take your husband for a stroll.

so he can't get away from important conversations.

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash

I’ve walked more steps last weekend, than I accumulated during the entire working week.

Sad, but true. I’m a pale office worker that leaves and returns home, in the dark. I squint in anything brighter than HR approved productivity boosting ambient illumination. Vitamin D3 is taken in tablet form..

Knowing how difficult it was going to be to get a park outside our local high school turned polling booth, we chose to walk the 4.2km round trip. We set a pace just above a stroll, and chatted about our finances, of all things.

I want to do some exciting things… ALL of the things… NOW! Not in 3 months, 6 months or next year. Simply because we CAN. We can afford it. Why can’t we do this, and that, at the same time. I justified my excitement from several convincing angles, ending with Carpe Diem, as they say. None of us are getting any younger you know…He either doesn’t want to do ALL of the things and hasn’t worked up the courage to say so, or he is simply more cautious (read stick in the mud). Having known this particular stubborn stick and been stuck in the mud with him for 33 years, my bet is on both reasons.

I am sure it was this discussion and not the mid morning sun that got me a little heated. Let’s ignore the breathlessness that simply could have been a result of the walk plus talking a hundred miles an hour, or my very unfit body thinking it was fighting for it’s very life. But I conceded to calm my jets, and HE conceded to see a financial advisor (which will be left to me to arrange.) I’ll call it a Win Win. Just.

The following day was the fundraising walk I signed us up for months ago, supporting Breast Cancer research. Two laps of a local park totaling 4.4 km, around a couple of kids sporting ovals and a dog training center. We talked about missing being involved in kids sports now our boys are older, and when would be the right time to get a dog again, since our stinky anxious Cavoodle Archie crossed the rainbow bridge a few years ago. How the right breed might get our reclusive son out of his dungeon like bedroom and into some fresh air and Vit D. Husband wants a Boxer, or retired Greyhound. While I’d like something smaller. A lot smaller, given I am the only one that will wash it, guaranteed.

The fundraising walk was a literal walk in the park compared to the 60 kms I walked back in 2017 all around Melbourne. I surprised myself making it through 30kms on day one quite easily, but I was not prepared for the cold night spent in a tiny two man tent, nor the crippling leg cramps that saw me in the medics tent at 2am. Day two was a rocky start, but the muscles warmed and nothing but sheer stubbornness kept me out of the support vehicle. Shin splints and hip tightness made the last 10kms an absolute nightmare, and I remember the tense drive home, needing to use my hands to help lift my leg from accelerator to brake. Seems this fat duck took pre-training was a little too lightly…

So, despite the Sunday afternoon stiffness in seldom used muscles, and the mad rush to get weekend chores done, the fresh air and Autumn sunshine spent on something other than work cleared my mental fog a little.

Cos let’s face it, it’s pea soup in there some days peeps.

And we didn’t see eye to eye on any of the conversations (nothing new or surprising there), but at least we had time to listen to the others viewpoint.

Well, he was watching the dogs running around and smiling, so I think he was listening…