Tsunami, 48. Unexpected Walk.

Last Thursday, on one of my hikes in the hills behind our house, I found myself facing a steep and rocky descent normally used by trail bikers. I'm not trusting Google Maps again. Since I hated the idea of turning back, I tackled it with the help of my walking stick. A couple of times I thought I would fall and eventually be found at the bottom by a biker the next day. But, I made it down safely and hobbled home. I hobbled because the muscles of my legs were aching at the unusual effort. 

Yesterday, we ate lunch early and went out at midday for a drive nearby. So did everyone else, it seems. We went first to the Monte Curota, at the lower end of the peninsula of Barbanza, facing the estuary, Ría de Arousa. It was very windy, and the temperature had gone down since earlier in the week, but the air was sharply clear, and the views sensational. We left the car and climbed up to the lookout at the top. Going up, my legs bothered me, but not too much. When we came down, they were screaming bloody murder.

I hadn't gone walking in the morning, partly because of the strong wind, partly because my legs were saying no. Yet, when my husband suggested going to the Río das Pedras, I agreed. Masochistic, much?

We walked along the bed of the river. I'm no goat, and in spots I wished I had my walking stick with me, yet I made it to the medieval bridge and the remains of an ancient priory that dates from the thirteenth century. Some say that the track that leads there is what remains of a Roman road. It could be, if one accepts that there were a lot of stones that have tumbled in the intervening years. 

Up till there, painful, but fine. But then, we went up the path beyond the priory, uphill. I gamely followed them. In spots, it was quite steep, and I trembled for when we were to head down. It's a spectacular walk, though I didn't quite make it as far as my husband and daughter, but by just a few meters. When we started the trek down again, it was painful. I asked my husband to find a sturdy stick for me, which he did. After that, it was easier, though my legs were asking me, "Seriously?" 

I did finally make it back down to where we had left the car. By that time, I was hungry, and so was my daughter, so we ate a picnic lunch in the car. The worst part about the hike was not so much my painful muscles, but people. Since my huffing and puffing is difficult through a mask, I was wearing it mainly on my wrist. But, every time we crossed paths with someone, I would put it on and take off my glasses. Generally, I would stop and wait for the people to pass me by. Then, I would take it off again, and put my glasses back on. Otherwise, the sudden loss of vision meant I couldn't calculate as well where to put my feet. And my asthmatic lungs appreciated the unbridled air. 

There were a lot of people out and about yesterday. As we passed through Pobra do Caramiñal, the terraces were filled, mostly with people not wearing masks. The path up the river was pretty busy, especially if one stopped to count all the cars parked at its beginning. Not everyone was local, either. A man asked my husband how far it was to the highest of the natural pools. He said he had no idea because he wasn't from the area. The good thing is that there weren't crowds all together, and in the open air, passing quickly by others is not conducive to spreading contagion. But sitting still in the bars or on terraces is another story, especially since many terraces have tent-like plastic surrounding them to protect the clients from the wind. 

Today, my legs hurt, but not more than yesterday. I went walking and felt fitter than I had at the beginning of the week. Slowly, slowly, my body is recuperating mobility and, at some point, I can leave behind the title of couch potato, and move on to minimally fit. 

Life continues.