The climax of training walks

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“Levi, when we get to the restaurant you can ask for a table for six in Spanish, OK?”
“I can’t remember how to say it!”
“Una mesa para seis personas por favor. And you’ve got another two hours of walking to practice it, so you’ll be fine!”
“I’ll say hola! Que tal?,” Tessa declared, hopeful of getting off so lightly.
Micaiah agreed to ask for more water at some stage and Ella-Rose promised to say gracias whenever she could.
As it turned out, we were served by the one kiwi waitress and didn’t get to speak a word of Spanish other than chorizo and empanada!
But speaking Spanish was secondary anyway. The main purpose of lunch at El Sizzling Chorizo was to celebrate the accomplishment of being able to walk the distance required to get to the restaurant and back home again afterwards – 27km. Not exactly a marathon, but still a decent distance for a seven-year-old.
And they did it. In fact, going up the last hill of the day, they didn’t plod or trudge or even just walk. Like tightly wound springs, they bounced, two feet off the ground tucked up under them, seeing who could jump the highest.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.

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