Sore Muscles and Sunburns

I don't have anything pressing to get out of my mind and onto paper this morning.  I don't have the flurry of necessity to write.  Those are good mornings.  Those are the mornings when old (or new) emotions are stirring, screaming to get out on paper and the release through ferocious typing is nothing shy of sweet relief.  Today is not one of those days.

I want to record my observations from yesterday so I have some sort of record around my thoughts and actions.  I probably should have done this last night while everything was still so fresh,  but I had that beautiful fatigue that comes from a long day of moving the body, punctuated by a warm bath and fresh-out-of-the-dryer pajamas.  The only thing that was happening last night was a blanket and Netflix.  

I was up before 5am yesterday morning.  I was so excited for our adventure; a hike that I haven't done since the early 90's when my father, twin sister, and I flew from New Jersey to Arizona to visit my brother, who was attending ASU at the time.  I must have been 14 or 15 years old.  The trail was busy yesterday, not at all what I remember from before.  But yesterday's weather brought out everyone, whether to hike or just explore what little untouched desert there is left in the Valley.  I also felt a lightness and excitement that I could do the hike and enjoy a couple of beers afterwards without the fear of two beers leading to 8 and another blur of a Saturday night.  

I want to take a moment to remember yesterday's hike.  My brother taught me a mindfulness exercise.  Every step you take, say a letter of your name.  So step one is C, step two is H, step 3 is R, etc.  You get the picture.  You can spell out your full name or just your first.  Totally up to you.  I did that yesterday for a good 5 minutes, which doesn't sound like much time, but when you're surrounded by the open blue sky, the rustling sound coming from the bushes, and the smells of the desert in bloom, it's easy to get distracted.  What happened with this exercise?  I felt whole.  I felt my father's memory engulf me.  I felt my 15 year old self inside, not a distant young teenager, but an actual part of me.  I felt innocent and accomplished and connected.  I felt apart of myself but I also felt a part of the world around me.  And not just Peralta Trail, but a part of the  Sonoran Desert, of Arizona, the Southwest, the US, the world, the universe.  I felt small but necessary.  When I rounded the corner to the final view of Weaver's Needle, my breath caught in my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes.  They weren't tears of sadness or loss, they were tears of knowing.  Knowing what was, what is, and what will be.  And everything is going to be okay, like it always is.  I cried for my father, I cried for all the time wasted struggling, I cried for the distance I put between myself and my life and loved ones.  I cried because at 47 years old, I feel like I am finally arriving.  I'm debating on ever hiking that trail again.  I think I would expect that feeling again and expectations are the death of any new opportunity or old memory.

Back to the booze.  As my husband and I were traipsing back down the trail, I started thinking about a burger and a couple of beers.  There is nothing better than hours in the sun, whether it's at the beach, skiing, or hiking, than a big fat burger.  At first I worried about the thoughts of beer and I told myself, "I shouldn't be craving a beer."  But shouldn'ts are dirty words in my vocabulary so I accepted the thoughts as habitual patterns.  No biggie.  By accepting these thoughts, I was able to enjoy my surroundings without being swept up in a mental struggle.  Because I worked hard to hike to the top of Peralta Trail and I damn deserved the sweet relief of hiking down.  

We found a little bar in East Mesa that had good food reviews.  It sat in a non-descript strip mall; not at all exciting like the biker bar with the dinosaur sculpture on the back patio that we found last year after a day of kayaking.  But our strip mall taproom had to do because we were starving.  My plan was two beers.  My plan worked.  Until we got in the truck to head home.  All of a sudden my brain whirred back into habit mode and I asked my husband if he would like to stop for one more beer on the way home.  I was already feeling absolutely drained; the sun, a hard hike, a fat burger, and two beers, will do that to me.  I was shocked, with a fleeting moment of annoyance, when he said no.  He said we both know how that turns out and there were a few things he wanted to get done.  I was relieved because he was so right and he was protecting us, possibly for the first time, from another disastrous Saturday.  When we got home, I grabbed one of his high octane beers, sat on the back patio, and bragged about my hike to friends and family via text.  The beer made me sick.  I didn't finish it and actually got physically ill, so we won't count that beer as part of my total consumption yesterday.  

Craig came home with a tallboy for me.  I asked him to get one when he ran to the store to pick up a few things for dinner.  One.  One tallboy.  It's cheaper to buy three (not really, but it works out to be cheaper- the whole unit price thing).  He always buys three when I ask him, with all good intentions, to buy me one.  But yesterday he bought one and I was so absolutely grateful.  I was in bed by 5:30 with a cup of tea and thoughts about possibly having a glass of wine.  But I paused and realized the wine will taste like shit, it will interrupt my sleep more than the few beers will, and will make me wake up to, "I wish I hadn't...."  I hate waking up to that solo conversation in my head. 

What are my final observations from yesterday?  I'm losing the desire but the habit is still strong.  Subtle changes make a huge difference.  And it's quite possible that my husband is starting to become aware of our shared drinking habits and is wanting to make some changes as well.  I also recognize I don't have the emotional gusto to push full speed ahead.  Moving forward with honesty and curiosity is more my speed these days.  

Well, I'm going to take a hot Epsom salt bath to soak my sore muscles and relish the beautiful fatigue and sunburn from yesterday's hike.