Biting off more than you can chew, lesson forty seven billion.
I’m trying to go out and do stuff, to reconnect with the outside world. It’s something my therapist and I talked about. She’d probably like me to share this out and abouting with other humans but I’m not quite ready for that yet. Leaving the flat and going to the beach yesterday was good for the soul though so today I went further afield.
And not just to a field, I went deep into the heart of the countryside and visited the ancient stone bridge known as Tarr Steps, near the town of Dulverton. I haven’t been there in some years and had forgotten that there is a bit of a hill from the car park down to the water and the bridge. The hill would be somewhat punishing on the way back up but getting down to the cool, babbling river was easy enough.
It was fairly deserted, save for a few dog walkers and a family of three quietly checking out the stones before they went to find ice cream at a nearby kiosk. Just what I needed – trees casting shadows into the afternoon sunshine, the clear water soothing me, the sound of birdsong cascading down from the topmost branches. Yup, I found myself in some rustic idyll. Who knew they even existed outside of Constable paintings and Hardy novels?
And then the hill almost killed me as I headed back to my car. What took me ten minutes going down took me maybe half an hour getting back up again what with all the coughing and spluttering and the needing to stop and catch my failing breath every few paces.
But I got back to my car (obviously otherwise I’d be dead and unable to write this shit) and felt proud of myself for pushing myself way beyond my normal capacity for exercise. And now I can dies and stop writing this shit.