I am walking two and a half miles this morning - my longest venture yet on the trail. George and I try something new today. He follows me to the parking spot at the end of my planned walk. I leave the car and ride with him in the truck to be dropped off at the big intersection on the trail in TR. I'm equipped with a cell phone, just in case I've bitten off more than I can chew.
First, however, I stop in our local outfitter to look for a day pack that will accommodate my growing list of supplies for my walks. Diabetes requires me to be better prepared than I have been. I find a fanny pack with a bright pink pouch that holds a new water bottle. I'm a cancer survivor, although not breast cancer, and the pink appeals to me for that reason as well as my growing conviction that it is very feminine indeed to sweat profusely while exercising in public.
Ten years ago I started having to use a seat belt extension while flying. Needless to say, I'm not at all sure the fanny pack will fit. A tiny young woman helps extend the waist strap to its fullest. I'm telling her my recent life story while we work - I'm recovering from knee replacements on both knees, I'm diabetic, I haven't been able to walk like this for about 10 years. I'm not embarrassed; I just want her to appreciate what this means to me and to the others like me who continue to struggle to find what health can be for them. Dammit, I want the pack to fit me, not only fit around my waist.
Fit it does, with the strap completely extended. It's snug, but not at all uncomfortable so I'm OK.
I also buy protein bars and a carabiner to attach the full water bottle that I brought from home. I walk out of the store clanking with enough supplies to tackle the Appalachian Trail and I am honestly more excited than I can stand.
Today it seems to me that there are two kinds of people using the trail: those who take "it" for granted and those who don't. "It" will certainly mean different things to different people, but for my purposes today, "it" means age. I notice that people my age and/or size grin as they approach and speak as they go by. They wear street clothes , whether walking or riding. Their T shirts tell me something about their life history and I hope they take time to stop at the outfitter and share their visual personal stories with the helpful young woman there.
Truthfully, I know the others are of an age that accepts fitness as a responsibility for a lifetime. I'm honestly happy they have been raised that way and hope they never face the lifestyle illnesses that will kill most of my generation. But, I 'm feeling damn uppity today and enjoying it. The youngsters are all cyclists, riding bikes that may have cost more than my first car. Their clothing looks like it is applied with spray paint and has logos in languages I doubt they can speak. Except for the variations in color, they all look alike. I couldn't pick a single one out of a police line up.
I make a mental note to start treating my T shirts from physical therapy with more respect and hang them up right after they come out of the dryer. They will be my trail wardrobe from now on. They are truly woven of the fabric of my recent life and I'm proud of it. I decide to wear the "Joint Camp" shirt for my next foray, confident that the motorcycle cop patrolling the trail will notice the hospital name before he assumes I'm trolling for registrants to some backwoods gathering for illicit agricultural products.
This is the first time I've accessed parts of the trail that I have never been able to see from the road and I suddenly think that it will be like that from now on until I manage to hike my way into downtown Greenville. Unexplored territory, but I want to cover it in full. I make new mental note to add my tiny trail map to my trusty new pack. I'll be ready.
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