Red Rocks
Last Saturday I fell down.
It wasn't a big deal -- my left knee got slightly scraped, didn't break the surface, it stopped hurting within ten minutes. Adam and I had hiked up the beginning of the Red Rock trail, a simple stroll for anyone with any real hiking experience, which does not include me. The first ten minutes of the path consisted of narrow channels of red rocks covered in dusty gravel -- and it was the gravel, I knew from the beginning, that would be my undoing. The rocks I could navigate as long as they were reliable footholds, but the gravel slipped out from under you if you gave it half a chance. Nevertheless, we made it to the end of that section of path. Rested. No more gravel: Adam climbed a large pile of impossibly-wedged rocks to get the best angle for a photo and I surprised him by following. Surprised myself. We followed the loop path around the back of the giant red rocks that jutted up toward the sky, took a detour right to the foot of the largest ones. I sat on the top of a narrow boulder onto which I had raised myself by pushing against the rock in front of it. We looked down on all of Boulder and tried to see the math building.
And then, on the last leg of the loop, where the path opened up and it was nothing but a gentle downhill slope back to the top of the first path, back to the pile of stones I had so masterfully conquered -- perhaps I had gotten cocky, too cocky to give the gravel that had just made its return to the scene the respect it was due. My right foot gave way as I placed my weight on it, skidded forward, left leg bending and scraping the rough ground. Startled, aching, a bit shaken up, I let Adam lead me over to the rocks we'd rested on earlier, to the one at the perfect height for sitting. I looked at my leg. Slightly red. The pain was fading. I brushed red dust off my jeans.
I was okay.
There is no point to the story, except that I'm incredibly happy that I fell down. I am not physically adventurous, and I accept that about myself. Skidding over a bit of gravel and slowly stepping my way up a small pile of boulders is about as far as I'd want to go. But, limited as my domination of the physical world may potentially be, there's still something so satisfying about pushing myself, just a little. Going far enough out of my comfort zone that I might slip, I might fall -- I never fall. I never let myself. I never leave solid ground.
But on Saturday, I did. And I was fine.
I will, hopefully, post something longer here soon -- I've had an incredible few days, as I am apt to do when visiting Adam, including musings on my relationship to the passage of time, deception and trickery, the most overwhelming present I've ever gotten, lots of math, an utterly failed job interview, a successful quest, stairball, thorns, and incredibly high altitudes (high enough to compress the air in a bottle of water on the way down!). But I don't have time to post about any of that right now. The point is: the world is to be experienced. No matter what, I'm almost always happier on days when I've done something, even as small as just going outside and walking. I need to remind myself of this sometimes.
Okay okay gotta go -- time for us to look at the pictures we took today! :-)
It wasn't a big deal -- my left knee got slightly scraped, didn't break the surface, it stopped hurting within ten minutes. Adam and I had hiked up the beginning of the Red Rock trail, a simple stroll for anyone with any real hiking experience, which does not include me. The first ten minutes of the path consisted of narrow channels of red rocks covered in dusty gravel -- and it was the gravel, I knew from the beginning, that would be my undoing. The rocks I could navigate as long as they were reliable footholds, but the gravel slipped out from under you if you gave it half a chance. Nevertheless, we made it to the end of that section of path. Rested. No more gravel: Adam climbed a large pile of impossibly-wedged rocks to get the best angle for a photo and I surprised him by following. Surprised myself. We followed the loop path around the back of the giant red rocks that jutted up toward the sky, took a detour right to the foot of the largest ones. I sat on the top of a narrow boulder onto which I had raised myself by pushing against the rock in front of it. We looked down on all of Boulder and tried to see the math building.
And then, on the last leg of the loop, where the path opened up and it was nothing but a gentle downhill slope back to the top of the first path, back to the pile of stones I had so masterfully conquered -- perhaps I had gotten cocky, too cocky to give the gravel that had just made its return to the scene the respect it was due. My right foot gave way as I placed my weight on it, skidded forward, left leg bending and scraping the rough ground. Startled, aching, a bit shaken up, I let Adam lead me over to the rocks we'd rested on earlier, to the one at the perfect height for sitting. I looked at my leg. Slightly red. The pain was fading. I brushed red dust off my jeans.
I was okay.
There is no point to the story, except that I'm incredibly happy that I fell down. I am not physically adventurous, and I accept that about myself. Skidding over a bit of gravel and slowly stepping my way up a small pile of boulders is about as far as I'd want to go. But, limited as my domination of the physical world may potentially be, there's still something so satisfying about pushing myself, just a little. Going far enough out of my comfort zone that I might slip, I might fall -- I never fall. I never let myself. I never leave solid ground.
But on Saturday, I did. And I was fine.
I will, hopefully, post something longer here soon -- I've had an incredible few days, as I am apt to do when visiting Adam, including musings on my relationship to the passage of time, deception and trickery, the most overwhelming present I've ever gotten, lots of math, an utterly failed job interview, a successful quest, stairball, thorns, and incredibly high altitudes (high enough to compress the air in a bottle of water on the way down!). But I don't have time to post about any of that right now. The point is: the world is to be experienced. No matter what, I'm almost always happier on days when I've done something, even as small as just going outside and walking. I need to remind myself of this sometimes.
Okay okay gotta go -- time for us to look at the pictures we took today! :-)
posted by Ashila at 2:16 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home