I was about halfway through the snow to the river when I realized that the path would not be plowed. I would have known this if I’d paused to think, but I’d been anxious to take advantage of the time between two soccer games, so I’d dashed out for a walk without really thinking everything through. “Typical,” I mutter as I take another step forward and sink again, ankle-deep in snow.
If I had paused before I left, I might have thought about this part of my walk – the part *after* the easy part. Maybe I would have decided to try it anyway, but since we got 20ish cm of snow yesterday, I probably would have stuck to the sidewalks. “Nah,” I realize, I wouldn’t have thought of it anyway. Apparently 15 years in Ottawa has not significantly improved my winter planning. And if I had thought of it, I would have stayed at the game – the sidewalk runs along a parkway with a fair amount of traffic. Yuck.
Anyway, now I have to decide: keep going – I can see that the trail is really snowy – or turn back. My own tracks will be firmer footing, but then I’ll be going backwards. And someone has already broken this trail, it’s just that they had better gear (snowshoes). What the heck, I decide, it’s only snow.
So I keep going towards the river. The trail does not get easier. Sometimes I sink up to mid-calf for step after step; other times the snowshoe path is firmer and I can move several feet on firm ground. This is a metaphor, I think. I am forever throwing myself into things first and only afterwards realizing what I’ve gotten myself into.
Nevertheless, I keep going. The trail along the river is divided into two paths, one for snowshoes and one for cross country skis. The ski path looks well-worn and firm. I bet if I walked there, I wouldn’t sink so much, I think. But I don’t, because that would make the trail much harder for the skiers. It’s not their fault I came unequipped. I continue my slow, uneven plodding, stopping regularly to look at the river. The view, the quiet – they’re worth the work. And sure, it would have been easier if I’d done this another way, but I didn’t, and I’m still here. This is a metaphor, I think, This is what it’s like to learn new things. I walk, stop, walk, stop; the snow slides into my boots; the bottoms of my leggings get soggy.
That’s a fence in the foreground & part of the river just past the tree line 
The trail I took 
Yes, the snow is up to the bench seat 
Snowshoe on the left, ski on the right
By the time I reach my turnoff, I’m hot and a little tired. My jacket is tied around my waist and I’ve even had to take off my hat. Just as I find firm footing on the pavement, two skiers pass me and nod. They glide smoothly forward, easily covering ground that had been so hard for me. I check my watch – I have taken a long time to go a short distance. Now, on the sidewalk, I pass more people. Our only obstacles are puddles, but we’re also surrounded by cars and the dirt of their exhaust is gray against the snow. I remind myself this is a extended metaphor and walk the rest of the way back to the soccer games.
Persistence and Pedagogy 
Learning by experience, the hard way! Your walk was a metaphor for the very name of your blog–your dogged persistence in the deep snow, and your connection with the effort it takes to learn. I could sense determination and humbleness in this post.
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This interior monolog was so engaging! I really felt as if I were there with you, and the repetition of the metaphor and what it might be was also very interesting.
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Such beautiful pictures and a lovely story. I reread and love the line, “I’ve taken a long time to go a short distance.” That feels about right to me as a metaphor for so much. And this would be useful as a multimodal mentor text!
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“The view, the quiet, they’re worth the work.” That says it all! And I love the photos. Sometimes just throwing yourself in is the just right thing to do. (And think about all the cardio you accomplished too!)
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Amanda,
Following your walks through photos is a daily joy, so following your walk in words is an enhanced experience. Love the attention to detail and the language of metaphor in today’s post,
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I’m sorry, but I really had to laugh at this, mostly out of solidarity: “This is a metaphor, I think. I am forever throwing myself into things first and only afterwards realizing what I’ve gotten myself into.” Oh, how I haven’t learned a thing in my 55 years. Despite the chuckle, I did find myself worried about you for the rest of the piece-I mean, what shoes were you wearing? Ok. I see you are wearing boots. You were wearing leggings?! I wanted to tell you to go back, get the proper gear, get back to the road! But, I also really wanted to know about the beauty on the other side. And, yes, that’s a metaphor too.
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Even amid your perseverance and sometimes rueful suffering, I appreciate that you left the XC ski track untrammeled. That’s a kind, selfless gesture.
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I like the metaphor, in my eyes you are also a hero, dealing with all that snow! I am sure there was a great sense of achievement, once it was over.
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Seeing the lessons in the moment. All the insight into what is going through your head. So fun to read.
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So glad I caught your walk full of metaphors and lessons. Appreciate the inclusion of photos to show us exactly how much snow. The fact that you end the walk with your jacket around your waist and hat off are testament to your perseverance. All of that thinking and a workout, to boot!
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I can relate to this! I have gotten myself into situations like this many times. I’ve gone too far to give up even if giving up and turning back is the wiser choice (never know that for sure until we get to the end though, right?) Once when I was pregnant I followed my class on a snowshoe adventure. There aren’t enough snowshoes so I asked the person leading if I’d be okay. I was assured the path was well-packed and the snowshoes were mostly a formality. He was wrong. I kept sinking up past my knees. Finally we reached a snow-machine trail and I told them I’d meet them back at the school. I just couldn’t do it anymore.
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