End of the Road (Trip)

You're just over half way through the road trip. Tiring of museums, road side attractions, waterfalls. "Why am I so tired if I have been sitting all day?" someone is sure to ask, the question repeated as if it is a new thought throughout the trip. The passengers repeat their stories, unwilling to stop when you say "You told me that already." You study the map. Do we keep to the planned route? Cut the trip short? Take the more direct, less picturesque road home. At one stop the relative who promised a party of cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, lays out some snacks on the kitchen counter, yet never fixes dinner. You pull out the ice chest and make sandwiches for those hungry cousins around the kitchen table, using up the rest of the fruit before you have to drive home through the strict California inspection station.

One day of skipping exercise morphs into two days. I spend a whole day reading. Justification? I deserve it. Sedintary activities begin to take priority over stretching, strength, aerobics. I replace a glass of water with a soda. I stop for fast food, unwilling to put together a list, shop, cook, it's too hot, I'm too hungry, too tired, too rushed. I sit down in front of the computer to look up more recipes, but play computer games instead, shooting the balls at the frog, telling myself Scrabble will keep my brain in shape.

The last day you opt for the marathon drive home. Group agreement - we will do it even if we have to nap. You phone home to let the house sitter know you are on your way, you don't want to surprise her in the night. You recline the seat and pad it with blankets, making a bed of sorts for the passenger to sleep, then you are all so wound up with the thought of being home no one uses it to sleep. You find yourself pushing the speed limit, driving much too fast, and resort to cruise control to avoid a ticket. As the road signs tick down the miles, each one closer to home, you breath a sigh of relief, almost there, trip nearly over.

I try different things to motivate myself to get back on track. I write out lists for each day, maybe if these promises to myself are in writing I will be more apt to comply, to push myself into the motions which I know will make me feel better. I think about all the ways that doing these things will help me, projecting into the future, hikes I want to take, clothes I want to wear, death I want to avoid. Even these grim thoughts do not push me back into what I need to do.

Pulling into the driveway, even in the after midnight dark, your eyes cannot help but flash around the yard, checking plants which didn't get enough water, sidewalks unswept, status of your home. You are still somewhat wired so you unpack the car, rather than head straight to bed, patting the dog, checking the chickens, showering, then slipping in between the smooth cool sheets, relaxing, trip over, home at last.

I realize I don't need grim thoughts, I don't need to punish myself, I just need to ride this out. The miles will soon be behind me, just as in the road trip I took. A detour, that is all this was, I can get back on the road at any time. It will happen. I have faith.