As I hobble awkwardly along the beach , two purple swollen blood soaked shins and a pain through my right ankle that feels almost rhythmic as I place one foot in front of the other , the dazzling white charter boat comes into view .
Full of smartly dressed tourists , the boat eases gently through the ocean waves complete with cozy deck chairs and canapes . With phones at the ready , eager to take in the view , it is in this moment I become acutely aware of the vast chasm that exists between our two realities . Though there may be a mere fifty metres separating us in distance , our experiences are light years apart .
I am not the same person I was 72 hours ago . The beginning of each trek is always the same . Full of anticipation and excitement about what lay ahead , oblivious to the ways in which I will be changed before I arrive back at the beginning .
As I glimpse the lightness of their smiling faces and champagne laden hands , I can ’ t help but wonder what they make of this woman on the beach , dragging herself and her salty hair and battered body towards the thousand step finale of her journey .
How thankful they are to be on that boat and not the beach … how much better and more enjoyable they believe their experience to be ...
Should our worlds collide in another time and place , the boat goer and I , no distinction will exist between their experience and mine for our photographs have
NEWS MAGAZINE
76
TRAVERSE 76