A great friend of mine asked me to go hiking in the Wichita Mountains last weekend.
Historically, I hike in much the same way that most people eat blowfish.
But I said I would go anyway.
The first question you ask when you are about to go on your first hiking trip at 50 years old is “what to wear?” Actually, that was the second question for me, with the first being, “Have I lost my mind?”
Since my first question was already answered, I spent an inordinate amount of time looking for the right outfit, and luckily found a pair of jump boots my husband bought me when he got a motorcycle. The boots, he said, would protect my delicate ankles.
Check out those protected ankles.
Luckily, my motorcycle mama phase lasted less than three months, mostly because my addiction to breathing supersedes a need to feel the wind in my hair.
The boots have been in the top of my closet around six years, and I only kept them to remind me how grateful I am I never thought I would look good in a leather jacket and chaps or I would have those, too.
Still, I laced up my army green jump boots, threw on some jeans and a sweat shirt, pulled my hair back and took off for the Wichita Mountains and the first hike in what I feared was my short life. I had successfully morphed from Biker Chick to Hiker Chick.
Yeah, I don’t believe it either.
Not to say that I am a girly-girl, but I don’t run or exercise much, and I haven’t been in a physical education-type atmosphere in somewhere around 30 years. However, I dance both on land and in my car which turned out to be enough cardio to get me through the three-mile hike.
Early in the hike, we passed a lady who appeared to be approaching her 80’s, with unprotected ankles, wearing running shorts and traversing rocks like a 15-year-old hopped up on Red Bull.
That’s when I realized I should have put some big girl panties on with those boots.
In addition to not being a hiker, I am also not a fan of heights. It probably should have occured to be that I would have to deal with heights in the mountains, but it didn’t. I was too busy protecting my ankles.
After one particular steep ledge where I was writing a heartfelt farewell note to my loved ones in my head, I had a visit with Jesus. And Jesus told me to put on my big girl panties.
I’m so glad I did or I would have missed waterfalls, crystal clear water, four different colors of moss and bison tracks. It was beautiful.
I’m glad I saved those boots, because I’m going back.
My new church home.