I wish I could say that the walk felt good. That somewhere along the foggy route I began to feel invigorated in mind and body. This however was not the case. I was tired, probably slightly dehydrated, and every step felt like I'd had to talk myself into taking the next one. It was slow going with every hill turning into a mountain and every bench I passed calling my name. A three mile route that I'd usually average about a half hour to complete took me 45 minutes.
In fact the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that I had walked this route before. I knew it would eventually be over and so I pushed on. And truthfully it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Today's fog gave the ocean a mysterious quality with the sounds of gull wings, waves, boat rigging and fog horns floating out of the white void. As always there was lots of bird song to be heard and plenty of flowers blooming in the damp. But when I arrived home I was more happy that it was over than I was about having done it.
Sitting here now showered and caffeinated I do feel a small sense of satisfaction at having managed to do it even if it was a struggle. I'm sure there is a lesson in that but I'm also quite sure there is a lesson to be learned in my next cup of coffee...
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