Big Haha Falls

By now you should know I love exercise.  If you don’t, here’s a heads up:  I love exercise.  I also love tanning.  It’s the wannabe Mexican in me.  Sunshine, beaches, pools…I love everything about summer.

 

I hate winter.  No, I didn’t mistakenly use the word hate.  That was intentional.  I despise it.  The only reasons that I still live in MN and endure the hellish 9 months of winter are:

 

1.     My family lives there

2.     It’s the healthiest city in the country

3.     It’s a hipster/creative’s dream

4.     Summer is glorious

 

Fall is quite nice, for the entire two weeks we have mild temperatures, but before you know it you’re tossing out your apples and factoring in an additional 15 minutes to get ready just to make sure you can zip on all three of your coats and start your car early.

 

Spring in MN? Spring is like the bratty, pre-teen step-child to summer.  It usually goes away and hides even when by society’s standards it should be interacting with you.  It doesn’t.  90% of the time it’s MIA.  However, the glorious 10% when it does poke it’s head out and surprise you, you quickly forget about the winter and it’s moodiness…until it tricks you.

 

Combining my love for exercise and deep, longing desire for summer is how Spring got me.  Manipulative little SOB I tell you.

 

It was early March and mid 70s.  I should have known.  I should have seen the signs.  I should have recognized it was a trap. 

 

I told my roommate Allison that we needed to go hiking in Minnehaha falls on such a nice day.  Iced coffee from Five Watt in hand, we headed out to blaze the trails of the falls, only to find they’d not only been blazed but paved for us.  Pump factor went down immediately. 

We started off on a basic trail and once we were in the thick of the park, I stepped on a patch of what I thought was snow but turned out to be glare ice.  The moment I started to slip I knew what was coming.  No amount of yoga and/or core strength could help me now:  I was eating shit.  My worst nightmare of becoming the white girl version of “Scarlet Takes a Tumble” was becoming reality.  That would have been bad enough and I could have learned a lesson just from that.  Oh, but there’s more.  The impact from my fall was so great that it ripped a hole in my leggings.  Not in the knee.  Not in the thigh.  Nope.  In the ass.  A big, huge hole. 

 

I don’t care who you are, how good your bum is, how many squats you do, you simply do not want to have your ass exposed to the entire woods through the remnants of your leggings while you have to finish your hike OUT of the woods and back to your car.  Not even Kim Kardashian.  Trust me, I asked.

 

THIS is the most realistic painting I could ever paint for you about both life and exercise.  We go out and try something new, and sometimes we fail.  We fall.  Hard.  We eat shit.  Our most vulnerable places are exposed.  It’s uncomfortable for you and everyone watching.

 

What I ended up doing that day is what I believe we need to do in life: own it.  Laugh at ourselves.  Understand that these things happen.  If we recognize that eventually everyone deals with these moments, we’re able to navigate them with confidence and grace instead of living in fear of it happening again…and get one hell of a story out of it.