As a reader and a writer, I've always been enchanted by new worlds and interesting characters. That's what Europe was for me. I fell in love with the people, the culture, the architecture, and the food. Such amazing food.
I inherited Germanic traits from each of my parents, but it still surprised me when the natives would strike up conversations with me while waiting for a light to change, or stop and ask me for directions while I was out walking. When I opened my mouth and my southern accent destroyed their language, they would always laugh and pat my hand, as if to apologize for my blunder. It took me forever to figure out why everything I tried to say in Deutch, or I think they call it Germ now, was so hilariously entertaining. I kept wondering if I had said it wrong. It wasn't wrong, it was just - funny.
After I made a few non-American friends, they explained why people laughed at my speech. From that point on I felt comfortable laughing with them when I explained in halting German that I was an American and had no clue what they were saying to me. I had learned several phrases before traveling to Europe, but the sentence structure isn't the same as ours, and I would ask a question and then be totally lost in the translation of the answer. Fortunately for me, everyone I came into contact with was very helpful in assisting me with the language, or anything else I appeared to need help with. It was frustrating from time to time, but everyone maintained a great attitude throughout the process.
One activity that is, or was, popular in Germany is the Volksmarch. I fell in love with the whole concept, and spent many weekends with my husband and young daughter, hiking through the woods. I never tried anything other than a 10 kilometer march, though. Our child was still very young, and many of the walks were in places where a stroller would be impossible, so we ended up carrying her most of the time. My husband never complained (she was small for her age), but it soon got to the point where I couldn't help carry her, and the responsibility fell to him.
I had always been very active, and I loved walking through the woods, breathing in the fresh air, and listening to the birds. There was the added incentive of a medal for everyone who completed the march. We have a drawer full of them packed away somewhere, and our daughter has her own collection for her participation in the kindervalken. Some of them are quite ornate, shaped like lederhosen or painted in multi-colors. She's very proud of them, as we are of her.
But soon the problems set in. On one particular walk, we were about halfway through when my legs gave out. I couldn't walk, and I couldn't figure out why. One moment I was hiking up the trail, and the next moment a severe pain stabbed through my inner thigh. I couldn't make my hip move. My husband walked on a ways, and then realized I was no longer beside him. He turned, our daughter astride his shoulders, and asked me if there was a problem. I told him I couldn't move, and he laughed. "What do you mean, you can't move?"
I just stood there, my left leg behind me, and stared at him. "I mean, I can't pull my leg forward. It's stuck."
He returned and set our daughter on her feet. She promptly sat down in the pathway and began picking at acorns or something. He tried to get me to walk forward, but I absolutely could not lift my leg and swing it forward. I was truly stuck.
After a couple of moments, he lifted me and carried me over to a small boulder. I sort of half-leaned, half-sat on the rock, and waited for him to figure out what to do. I didn't hurt much as long as I didn't try to move my leg, but it definitely wasn't going to take me further. There was no way he could walk back and get the car, because we were on a woodland path and there was no way he could drive back for me. We hadn't seen anyone else for a bit, so we didn't know if we were at the end of the line or just in a lull. If anyone had come by, we couldn't explain the situation to them anyway, because everyone else was German. He couldn't carry me and our daughter out, and she probably couldn't have walked the remaining distance.
So we sat there for awhile. It wasn't bad. We talked and laughed and made little games of what we would do if we had to sit out there all night. Or maybe all week. It was a lovely day, although the air would cool once night set in.
After an hour or so, I managed to stand up and walk again. The pain was horrible with every swing forward of my left leg, but I dragged my butt out of those woods and collected my medal. We weren't even the last to finish! As we sat on the side of the trail, many others had passed us by with a smile and a wave and a "Guten Tag." We just smiled and waved back, and our daughter would call "Choos!" as they walked away, which always brought a chuckle. I don't know if I spelled that right, but it's kind of the German equivalent of "Bye," I think.
That wasn't my last Volksmarch, but it was the beginning of a new awareness of how my body was betraying me. It was a lesson for just how quickly the pain could incapacitate me, with no warning. And I still had no idea what was causing it. At the time, I thought I might be dying from some unknown disease. It was a very scary thought, and I didn't like it. Not one little bit.
I hope everyone has a safe and enjoyable Memorial Day weekend. Don't forget the men and women who have given their lives for our freedom. And appreciate that freedom by being free with your love and understanding of others. I think that's the best tribute we can give to their memory.
No comments:
Post a Comment