By 7am I was on the trail – it was early enough that no-one had seen me set off; the motorhome dwellers were still tucked up in their vehicles in the carpark, the axe-murderer was hopefully still tucked up in his bed at home. Five hours later I would get back alive. Fear faced. ((Somehow walking solo on tracks accessible on foot from my house seems less threatening than tracks you have to drive to – even though it’s the same bush….completely irrational)
Then I came across a stream. A wide stream. A wide stream without a bridge and without stepping stones. There was nothing for it, but to doff the socks and sandals and wade across. It’s an irrational fear, that one about crossing streams. Don’t know where it came from, but I do know last time I was in a similar situation I turned around and went back to whence I’d just come. This time I plunged in up to my knees. Second fear faced and conquered.
Not too far up the path (and I do mean UP), it disappeared. The path, that is. In its place was a wall of rock with some silver chain hanging off it. I don’t do rock climbing. But there was no way I was going back into that freezing cold stream just yet, so I faced a third fear and hung on for dear life. I was so glad I did because it was all over in a under a minute and turned out to be nowhere near as bad as I had imagined it could be. Truth be known, you could have scrambled over the rocks unaided, but the chain was a nice comfort. I guess I still don’t do rockclimbing.
Last week’s training:
4km round the block (recovering from bug)
11km interval training of sorts
14km demanding enough bush walk (up Zion Hill, down Buck Taylor, Pararaha Valley, up Muir, back down Muir, Pararaha Valley, get stranded in bog, play Bear Grylls and rescue self, trudge into head wind along the beach back to Karekare carpark)