Froggies + fingerless gloves
More of my Lockdown One sort-of-memoir.
CHAPTER 11
Day 13 – 5817 steps
On the 13th day I walked! I woke up feeling not too bad and when I wandered into the kitchen there was a note propped on the table saying ‘Wake me up. I will walk with you.’
It was still too early – 6am – so I let the dogs out for their widdle, drank some water, got dressed and sat on my bed watching breakfast news until the more decent hour of 6.45.
I crept into Ari’s room and he confirmed he did indeed want to walk. Delighted, I backed out into the hallway, grabbed my shoes from the laundry and kitted up.
Ten minutes later he was ready and we had set off into the coldest morning I’d encountered so far. There were very chilly temperatures and rain forecast over the next few days so I was thrilled to have made it out and about before the weather might convince me otherwise.
When I say “coldest” I truly mean coldest. The park was thick with mist and as we walked our ears grew more and more icy. Rookie error, I thought, as my hands began to seize into claws and my nose began running. Bikes whistled past us and we decided to start slow, what with me being sick and all, and turn back for home around 20 minutes after we left.
A quick walk-by the café for two large and very cosy coffees and we made our way back to the warmth of home ten minutes later, proud, cold and puffed-out.
When we got in Ari went straight to warm up his cold ears and I busied myself making tea, checking emails, saying hello to various plants, telling the dogs to shoosh up.
The rush of energy came thick and fast and it was so welcome it made me cry. The walking mattered so much!!!
Not only that, I had confirmed that a glitch in the routine does not mean disaster. I can simply pick up where I left off when things are back on track. I can’t tell you how much more hopeful this made me feel. My body fizzed with pride and I felt even more accomplished than I did after a much longer walk.
Day 14 – 6810 steps
Rugged up against the chill, I headed out wearing my new $3 from Big W fingerless gloves and an extra layer, in light of yesterday’s freezing walk. This was a mistake, because although it had rained for much of the night, it was not really that cold. By the time I got to the end of the street I was sweating and my glasses had misted up.
No matter, I thought, I can sweat out any lingering traces of the bug that had side-lined me on the weekend.
My knee was aching, by the time I hit the park track. It had started hurting on the walk the day before and was now offering up a twinge of pain every few steps.
No matter, I thought, I’ll just relax into the walk and it will stop bugging me. I did that and it actually did stop hurting! What an athlete I am, I thought proudly.
I was still feeling a bit peaky, so determined not to walk too far or too fast. I’d just keep a steady pace and walk a little further than yesterday, I figured.
The shared pathway was not super busy, but those that passed me were intense. One woman had forgone social distancing altogether, she almost bumped my elbow as she jogged past, huffing and puffing and it was at that moment that I decided to move to the gravel track, away from other people’s saliva.
There was lots more rain and much chillier temperatures ahead, so I set about clocking up a decent amount of steps before the weather turned.
The gravel path was much nicer to walk anyway. It was further from the road and the occasional dog lumbered by, much friendlier than the speedy cyclists with their dinging bells and sudden shouts of ‘PASSING!’ before lycra-ed bottoms whizz by.
Maybe I had been getting ahead of myself, I wondered. Perhaps I should slow down, stop worrying about the distance covered and spend more time noticing the interesting things along the path.
I was feeling pretty exhausted already, clearly still recuperating from my cold/bug. I decided to keep to the gravel today and ducked across the concrete path back onto the gravel towards a little bridge.
The bridge was not so little really. It crossed the park’s wetlands area which was teeming with all sorts of vegetation including some kind of grevillea growing right in the water. As I stood on the muddy and very slippery bridge the still waters occasionally bubbled and undulated. A sign explained that lots of different frogs lived in this area, as well as plenty of varied bird life.
I walked to the other side onto an even muddier pathway that ran around the edge of the water. Giant trees towered overhead and they sprinkled me with raindrops, a sort of micro climate existing under the canopy.
Naturally it was time for my thoughts of a homicidal maniac lurking in the trees, but I shook them off in record time and pushed on.
Another little bridge lay ahead, crossing back to the park where I had entered. Ducks and swamp hens swam on either side of it. I bid them good morning in my most bird-friendly voice but they appeared unimpressed and swam a way. Another sign noted that these ducks would produce ducklings and could be spotted swimming with them around September.
