so i park on a little side street near bw8 and boheme when i have some time for a hike in and around terri hershey park. the strong and light walking sticks made of american sycamore that i had left on a wall near the entrance had been removed, which bummed me out. you can't imagine how many times i've been saved by 1 or 2 walking sticks-bamboo or sycamore-on tricky and very off-road "trails", which i knew would be muddy. i walked on the path with the river on my left til i got to highway 6, and then i came back on the anthills. around wilcrest, there appeared to be a quite steep embankment, but i thought i could make it even tho i hadn't found a good walking stick, or even a bad one.
umm, ya, no. fell and slipped into the jetstream. i was like, wow, "look mom,i can fly!" course everyone knows, it's not the gravity defiance at 35,000 feet that gets you; it's the landing. and so it was in my case. my upper back slammed into the ground so hard that i literally could not breathe for a good 90 seconds.
then i said to my lungs, "bitch you better straighten up and fly right, or i'm going to suffocate you just on the principle of the thing."
i guess my lungs were afraid i was going to kick their asses, because they suddenly became compliant. although every breath felt like someone was stabbing me in the back-"et tu, brutus?"-i knew at that point i'd probably survive.
i have a policy with myself that if i'm dumb enough to wipe out on my bike, crash my car, or fall under a big rock while hiking, then my job is to get up, dust myself off, and move towards home base, come hell or high water. i tell any griping body parts that they better shut the fuck up, or i'll show them what true agony looks like. they typically fall in line.
tbc..
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