It seems like only three years ago I was able to walk in the woods with ease. In fact, it was three years ago. I walked in the woods all the time. Then things started getting harder, I started getting slower, and walking through the woods became more tiring. I thought that I was getting old, that I was getting fat, that my knee was acting up on me, but it wasn’t any of those things. It was #ThePark showing its signs.

Now, I very rarely walk in the woods. It’s hard for me to negotiate the trails. I have to keep a close eye on where I step. One of the fun parts of walking through the woods is looking around and seeing what’s in the woods. But now I have to watch my step to avoid roots and sticks and branches and rocks and other things that my foot could clip as I’m Frankenstein clomping through the woods. Yet here I am, 13 months after being diagnosed, in the woods at a state park, scaring deer and trying to get mauled by an alligator.

I haven’t seen an alligator, and I’m already exhausted after barely making it halfway around the lake. I probably should have gone hiking before I set up my tent, my gazebo, my cot, and chased a bee out of the gazebo. I should have drank more water instead of just drinking coke.

That’s all I’ve had today. Just a coke. And yes, I know you’re saying, but Shawn, isn’t coke nature’s water? And yes, yes it is. But sometimes when it’s really hot outside, you need regular water to amplify the power of the coke. The life-giving energy of Coca-Cola Classic. I’ve had my coke. I’ve had my water chaser. Now I’m wandering through the woods, hoping I’m going in the right direction.

Hills. Why are there hills? This is supposed to be the low country. Low as in no hills. And here I am, walking up a hill. Exhausted. Wondering how long it is until I get to the  other side of the lake. That’s kind of the biggest challenge of walking with Parkinson’s. It’s not that I’m always clumsy. Sometimes I’m clumsy, when I’m not paying attention. I don’t always trip over cords or seams in the carpet or sticks or roots or stuff like that. But the thing is, when I get tired, like I am right now, I slow down even more. And my walk goes from a steady clomp to a plod. It’s a cumbersome lumbering. I’m endlessly plodding through the woods, feeling like George O’Brien in Sunrise.

There are benches throughout the trail, always at the top of the hill. But I know if I sit down, I’ll have a hard time getting back up again. So onward I plod, hoping that my slip-on Skechers with soles made of Goodyear tires or something like that will give me the traction I need to finish this accursed hike around the lake.

Why am I doing this? To get the attention of someone who probably doesn’t even think about me anymore? To prove that I am still healthy? Out of boredom and a desire to be alone and just read and write? I don’t know. I hiked the entire Beaver Trail and I barely caught a glimpse of a beaver. A fleeing beaver, running away to its little beaver hideaway as it heard me arrive. No beaver for your boy today, only exhaustion and pain. As it always will be.