I bend and I break. And then I get back up and try again.

It's been almost 3 years since I have written a blog. When I am settling down to sleep, if people or ideas keep coming to mind; I take action. I call the person (or persons) and I start typing. Today is the day that I will do both.

We took a trip to Utah in the fall of 2019. I was feeling physically and mentally strong. We had our days planned and our hikes spread out to take it all in and rest in between. Our first hike was a beautiful one at the Queens Garden/Navajo Loop in Bryce Canyon. The deep red, brown and gold colors bounced off of our faces and into the sky as if to say, stay and play awhile. As a busy and on-the-go working woman, it was tough to adapt to the pace of nature; however, Mother Nature came through and beckoned me to trust Her. I did.

Bryce Canyon

Our next hike took us into The Narrows. Dressed in four layers of clothing from the waist up, waterproof pants, neoprene boots, 2 walking sticks, a backpack filled with water, protein bars, camera, iPhone and bricks (just kidding!), we took the tram to the Temple of Sinawava, then took the Riverside Walk paved path for about a mile. The trail ends at mouth of the Narrows. In we went. The current felt strong (we did this same hike in the Summer of 2015) and I could feel the temperature of the water through my layers. Keep in mind, I'm hiking with Paul who is foot taller than me. When the water hits his knees, it hits my chest.The temperature was in the high 30s/maybe mid 40s in the sun. We didn't want to go too slow or too fast. We wanted to take everything in and have fun. We stopped to take pictures, sip water and stand in awe of our surroundings. The current dictated where we went and when we crossed over. Paul's watchful eye and specific suggestions were appreciated; yet somewhat frustrating. It looked so much easier when he was doing it yet it felt like a struggle for me and like I had weights tethered to my legs. I slipped on a rock and fell into the water (which had to be 30 degrees) and saw my walking stick going down the current - away from me. I couldn't get myself upright. I shouted some major "F" bombs and apologize to anyone that was hiking the Narrows that day for my potty mouth. I was cold and scared. Paul and my dear friend pulled me up, retrieved my walking stick and helped me find me way to higher ground. I immediately started to cry all the while my crew was helping me disrobe and change into dry clothing. I felt as if all of my confidence had drained out of me. Encouraging our friends to go on; Paul and I headed back to dry land. The wet, cold clothes that I couldn't take off, along with water slouching in my boots made for a uncomfortable walk back to our hotel. I believe that I was suffering from hypothermia. Burning and fear had taken over. The groundskeeper at our hotel suggested that I soak in the tub with the hottest water I could stand along with a double handful of Epson Salts. That along with nachos, pulled pork, desert and laughter at dinner was the cure I needed. I did not have any repercussions from my fall (unless you count my bruised ego) and; so far, it had made for a great story that I tell my grandchildren.

The Narrows

Out last hike in Utah took us to Angels Landing. Touted as "strenuous with steep exposure to long drop-offs" we were ready for the distance and challenge, The hike is 2.5 miles each way. Taking note of the sign that read, "last bathroom before Angels Landing", we emptied our bladders and headed toward the West Rim Trail. The first section was fairly level and followed the river. Switchbacks allow the trail to climb the canyon wall, up to Refrigerator Canyon. The Wiggles put you on top of the ridge, at Scout Lookout, where the views are amazing. We stopped at an overpopulated outhouse, sipped water, and headed toward the and From Scout Lookout, where we got a good idea of the difficulty of the rest of the hike . For the final 1/2 mile, the trail follows the ridge across a saddle and up the hogs back. This is where things get interesting, steep, and where chains become your best friend. I began climbing which turned out to the approximately 6 steps. I touched one of the chains and froze. I stepped to the side and crawled toward a rock to catch my breath. This was not for me. A fear of heights that I did not know I had became very apparent. I would hang back while my husband and friends ascended. I sat with myself and my thoughts for about 1 and 1/2 hours. I did a small (less dangerous) hike, talked to people and to myself. I thought that one of the main reasons that I come to Zion was to hike this trial and make it all the way to the Summit. I felt as if I had failed myself. I was not a happy camper or climber. The expectations that I had put on myself were choking me and I did not know how to push the off button. Paul and I had a long talk that night and, again in the morning. He told me how tough the climb was for him and that it was shear will got him to the top. This is the one constant in our relationship is communication. Sometimes it's loud and sometimes it's quiet. This trip it was paramount that we stay on the same page and move forward.

Walters Wiggle

Hogsback (to the summit)

To say that I learned so much about myself on this trip would be an understatement. I was humbled, enthusiastic, tired, happy, awestruck and in the company of some very dear friends. We had a plan and we set out to go what we all wanted to. We checked in with each other and spent just as much time laughing and making memories as we did hiking and eating. This is such a beautiful part of the United States of America and I encourage everyone to go West and discover the National Parks and a terrain that look nothing like Fort Lauderdale!

On December 28, 2019, I took the dogs outside to "do their thing" and was concerned that our sociable schnauzer, Isabella, would run across the street to visit with the dogs that were beckoning her to play. Pretending that I once used to play in the NFL, I thought I could block her. My leg went right and my knee went left. I heard a pop in my knee and fell to the ground. Thankfully, it was grass and thankfully my neighbor lifted me into the upright position. I hobbled to the front door proclaiming I cannot put weight on my leg and Paul sprung into action allowing me to ask "how could this have happended" over and over again. Thank goodness the crutches that we had in the garage that we once swore we were going to throw out where still there.

A visit to the orthopedic surgeon and several x-rays later it was revealed that I had fractured my tibia. Broken down this means that I broke a bone under my kneecap. Prognosis: straight leg brace 23/7 (I get to take it off to shower) and crutches. Hearing this along with the obvious words that I cannot drive hit me hard. If you feel that I am wallowing in self-pity, I was. I had my 15 minutes day in and day out until acceptance washed over me. When you have a setback take the 15. If you need more, take it.

[Not painted on freckles and not a stock photo]

These past 6 weeks have found me asking for help, reading, meditating, making a living amends to Paul by thanking him daily for his patience, cooking, shopping, and, most of all, listening. I don't often think about the specifics of the marriage vows that I took; but the "in sickness and in health" had been right up there. My injury is not permanent. I am in good shape, healthy and am willing to do whatever it takes to get back to doing what I love best: living life on life's terms. I have spent time with girlfriends on my back patio, riding around in their cars while they do errands, and took a road trip to pay respect to my cousin who recently passed away.

More will be revealed next week. Perhaps, I will begin physical therapy and get some rotation in my brace. Perhaps, not. What I do know that whatever the plan is, I will accept it and look back on this setback as just that - a setback. I have family members who are bedridden and are no longer able to drive and when I talk of visit with them, all I see is a big smile; followed by I love you. That is enough for today. That is enough for a lifetime.

I can see clearly now.

• "Take care of your body it's the only place we have to live." Jim Rohn