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As happens with most horse wrecks, it was over in an instant, and I never even came off the horse when it went down. But I knew I was injured because the horse had rolled up on my foot as I pulled it …
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As happens with most horse wrecks, it was over in an instant, and I never even came off the horse when it went down. But I knew I was injured because the horse had rolled up on my foot as I pulled it from the stirrup, crushing it against my scabbarded rifle.
We were several miles up Horse Creek hunting elk. I was a 15-year-old kid and had been thrilled to finally get to go elk hunting, but this wasn’t going according to plan.
I started whimpering when my tough guy dad uttered the immortal words, “Walk it off.” So I did. I hobbled down the icy gully in which we’d wrecked before climbing aboard my horse again to ride back to camp.
By the time we’d reached camp, it was clear I wouldn’t be able to walk it off.
In fact I had broken bones and would be riding the PHS elevator and hobbling around on crutches for a month or so with my foot in a cast. I remember somebody had to carry my books.
“Walk it off” became a family joke, part of our family’s lore.
A half a century later I actually am walking it off. Three miles a day.
I started walking when I was deeply grieving the loss of both my parents, as it seemed to take some of the edge off. It actually seemed to dissipate the sadness a bit.
Since then I have logged a couple thousand miles at 3 miles a pop. What I have discovered is that while it’s been good for my physical health, walking has been even better for my head. As bad as things might seem at the outset of my daily walk, they don’t seem nearly so bad after an hour. Problems seem less insurmountable. Loneliness becomes more like solitude. Anxiety quits running the show, and a kind of serenity replaces it.
Yeah, the lawnmower is broken and the trees are a mess. The garage door opener is still broken, and making the money stretch is an ongoing pain in the butt. And I am all alone in this broken world, but somehow I know it’s all going to be OK.
I know I have only got a little while longer to watch the sun come up over the Bighorns and hear the sandhill cranes squawking and witness the changing of the seasons. I know this life is a privilege, not a burden.
One foot in front of the other.
