In the late afternoon I had driven to the post office. Ken likes to come with me when I have errands to do — lots of errands — so turning around and heading back home was disappointing to him. “Do we have to go home?” he asked. “Let’s take a walk along the bay. We haven’t done that in a long while,” I suggested, “but first we need to go home and get our coats. It will be cold down there.” He was enthusiastic as I helped him on with a jacket and handed him a baseball cap.
The weather was clear and sunny, but windy and cold. April and May often forget it’s spring in the San Francisco area. Wind blows across the cold waters of the bay, especially in late afternoon and hikers along the trails bundle up as though it were winter. We did too, but forgot gloves so our hands were thrust deep inside our pockets as we passed through the pedestrian gate, climbed up a short incline before we headed west bracing ourselves against the stiff, constant wind.
“This is the first time I’ve been here,” said Ken looking around to what should have been so familiar to him. When he was running 10 ks and marathons this was his training ground. This is where he took our dogs for their daily exercise. This is where our Golden Retriever would leave his side and race into the water. If it was wet she was in it even if it was a mud puddle. I always scolded Ken because she came home wet and coated with black sand. She was such a good girl and usually so obedient, but when it came to water her breeding took over. Doc, on the other hand just watched and barked at her to get back on the trail. She didn’t obey him either. “Don’t you remember bringing the dogs down here?” I wistfully asked. “I’ve never been here before,” he insisted. I let it go.
I was pleased with Ken’s rather brisk step. One knee is a little tender and he often lags behind when we shop, but he kept up with me. I thought how good it was for him. The fresh air and the exercise. We looked overhead to watch an airliner glide in for its landing at the airport. “It’s going to Oakland,” Ken remembered. The afternoon felt so good. “Going back will be easier,” he commented, “the wind will push us.” I agreed and was surprised at how well he was doing, but not wanting to overdo said, “We’ll turn around at the second bridge.”
With the wind at our backs and nearing the end of the trail, I noticed Ken was ahead of me and I was walking fast. “Slow down,” I cautioned. “I can’t,” he answered as we approached the downhill incline. His feet took on the shuffling of an old, fragile man, but running. “STOP!” I shouted running after him, “You’re going to fall.” To make matters worse, he was leaning forward. As he neared the closed cyclone gate I hoped he would hit it before he fell, but he didn’t. Three feet before the gate he stumbled and down he went. I raced to him worrying that he could have broken bones, or worse, damaged his hip replacement. Was he all right? And me with my cell phone at home, how careless. He turned toward the gate, slipping his fingers through the wires and with my help, pulled himself up. Standing for a minute, he appeared to be okay.
Resting for a while we ventured forth on level ground toward the car, but his legs wanted to run. “Stop,” I again cautioned. Again he said, “I can’t.” It was if his mind had forgotten how to make his legs stop. The wind was mild, but he still leaned forward and wanted to run. I grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled hard — almost as if he were on a leash — until we reached the car where he slid into his seat and relaxed.
I am sure he will have aches and pains tomorrow and I am sorry for that. He doesn’t need any more pain. He has some scratches and most certainly — bruises. Obviously, I over-estimated his ability, but I can’t help wonder if his mind had, indeed, forgotten how to stop. Our afternoon together had begun with such promise, so good, so invigorating, but could have been a disaster. Perhaps, in a few days I’ll start with a walk around the block — and my cell phone in my pocket.
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