Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke
Let me tell you the story of a weekend gone (darkly) right.
There’s a particular kind of joy that comes with having good friends visit. It’s the kind where you stay up just long enough to say a proper hello and then sensibly agree to tackle actual conversation in the morning. That’s exactly what happened when my friend and his wife rolled in late last night. I got them settled, said good night, and was horizontal approximately eleven seconds later.
Morning, however, arrived with purpose. I fired up the waffle iron and poured rounds of kombucha while everyone eased into the day. Post-breakfast, we broke out the board games my friend had brought, settled into the comfortable rhythm of people who genuinely like each other, and let the hours drift by agreeably until it was time for our weekly pizza ritual.
Now, pizza at our house is a full creative endeavor, but this week we adapted the menu to accommodate my friend’s dietary restrictions. Out went the bulgogi sauce and the spicier peppers and cauliflower; in came alfredo. I’ll admit I mourned the cauliflower; we have a special relationship, but the pizza was genuinely delicious. Sometimes constraints bring out the best in us. Or at least in our pizza.
After supper, the sun had finally stopped being aggressive about it, and the evening called for a walk. We drove to a nearby park we’d visited before and set out on a trail loop. One mile in, however, it became clear that ‘evening walk’ had quietly turned into ‘mild night hike.’ The light was going fast. We made the sensible decision to turn around rather than trust the trail to loop back on its own schedule.
Sensible decision, unfortunate execution. Somewhere in the growing dark, we missed the turn that led back to the car. We walked. And walked. The park got darker. We walked some more. Eventually, we had gone considerably farther than we’d come, which is the universe’s way of confirming that yes, we had indeed missed our turn. After some backtracking, we found it.
By the time we reached the car, the park was officially closed, and the gate was closed. There was a brief, wordless moment where we all looked at each other. Then we pulled up, the gate obligingly swung open on its own, and we drove home in the satisfied silence of people who had earned their sleep.
Which we very much did.
Until next time, may your trails be well-lit and your gates always auto-open.