The (Other) Baroness of Fellington
There is much learning, lovelies, if one has the eyes to see.
The other day, I was hiking on The Hill. I have been slowly increasing my endurance on both the uphill climb and the downhill run, the more I’ve been doing it. At the same time, my confidence has been increasing as well. I can DO this. Good feeling, yeah? I was on the downhill leg, and I was running down the trail, sprinting across rocks, feeling like a freaking gazelle. And then I felt the exact moment when I went out of control. I went from upright to a forward momentum, and by then, my legs could not stop the motion. I fell forward, like I was sliding into home on my belly. I felt it warranted a “Fuck!”, so that’s what I uttered. I could feel scrapes on forearms and knees. But my arms had taken the brunt of it, so I didn’t hit my nose, teeth or face, and I didn’t break any bones. Or my glasses, which stayed on my head. I turned over and lay down on my back. And I felt the adrenaline kick in. Then I was laughing. I wasn’t hurt. I was alive and whole. And I learned the valuable lesson of not going running into the lake just because someone else does.
When I was a wee ’un, maybe about six or so, my mom, sister and I went to the lake with friends of my folks’, with their two kids. As soon as we got there and had set up the blanket, one of the kids, Skipper, went charging into the water and started swimming. Not knowing that I didn’t know how to swim, I also went charging into the water. And started drowning. I was in over my head and didn’t know how to keep my head above the water. I also didn’t know to hold my breath while under water, and I was full out panicking. Finally, Skipper’s mom ran in and got me (I was told that my sister saw me out there and yelled that I was drowning). My mom held me as I coughed out my lungs, breathed, and calmed down--then she gave me a sandwich. But I realized that I should probably not go headfirst into things I know nothing about. I learned to be careful.
Cut back to the other day. My hiking buddy knows how to run trails, has been doing it since he was a wee ’un, and does it quite skillfully. That’s exactly what he was doing when I decided to follow him with the same intensity. My growing confidence and all. And that’s when I gained too much momentum and wiped out. I followed Skipper into the lake all over again.
So here’s what I’ve taken with me from this experience...
1. Go slow. Recognize your skill level, respect it, and slowly build it up to professional level. If you go crashing into something without the mental knowledge and the physical strength and dexterity, you’re going to fall, break bones, or kill yourself. Better to slow down than maim or kill oneself.
2. It’s okay to fall. Get dirty, get hurt, even. Falling (or almost drowning) is the best teacher you’re going to get. It drives home the first lesson in a way that someone cautioning you really can’t do. When you fall, you learn in your body what too much is, how that feels. And then it becomes part of my favorite thing, the sense memory. As long as you don’t gravely injure yourself, falling is great.
This, in conjunction with my anaphylactic shock episode a few weeks back, has taught me that it’s okay to have experiences that shake up my body. It’s part of life to be sick and injured sometimes. To not always be in control. I don’t have to be...perfect. I don’t have to be afraid of "What if...". I can get the white dress dirty. I can have scars. I can live fearless instead of small and pinched. I can trust the universe.
[Title reference: at work, we used to call our precious Fel Fel “The Baroness of Fellington”. You know, because she fell twice...I miss you, Baroness...]
The other day, I was hiking on The Hill. I have been slowly increasing my endurance on both the uphill climb and the downhill run, the more I’ve been doing it. At the same time, my confidence has been increasing as well. I can DO this. Good feeling, yeah? I was on the downhill leg, and I was running down the trail, sprinting across rocks, feeling like a freaking gazelle. And then I felt the exact moment when I went out of control. I went from upright to a forward momentum, and by then, my legs could not stop the motion. I fell forward, like I was sliding into home on my belly. I felt it warranted a “Fuck!”, so that’s what I uttered. I could feel scrapes on forearms and knees. But my arms had taken the brunt of it, so I didn’t hit my nose, teeth or face, and I didn’t break any bones. Or my glasses, which stayed on my head. I turned over and lay down on my back. And I felt the adrenaline kick in. Then I was laughing. I wasn’t hurt. I was alive and whole. And I learned the valuable lesson of not going running into the lake just because someone else does.
When I was a wee ’un, maybe about six or so, my mom, sister and I went to the lake with friends of my folks’, with their two kids. As soon as we got there and had set up the blanket, one of the kids, Skipper, went charging into the water and started swimming. Not knowing that I didn’t know how to swim, I also went charging into the water. And started drowning. I was in over my head and didn’t know how to keep my head above the water. I also didn’t know to hold my breath while under water, and I was full out panicking. Finally, Skipper’s mom ran in and got me (I was told that my sister saw me out there and yelled that I was drowning). My mom held me as I coughed out my lungs, breathed, and calmed down--then she gave me a sandwich. But I realized that I should probably not go headfirst into things I know nothing about. I learned to be careful.
Cut back to the other day. My hiking buddy knows how to run trails, has been doing it since he was a wee ’un, and does it quite skillfully. That’s exactly what he was doing when I decided to follow him with the same intensity. My growing confidence and all. And that’s when I gained too much momentum and wiped out. I followed Skipper into the lake all over again.
So here’s what I’ve taken with me from this experience...
1. Go slow. Recognize your skill level, respect it, and slowly build it up to professional level. If you go crashing into something without the mental knowledge and the physical strength and dexterity, you’re going to fall, break bones, or kill yourself. Better to slow down than maim or kill oneself.
2. It’s okay to fall. Get dirty, get hurt, even. Falling (or almost drowning) is the best teacher you’re going to get. It drives home the first lesson in a way that someone cautioning you really can’t do. When you fall, you learn in your body what too much is, how that feels. And then it becomes part of my favorite thing, the sense memory. As long as you don’t gravely injure yourself, falling is great.
This, in conjunction with my anaphylactic shock episode a few weeks back, has taught me that it’s okay to have experiences that shake up my body. It’s part of life to be sick and injured sometimes. To not always be in control. I don’t have to be...perfect. I don’t have to be afraid of "What if...". I can get the white dress dirty. I can have scars. I can live fearless instead of small and pinched. I can trust the universe.
[Title reference: at work, we used to call our precious Fel Fel “The Baroness of Fellington”. You know, because she fell twice...I miss you, Baroness...]
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