Exercise in Frustration

On a few Sundays recently, we've tried to take advantage of the lovely trails crisscrossing the landscape around Biberach. Despite the winter weather, the thought of taking an invigorating walk through the austerity of the frosty fields and woods motivated Thorsten and me to wrangle the kids into their outdoor gear.

Unfortunately, once we actually arrive at the trails the fantasy evaporates. Thorsten and I stride out briskly . . . but hey, where are the girls?

Lilia, at least, understands the concept of going for a walk. However, her four-year-old idea of a good time in the outdoors bears little resemblence to the adult version. She dawdles anywhere from 50 to 500 feet behind us, picking up "sticks" that are actually entire tree limbs and hauling them with her. "I'm an airplane!" she shouts to no one in particular as she struggles to hold two of these small trees aloft. She veers perilously close to the edge of a small stream, leaning over until disaster is virtually inevitable. She throws rocks; she pokes holes. Her mittens turn from pink to sodden brown as she scrabbles in the mud. She clearly enjoys herself. However, for us adults, the "exercise" idea suffers severely as we stutter in fits and starts down the path, waiting and waiting and waiting for Lilia to catch up.

Johanna, naturally, is much, much worse. Of course, she can walk wonderfully by now. But she absolutely can't go for a walk. We set her down on the path and she immediately makes a break for the adjacent field, running over a fresh horse pat on the way. We haul her back, and she makes a break for the stream. Haul her back again, she tears her mittens off and spends five minutes picking up chunks of snow and throwing them down on the trail. After a bit, we stuff the mittens back on her tiny, ice-cold fingers; she plops down full-length on the path and shrieks in protest. Suddenly she notices Lilia's sticks and tries to pick up one of her own, nearly removing her eye in the process. We call to her, and she runs a few steps, then, "Up! Up! UP!!! UP!!!!!!!" she clings to my legs, raising her arms imperiously. I pick her up, and we cover a ten feet or so. "Balking! Balking!! Balking!!!!!" she insists. She "balks" (walks) for another three or four feet . . . then "Up!! UP!!! UP!!!!!"

After 25 minutes we can still see where we parked the car. After more than an hour outside, we have gone maybe a half mile in total, and instead of the light sweat and elevated pulse I associate with a brisk walk, my toes and nose and fingers are beginning to go numb from all the time I have spent standing around. My back and arms are tired from hauling Johanna, but that's about all of me that's tired. Oh, wait, I forgot: my patience has gotten a very good workout today.