Hitting the Wall

Yesterday I read AWTM's post at Spouse Buzz about hitting the wall. I get hitting the wall. Been there, done that, I have the scars to prove it. To get the conversation going, AWTM asked if we'd ever hit the wall and what sort of ladder we used to get over it.

Here's what I wrote:

Oh yeah. Lots of walls. Actually for me it was more like finding myself at the bottom of a river. First, I had to realize that I was at the bottom of a river and I was drowning. Then I had to decide that's not where I wanted to be. Then I had to remember that I knew how to swim and that I was a competitive swimmer for 13 years.

Once I got my head above the water, I had to get out of the water. And that is always tricky because when you've been in the water for such a long time, it is scary to get out. Even though I did not want to be in the water, I knew, KNEW, the water. So I got my hands on the ground, then slowly worked on getting my feet out, then legs and the rest of me. Then seeing where I had just been, I ran as far away from the water as possible. Cursed the water. Swearing never to go back to the water. But when it rained I would find myself washed down by the river's edge. If the down pour was strong and unexpected, I sometimes wound up in the water. My head still above water though. I climb back out. Get away from the water again. Curse it a little less.

Of course, it rains all the time. Sometimes, it is easy to see the down pour coming and I take shelter. Sometimes it sprinkles for days or weeks on end and the journey down to the river is slow and I forget to catch myself before I get to the edge again. Sometimes, I recognize I am there and purposefully dip my toes in the water.

But each trip to the water, I learn something about myself, about the water, and about the journey.