. But they're fading. Not falling behind, but fading away. They want to cross the finish line. They need to cross the finish line.
They made promises. They accepted donations. But they're suffering. Walk with them some more. Take a break and ask them to break with you. Walk some more. Talk with them about what they *have* accomplished. Talk about tomorrow. Keep them talking. But when they can't continue, then convince them to stop. Convince them to do the hardest thing that anyone has to do. Convince them to hold out their hand, thumb-down. Call for a ride on the sweep van. It's hard to do. But it's what they need to do to be able to keep walking. Damn this sucks.
Walk alone for a while longer. Will you be the next one to put out your hand? Will you actually make it? You didn't train that much more than they did? Doubts. Fears. Weakness.
Another cheering station restores your faith. Someone is handing out cookies. More thank you's. Hugs from strangers. Rhyming signs. You can make it. You can do this.
Keep walking. You know you can do it.
More walking. More talking. Talk to someone who has heard of your team. Talk with them about their team. Keep walking. Keep drinking.
The sun isn't rising any more, it's slowly setting. What do you mean, that was the last rest stop? It can't be almost done -- but it is. Crossing the last bridge, and into the Wellness Village. Teammates there to greet you. Find your tent assignment. Hope that your tentmate -- nice to meet you -- has already arrived and gotten it set up.
Blessed shower. Oh. My. God. Hot water, soothing the aches. Cool water soothing the chafe. Standing there in the stream for minutes and more minutes. Muscles aching, but accomplished. Time to dry off. Muscles are screaming now -- muscles that have been ignored in favore of those required to walk are now being used.
Sitting outside of the shower trailer. More conversations. Taking a luxuriously long time to dry off. Sitting down and knowing that you don't have to stand up immediately and keep walking.
Stagger back to your tent. Put on clean, dry clothes. Put on shoes that aren't designed for walking -- slippers, flip flops, something comfy. Take the ibuprofren that you forgot to take earlier. Walk off the sore muscles. See the displays. See the shared stories. Walk over to the mess tent. Find teammates, find walking/talking partners from the day. Fill your plate and eat. A hot meal has never tasted so good.
More conversation over dinner. Tales from the day. Tales of accomplishment, tales of imagined failure, tales of tales of tales. Speeches from the stage.
Realizing that you're barely awake. Muscles screaming as you stand after the longest sit-down of the day. Walking back to your tent and collapsing, knowing that there's more tomorrow.
More of the same and none of it the same. It never is the same. Walk. Talk. Drink. And then walk some more, knowing that no matter how far you manage to go the next day, it was worth it. You've done something magical.
And now to sleep.
That was last year... and here I go again.