With just a few days' prior notice, we were treated to a great weekend trip to Maine, staying with some in-laws at their parents' lake house. It was a beautiful place about an hour Northwest of Portland, and the kids got to swim with their cousins, fish, ride in the (very nice) boat and the giant inner tube towed behind it, make smores, and generally have almost too much fun for their little bodies to handle.
It was drizzling on Sunday morning, so we decided to pack up and head out on a hike up a small "mountain"; being from Colorado, it's hard for me to call anything I see out East a mountain. The four adults and five kids -- years 11, 8, 5, 3, and 3 -- drove about 30 minutes to Sabattus Mountain with some snacks, rain gear, and a bunch of bug spray. [attention readers... ominous foreshadowing follows] A., 5 yrs, was wearing borrowed hiking boots.
Because we are a sporting-but-not-outdoorsy family, with kids who are just now getting to the point where it's a feasible activity, this was the first real hike we had been on. The trail is a nice one, roughly 3 miles in a loop, up approximately four or five hundred feet to the peak. It's easy for adults but just challenging enough for the kids without being daunting. We all took off through the mucky trails at the bottom and the kids were doing great. A. mentioned at the start -- to our later regret -- that her heels were hurting, but we brushed it off.
Up the trail we went, with R., my little 3.5 yr-old tough-guy, motoring on as if we were slowing him down. He kicked butt on that hike, all around. It wasn't until the last 100 yards or so that his little legs started to get tired. But I digress...
We made it to the top, and what little we could see of the view from up there through the thick fog was amazing. The kids were duly impressed at how high up they had climbed, as we looked over the cliffs and saw the valley below. But after stopping for a snack and sitting for a bit, A. started whimpering, and when we pulled off her boots... she had two very large open blisters on her heels. Anyone who has hiked with ill-fitting boots knows her predicament.
Through her tears and pain, she grasped that there was nothing we could do but hike back down, and though she cried for the first quarter of the descent, she toughed it out and eventually was able to control the pain and enjoy looking around at the crazy tomato-sized and -colored mushrooms, the fallen trees, the tiny snapping turtle, and everything else she usually loves.
After cleaning up her feet a bit for the ride home, we talked to her and apologized for not listening to her when she first told us about her heels hurting. We had even brought along her regular sneakers just in case, but we brushed off her complaints even though we had an alternative. There was no good excuse; we screwed up and she paid the price.
I was proud of my little boy for how well he did, though not entirely surprised. He's very strong, tough, and determined, and it fits his personality and nature for him to see the hike as a challenge that wouldn't beat him.
But I was overwhelmed with pride and admiration for my little girl who overcame the pain and the seemingly hopeless desperation of knowing she was only half done with the hike, out in the middle of nowhere, and all she had to look forward to was intense pain. I've been there and know how hard it is, and I was much older than 5. Parents say all the time that their kids surprise them, but some things are more surprising than others. Sometimes I don't give her enough credit for being tough, but she certainly earned the Ironman trophy of the weekend.
The real test will be the next hike we go on. Will she attack the challenge?
4 comments:
Poor A.! I hope she's doing better today. She's an awesome kid--something tells me she'll tackle the next challenge.
Well, we did have to put extra band-aids on her heels tonight because of the uncomfortable rubbing on her sheets, but I agree. I told her again tonight how proud I was and why--that I had gone through the same thing and I knew how hard it was to keep going--and though I think she was a bit embarrassed by the praise, she got it. I asked her, now that she's had a day to think about it, would she want to go on another hike? With good boots, of course?
She said "yes" without hesitation.
Then her little brother stomped on her fingers as they were climbing on the swingset, and the whole night went to hell. But you know how that is.
It is really a mountain. Honest to Geology! It is just a very, very, very old worn down mountain.
At least that's what I tell myself when I (a New Mexican real mountain dweller) visit the Ozarks.
I had forgotten how much blisters hurt until I wore badly fitted boots on a day hike recently. Wanted to stomp on those boots but my feet hurt too much! I hope A. recovers quickly!
Post a Comment