To Begin Again
Recently, I set off for my 791st consecutive day of walking outside for at least 1 mile, most days longer. I had my 18 month old granddaughter, Natalie in a stroller and a leash tethered to my 90 pound grand dog, Homer. We approached the crossroad to an adjacent neighborhood. I noticed another walker with her leashed dog. Before I could reassess the situation, Homer bolted for the other dog, and because his leash was wrapped around my wrist, I went with him. Bottom line, I ended up face planted on the blacktop working through the fog of such traumatic impact. My first thought was about Natalie. Was she ok? My second thought was about Homer. Was he ok? And my third thought was, I need to finish my walk.
What ensued was circuitous trail of kindnesses. The other dog walker called 911. Her presence soothed me even as she applied constant pressure to my bleeding forehead. I felt her calm. And even more, she stayed with me.
I heard another voice reassuring me that my granddaughter was ok. Someone else took the leash of my grand dog calming me by telling me the dog was ok. Someone else put my ear pods gently in my coat pocket. Within seconds, I felt the collective embrace by strangers who stopped, showed up, and formed a circle of caring embrace.
The Washington Township Fire Department emergency personnel from Station 41 arrived within what seemed like a nanosecond, and next thing I knew, their competent assessments supported by gentle demeanor were rivaled only by my repeated dismissals of “I’m fine.” I think I even told them I needed to finish my walk. Now, I have first-hand knowledge of the thorough and capable professionalism of our local first responders.
My physician husband arrived on the scene and assessed the significant facial contusions and rapidly expanding swelling. He assured the EMS team he would keep a close eye on me. Other than looking worthy enough to be the lead in a horror movie, remarkably, all medical assessments concluded I was going to be ok.
Even as my husband walked Natalie, Homer and me back home, I wondered if I could complete walk #791. My husband imparted a hard “NO,” so instead I parked myself on the couch with constantly replenished ice packs to my face. And there I stayed for the next several days. As I grieved the loss of a respectable walking streak, I heard another soft voice of assurance from the grateful corners of my mind reminding me it’s ok to start over. It took me a while, but I gave myself permission to take a few days off from walking to heal. I realized what a gift it would be to begin again in due time.
A byproduct of living means confrontations to the familiar are inevitable. Such uninvited incidents catapult you with the challenge to reassess and renew. In my case, that moment happened while face planted on the blacktop. I had no choice but to trust the kind voices reassuring me all would be ok. Accepting help when you think “I’m fine” is an exercise in humility. I have heightened appreciation for others who stay and care even when you don’t think you have a need.
I took some necessary time to heal, then several days following my accident I went for a walk beneath the gift of a cloudless sky. I raised my bruised face towards the sun in gratitude for the ability to begin again. And so began a new journey of walking outside every day for at least a mile. Day #1; the greatest gift of all.