I wondered what the world would look like in September. It was impossible to know but the medical experts were suggesting that it would be quite different to ‘normal’. Yet another ‘new normal’ to adjust to, it would seem.
I headed back to the gravel pathways that crossed the park and began my dawdle home. Giant mushrooms were popping up under the trees and for the first time I could see why that man might have been stomping on them. They really did look like stepping stones. Perhaps he was having a magical fairy experience, and not trying to destroy things, I reasoned. At this very moment a frog croaked, and I decided he was confirming this thought. Perhaps that man had not been a mushroom wrecking monster after all.
Further on the black dogs were galloping about in their usual spirited way and I was reminded of the cartoon black dog imagining of previous days.
For me, walking was a replacement for talk therapy, I realised. It was self-talk therapy … a way to process what was going on, to let my mind wander, to slow things down and to reap the rewards of those feel-good hormones that come flooding in once I’m home, splayed out on the couch and wiping the sweat from my brow.
A couple I’d seen earlier on the path, closer to home, were walking ahead of me with a giant dog. He was carrying a neatly tied bag of dog’s business and as they approached they must have noted that the rubbish bin was so full there were poo bags sat on top of it, too.
They walked on, the man hanging on to the bag, clearly keen to find a better place to dispose of it. It warmed my heart, to see them walking together with their pup, to see them caring enough not to add to the overflowing bin, to see them starting the day in such a united and positive way.
Naturally I teared up, because even though I am pretty happy on my own, sometimes I really do wish I had someone to share things with. It seemed pretty silly that a bag full of dog poo could prompt these sentimental thoughts and spark those pangs of loneliness, but it is what it is.
I must have been especially primed for those feelings because I’d dreamt that an old friend had become my boyfriend the night before. Isolation was definitely taking a toll, I decided, before shaking off those feelings and picking up my pace.
Forget about the poo bag, I told myself. Push on!
I wove my way through the park, Anna McNuff’s book playing in my ears. She was talking about rats in a particular NZ hiking hut’s water tank and I figured that things could be worse and felt glad I didn’t have maggots in my drinking water. Shudder.
Ahead an older man with a fluffy black and white dog was walking. As we crossed paths he called to his dog and I said “good morning”, misunderstanding his cry for a hello due to having my earphones in.
That misfire cheered me up instantly and I practically trotted the rest of way to the café, even picking up a cherry danish to have when I arrived home, along with my usual giant coffee.
I had a big day ahead and the danish, I decided, would give me extra energy. Plus, it was a bonus that I was actually craving something, considering my appetite is rubbish at the moment.
It was Max’s birthday, my middle kid. He turned 24 and I was breaking out of my usual home-y days to drop a present at his doorstep. Then I was heading to the northern suburbs to drop off a gift and some supplies for my friend Karen. And then to do the same at my friend Gemma’s place. Then home, probably quite late in the day, to flop in front of the TV and eat leftover paella from the night before, followed by a cosy session of reading in bed.
But first? A hot cup of tea in an even hotter bath laced with Epsom salts, and a healthy dose of TikTok animal videos to start the day on the right note.*
* Highly recommended.
What kind of frogs live in these wetlands?
The Common Eastern Froglet
The Spotted Marsh Frog
The Striped Marsh Frog
The Eastern or Pobblebonk Frog and
The Southern Brown or Ewing's Tree Frog.
The Pobblebonk Frog?! What the hecking heck? Let’s investigate further …
The brilliantly named Pobblebonk Frog is found in eastern Australia – and in the wetlands at the end of my street. It’s a large and warty-looking frog which burrows underground when it’s hot emerging when it rains – as it had on this particular day.
The female of this species can lay up to four thousand eggs at a time. Mrs Pobblebonk Frog is actually the Nigella Lawson of the frog kingdom. She deftly whips up the jelly that surrounds her freshly laid eggs into a foam using her froggy forearms.
This helps to protect the eggs as they float on the water’s surface and also encourages them to stick to neighbouring vegetation, increasing their chances of survival and keeping them away from hungry egg-loving creatures.
Ari’s note & willingness to walk on the coldest morning made my heart sing. What a kid.
Aren't notes from your son so heart warming? Mine wrote one about breakfast. I've kept it in my drawer. He will be technically an adult soon so I'm savoring these moments.