Tell me, what is it about men that they must constantly prove themselves that they can do something? When on a break from work, why can’t they just take the straightforward way out and relax and rest? Why is it that they, “Have to do this!” I really don’t know! Likewise, tell me, what is it about me that I cannot say, “No!”

At our lodgings for this much needed long weekend, and already paid for three days break away from work rolled over from previous years of Covid and Border closures, my husband suggested we go for a walk -as we usually do. His initial recommendation was not for a simple walk. He had suggested a 24km (7 hours) circuit on a Grade 4 bush track (hard) but then instead, decided on a 4 hour 12 kms one and stating, “We will do the longer one tomorrow”. Of course, I was rather relieved.

Now I guess I could have said no, but those who know about Marc and me know that is not what I do. Having said that, I do enjoy walking with my husband. I do always appreciate the camaraderie and banter that we share. We get on well both at work and away from work.  So, I do generally oblige his walking wishes even when in the past it has been tough. On those tough walks in the past, I have managed and succeeded. So, with this suggestion change regarding our walk on our first day here, I thought, as it was technically the ‘shorter walk’, I obliged and was happy to go.

How wrong was I!

I do not think there was anything “happy” about it.

In case you think I am whining, to set the background just a little, I did inform my husband prior to our long weekend, that I was not physically in as good a shape as I had been on with our previous bush hikes. This time I was carrying a combination of disabilities: a damaged inflamed shoulder that had been causing pain, infirmity, and disturbed sleep for weeks and, an inflamed hip incurred from having over ‘indulged’ in walking around Sydney and surrounds the previous weekend again following my husband and, this time, also his youngest son as they tried to out-do each other exploring both the South and North Heads of Sydney harbour in the same day.  Maybe that was why I needed a break away?

So I warned him, that in the past where our four-hour walks would usually take 2-3 hours (as we generally walk fairly quickly), today’s walk may be longer! But he understood and was okay with that!

Having discussed my concerns and suitably ‘armed’ myself through the liberal use of Voltaren gel on injured parts and even more liberal use on my lower legs and feet of Vick’s ointment and TeaTree Oil to deter the many leeches looking for a Lyndell blood feed after the rain, I was willing to walk. I pulled my socks up over my pant legs, placed my backpack only minimally weighted with our lunches and locked my shoulder in place in my jacket pocket to avoid movement. I was ready. After all, this was nothing new. I had done this before. I was prepared.

Off we went!

What no one had discussed or warned me about was this actual track!

In the past, some bush tracks in this geographical area we had walked together have been hard, particularly when we have completed Grade 5 ones, but I have always managed to climb up and over or under the various obstacles in place. Yes, sometimes with lots of groans, grunts, and whines but I have done them. In hindsight, I realised why, they were dry! This track today that we followed for four hours, was not a track at all as I knew. It was more of an aquatic filled quagmire of mud and running water for most of the four hours trekked. No, you can say, I was not impressed.

I had only one upper limb to provide support and balance. My other hand was stuck in my pocket to protect my shoulder and was thus a liability since I could not afford a fall on that side. So, holding my walking stick in my one useful hand, I balanced my way as best I could through the oozing, squelchy horrible mud even as blisters emerged on my hand from the death grip, I had to use on my walking stick.

Now researchers say mud play is about fun, it engages all the senses, and should be a normal part of outdoor play and advises that the open-ended nature of mud play is perfect for the developing brain. That ‘playing with mud’ we engage all our senses, resulting in a highly stimulated and active brain and ultimately reduce levels of anxiety and stress! Well as far as I am concerned that research is totally, absolutely, unequivocally incorrect. If I were not a lady, I would say even more!

I was not here to play with mud.

I did not want anything to do with mud at all.

There was nothing fun about this mud at all.

There was nothing nice about this mud. It was squishy, soggy, mushy, wet gooey and so slippery! It was simply sticky matter underfoot resulting from the mixing of earth and water which then resulted in being even more sticky and slippery as you attempted to place your foot on some form of Terra Firma to engage traction.

Oh, yes, it did engage my senses. I was acutely aware that this was not what was planned or what I really wanted to do. I was aware that the track I had anticipated or expected had disappeared, and this quagmire of gelatinous goo was all that was left. My senses were also quite aware that one slip may result in a fall and the obvious placing of my bad arm/shoulder onto the ground to support my falling weight would result in even further pain and spasms! My senses were acutely aware that my stress levels rose in that I did not want to play this game anymore. No, there was nothing about this mud that reduced anxiety and stress. In fact, it did quite the opposite. I was so upset and even verbally angry at my husband (which is most unusual for me) at one point of time as I could not stretch my leg far enough apart to take that leap, he wanted me to do over the rushing water and into the mud.

Then there was of course the walking through the streams of water which someone had humorously called a track. Feet heavily coated in mud and in my non waterproof shoes- my socks and shoes now full of water – yuck – as I continue navigating those rushing rivulets before me. Then, to add insult to injury, the wind was howling so strongly up the escarpment that the water draining off our plateau, (including from our flooded track), as a multitude of small waterfalls with its icy sprays and fountains was being blown back up, against gravity, to fall back on us from above. We did not just to have walk through the stuff, it had to have another go by falling on us!

I guess I should have had more sense!

I guess I personally should have thought about it more!

We had this weekend previously booked and planned. We both knew we would walk- that is what we do together and happily. But locally we have had deluges of rain and flooding for a few weeks and obviously I did not think that it would affect the bush tracks as much as they did. Silly me! No brain engaged there…

No, I was not prepared for that track today.

No, I really did not enjoy it. At all!

How was Marc with all this?

He knew I was upset (I mean I did raise my voice at one time as he was not listening to me!) He knew it was hard going. He was always helping me when needed which is what he does, but he even fell himself when crossing a stream (actually a fast river flow) and fell sideways turning onto his back hurting his ankle. Yes, our camaraderie was still there. We shared lunch together and he went and surveyed the view and took the photo to prove we were there. But this was sadly, without much conversation between us. No, it was not because I was angry with him, or at myself. It was not that. I was not angry. Basically, I was too exhausted to speak. As I walked, I needed to just mentally work through what I needed to do with my feet, where I was going to place them, (now they were soaked through and covered in mud) where to put my sore arm, how to stop further blisters from occurring on my left hand ( a bandage assisted with that one), how to manage to walk through this water and mud that was always trying to trip me up and place me on my bum. That was what I needed to do for me as I traversed those four hours in that muddy wilderness.

Yes, I made it home.

As we conversed again, he laughingly commented to me about ‘wives that do what their husbands like to do hoping it will be returned in kind. ‘I did not comment. But on the last stretch of this unplanned for torturous journey, heading back to the accommodation, we encountered other walkers who had passed us in the morning and now were just a little ahead of us (so I guess we did not do too bad). They inquired about our plans for more walks. As I breathed slowly beside him, my husband replied….” Oh I think we will have a quiet day off tomorrow, reading and some board games”. Oh – there is a God – Thank you!

There were the positives.

Prominently I did it! Another walk. Another accomplishment. Marc also acknowledged that it had been hard for me, but I had finished it anyway. AND, most importantly no leeches, only one that tried but failed to get past my defences! (In reality, I am not sure how I would react if many of those bloodsucking slimy insects had gravitated towards my mud-soaked being! I imagine you would have heard my screams from the place you are now reading this! )

Are we doing another walk? Probably! More than likely yes!  But this time at least I will know in advance what to expect!

Mud! More Glorious Mud!