It’s been almost a month since I came within 6 feet of someone other than my husband or child. Except for those moments where you pass someone quickly but don’t have the available space to be 6 feet away when doing so, on the sidewalk, a trail, or in a store. Or to insert a credit card and then leap back to the yellow line marked on the floor as instructed by the masked cashier.
Like most everyone else, I miss people and places.
The fifth week of this has been easier than the second one. We’ve all found better routines and better coping strategies.
I started hiking on Sunday, and am determined to go on a solo hike every day from now on. I felt so good on Monday I did two more long walks after my hike. My legs have been incredibly sore. That soreness that feels simultaneously bad and good. Good to feel something. Good to feel something other than anxiety and exhaustion.
While trails are open, parking lots have closed, since people weren’t following social distancing guidelines the first few weeks. Jeff and I trade off throughout the day with childcare duty, so I don’t want to waste any personal or work time driving around anyways. That means I’m hiking the same trail every day; one I can walk to from our apartment. Fortunately, if you have more than 20 minutes to hike, it’s a truly epic trail. I can’t imagine I will tire of it.
Today I took a different fork in the trail on the way back. My expectation was that it would be a dead end after a while (this trail is city-maintained, meaning the resources and upkeep are not near what our local regional parks receive. There are a few trails offshoots that have fallen to the elements and will remain so forever).
Instead of a dead end, I found an opportunity to walk through the creek the rest of the way back. I can’t think of very many times in the last decade when I have experienced such pure childlike delight.
