Mind over Matter

“Mind over matter.”

That declaration by Cindy echoed in my mind as I pushed her in the stroller to an outdoor wedding, 3.5 miles from our home. We had planned to jog to this event for months. Lindy the bride considered us an extra set of parents, calling us Mom and Dad since high school, and our youngest daughter Serena was her maid of honor. 

Three weeks ago jogging that distance would have been easy and the only foreseen obstacle to our attendance would have been weather, but within those three weeks an unforeseen obstacle was thrown in our way. The same day I fixed our broken stroller we went out for a seven mile jog. As we were nearing home, jogging up the cracked sidewalk that runs past Infinity Hall, my sandal caught in a crack and I went down. I was not going to let go of the stroller on a hill and it went down with me.

Cindy was fine; the stroller merely tipped backwards in my grip until she was situated comfortably gazing at the sky. I did not fare as well. Increasing stiffness and pain surrounded my left knee as I lay squirming on the ground. State highway workers coming down the hill in a large truck witnessed the spectacle and pulled over to help. The two of them got me standing again and I used the stroller as a walker to hobble my way back home.

Exactly two weeks later the immense swelling of my leg, indicative of a partial ligament tear, subsided enough for an outdoor test. Three days before the wedding I walked up and down the driveway ten times. Two days before the wedding I walked the few hundred yards to the village center for errands. The day before the wedding I had coverage for Cindy that allowed me to walk in the woods for at least four miles. Since pushing the stroller on roads would be less hazardous to my knee than a trail I felt I was ready.

On our way to the wedding, two thoughts crossed my mind by the time I reached the end of Laurel Way. “I’ve got this!” was my first thought. Having gone a third of the distance already I knew I could make the distance. “This is going to suck!” was my other thought. Every step was going to involve some level of discomfort.

I turned onto Route 44, a major road I usually avoid with the stroller. Fortunately, the shoulders were large and we were safer than jogging up a cracked sidewalk. I shortened my strides as most long distance hikers learn to do on the trail to prevent further injury. Shortened strides means less discomfort; less discomfort means more opportunity for my mind to wander. I reflected on the time Cindy declared “mind over matter.”

In the spring of 1980 we were part of a group training to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail that year. We were not yet a couple, but the mutual interest was strong. During a phone conversation I was filling the experienced hiker role of preparing Cindy for the worst: warning of the potential boredom, discomfort and pain. Tenderfoot though she was, Cindy’s response to my cautions was: “Mind over matter.”

For years I have joked to our kids and others that what attracted me to Cindy was the longest stride I had yet seen in a woman. In reality that was more of a first impression. “Mind over matter” was what really got me thinking about Cindy as my future life partner.

We arrived at the wedding in better time than expected. The picnic tables lined up under the broad pavilion left a wide aisle down the middle for a procession. We were early enough to pick almost any table; to catch a little sun we chose one protruding a little outside the pavilion in the rear. The rest of our family came trickling in to join us soon after. Being in the back benefited Charissa and Matt as they walked about holding Lyla. By my guess Lyla was the youngest attendee at three months old; she drew an adoring pre-ceremony crowd.

Bagpipe and drum accompanied the procession. The drummer later commented on FB that this was the most joyous wedding for which he performed. I am not sure how much of the joy Cindy could fathom but she remained alert for the entire ceremony. The recession of the wedding party ended up near us in the rear of the pavilion, where Lindy said “Hi Mom!” to Cindy. 

We did not stay for the wedding buffet. Leaving before a food buffet is a drastic departure from our long distance hiking days, but by this time not even our picnic table caught any sun. Though the wedding enjoyed wonderful October weather, the air was growing chilly for Cindy and we had a long stroll to get back home. Recalling the discomfort on my way to the wedding also promoted a desire to get the return home over with sooner rather than later.

The stroll went better than expected. Having just walked this same stretch I established short term goals that accompanied my shortened strides in abetting the discomfort. I was able to place mind over matter as I again drifted back to when Cindy spoke those words.

Once our hike of the Appalachian Trail began Cindy proved her words not to be hollow. During the first half of the journey Cindy’s knees were often strained and inflamed; she often wore knee braces or wraps to sturdy her knees. Many days Cindy impressively displayed mind over matter; though one day in particular I will never forget.

A support vehicle enabled injured hikers in our group to shed much of their pack weight. The problem for people who took advantage of this was they could not stop short of where the support vehicle was going to be. For an infamous thirty-two mile day this meant we started hiking at 5:00 am. I previously hiked many thirty mile days with a full 40-60 pound pack, but none were as arduous as this one would prove to be.

Cindy’s sore knees caused a tediously slow pace. We needed 21 hours to reach our destination, arriving at the Port Clinton pavilion at 2:00 am. I nodded off while walking several times; Cindy’s discomfort kept her awake. Only by placing mind over matter could both of us prevail. Despite the ordeal, I do not recall a single cross word spoken to each other. A life partnership was forming.

Placing mind over matter helped with this final journey of ours. Other lessons learned from long distance hiking have guided us throughout our continued life together as well, but none are more valuable than this. Cindy’s continued will to live through nineteen months of hospice and my perseverance as a caregiver are both examples. I suspect any worthwhile journey must survive the test of mind over matter.