My feet and shins are back to normal. Was able to hike Kennesaw on Sunday for three hours. As I am not familiar with this mountain (my last visit was in 1976 about a week after unpacking from huge move Southward to this land of which I knew little beyond the words of Peggy Mitchell, Jimmy Carter and Greg Allman.) That day was remarkable by the loss of a stained-glass peace sign I'd worn round my neck for seven years, a fitting pivotal point. The accent would take a little longer.
Still, there are so many photos to show from the 3Day and I'm still working on a cootie collage to print and mail to supporters.
So, on the third day, we were, as promised, bouyed by the excitement of being nearly there. Little did we know, we'd been there all three days. I mean, think of it. You can never be too far from camp, so despite the weight of 60 miles, we were actually in the neighbhorhood of the closing ceremonies the entire time. This is meaningful in some metaphoric way but I'm not sure how. Perhaps, like Dorothy, we are always in some heel-clicking distance from our heart's desire? I'll think about that tomorrow.
Despite spiritual bouy, a walk is still a walk and by afternoon, I'd ceased to wave and we all understood what the phrase "3Day mile meant." See photo.
I'll admit I did cry at the finish line. Can't speak for Deborah, Julie or Cathy, all of whom seem far more in touch with their emotions than I'll ever be, but if there was a moment to cry, this was it: