We Walked A Mile...And Then Some

Our family participated in a charity event this weekend, a walk-a-thon to raise money for our sister school in Vietnam. It was a terrific cause with the money raised going towards helping these kids afford school, buy supplies and improve their classrooms. And I didn't want to go.

If it had been any other weekend, I would have been thrilled to participate. Really. But I'd just finished up an all-day homeschool conference -- you know, the kind you go to and volunteer at, where your feet ache from standing all day, directing foot traffic, and your mouth feels all stretched out from smiling so much? -- and I was beat. Exhausted. I didn't think I could walk five steps, much less a mile. But we had signed up and the kids were excited and I was not about to let the other families down who had invested so much time and effort in setting this up. I would go and I would somehow find my smile. And I would leave the 3 year-old home with Daddy; even though he'd had the kids the day before while I was at the conference, I figured he could handle the youngest while he stayed home and watched football. She'd have a much better time playing cars than traversing the trails in the Refuge.

My hope of leaving her home was looking a lot less promising as she followed me around the house, scrambling to put her own shoes on as I laced mine up.

"Don't you want to stay home and play with Daddy?" I asked, my voice much too hopeful.

Her lip quivered. "I wanna be wif you." And then her eyes welled with tears. "You were gone all day."

Yesterday. The conference. Guilt flooded me and I relented. It was an easy walk. Just a mile. She could do it. She'd hiked all throughout Yellowstone and the Badlands, hadn't she? Besides, it would be good practice for our trip to California later that week -- and all of our day-long visits to Disneyland.

So we headed out. I tried to be in a good mood as we drove -- late -- to the Wildlife Refuge, the location of the walk. I tried not to grumble as the wind whipped about and the skies darkened. I tried to smile as the clock ticked and we still hadn't started, waiting for those who were even later than me. And I tried my hardest not to complain as we finally started the walk and Julia decided she much preferred being carried than walking on her own two feet.

"Just let her walk," someone suggested as I lifted her into my arms. "She'll catch up."

Yes...shrieking at the top of her lungs. Since I didn't want to a) leave my child wandering aimlessly through the wildlife refuge or b) listen to her blood-curdling screams, I adjusted her on my hip and followed the trail. After all, it was only a mile.

I voiced this out loud and someone corrected me. Apparently, the title of the walk was slightly misleading. The coordinators decided Walk a Mile In My Shoes flowed a little better than Walk Two Point Five Miles In My Shoes.

"For real?" I asked. "It's really two and a half miles?"

Yep. Did I also mention we were hiking to the highest point in Sherburne County? On a steep and narrow dirt path? Single-file, with people going up and down at the same time? With poison ivy lurking dangerously close to the trail? And wild pumas just waiting to pounce?

OK, so I'm being dramatic. There were no wild pumas. But there was poison ivy -- and I was still carrying 35 lbs. of extra weight squarely on my hip. I was not a happy hiker.

But I did it. No, I didn't carry her the whole way and no, the hike wasn't that miserable. The scenery was beautiful and I was hiking with good friends, which definitely sweetened my rather sour deal. Still, I was happy to reach the parking lot. I was happy it was almost over and I could set the preschooler down, gather my belongings and go home.

I was heading to the car when the two older kids reminded me of the raffle.

"There are going to be prizes!"

"And we could win them!!"

So I heaved a big, heavy sigh and we stayed for the raffle. Which meant, of course, that we had to wait for everyone to get back from the hike. I thought I was the last one to finish but apparently some brave (i.e. foolish) souls had decided to hike the longer loop -- as if 2.5 miles wasn't long enough?? -- and were slowly trickling back in to the registration area.

Finally, everyone returned and we were ready for the raffle. The first ticket was being pulled from the box when we all noticed the dark clouds racing across the sky and the winds picking up in intensity.

"Let's hurry up with this," someone said. "Looks like it's going to storm."

No sooner than the words were out, the skies opened with a heavy downpour of ice-cold rain. The wind whipped furiously, hurricane-strength gusts that tore the tarp off of our tent and threatened to upend tables. Kids were screaming, huddling under tables or taking cover near the bathrooms while the adults raced around, grabbing items and throwing things into any available car.

The storm was an eye-opener for me. You would think, based on my day, that it would be the final nail in the coffin of my bad mood. But it wasn't. Instead, I felt invigorated. It suddenly hit home why we were doing this walk and my earlier surliness melted away with the rain.

I didn't have to do this walk; I chose to. When this was all said and done, I had a car to seek shelter in, a car with a wonderful heater that would warm my chilled bones in a manner of seconds. I had a cozy house to go home to and a microwave that could easily ready a hot cup of tea the minute I walked through my door.

The kids we were walking for didn't have those luxuries. If they wanted to better their lives and have any hope of ending the cycle of poverty they existed in, they had to make that walk. Even if it rained. Even if it was windy. Even if it snowed. Even if they had to carry a book bag or help a younger sibling along the way.

These kids did this walk every day, to school and back home. I doubted they complained and I realized -- rather belatedly, of course -- that I shouldn't complain, either. I should be grateful for walking that two point five miles today, grateful that I had the experience and grateful that, by taking part, my family was taking one small step in making someone else's life a little better.

It was definitely a mile worth walking. Well, two point five miles worth walking...