July 13, 2026Monday, July 13, 2026

Just a thought… Be brave enough to be bad at something new. [Jon Acuff]

I was never that person. Never an athlete, but only an “okay, I guess I have to do this…” kind of gym-goer. I’ll never be a runner, and my idea of a long walk was putting in air pods, starting up my step counter and a favourite podcast, and heading out on the streets or roads of wherever I find myself these days. However, on Friday something in me shifted.

It was through the gentle persistence of a neighbour here on Pender Island, whose small, lithe body is the very picture of athleticism. An avid paddler (kayaking) and cyclist (definitely not an e-bike), Jenn is also a serious hiker. So when I arrived on the island Thursday evening to this text, I was hesitant.

“Orca Day? I’m in!” I said to Rob. But I’d done just part of that Shingle Bay park a week ago, found myself getting a little lost, saw that my step counter had me already at the equivalent of 37 flights of stairs and turned around to head back home. It seemed beyond my abilities and I knew that being out alone with just my phone and a terrible sense of direction, I should play within my limits.

I asked how long the walk would be and later determined Jenn hadn’t lied: about 8 km. With not just a little trepidation, I agreed on a meetup time and under filtered sunshine and with comfortable temperatures awaiting, I was ready to head out when I realized with horror that my hiking shoes were back in Sidney! I’d worn them home last Monday and then came back over in my Skechers. Ugh. They’re not exactly built for hiking over rocks and steep inclines and declines, but I wasn’t going to back out.

Off we went, through gentle short trails and brief stretches of paved country roads, eventually making it to the Pender Museum. There, we got to hear John Pender, an ancestor of the first non-Indigenous settler to the island, talk about his roots as well as the legends and firsthand sightings of giant sea serpents in our area. We heard a young Indigenous woman tell us the story of how the orca began as a wolf who, with the help of a raven, found his way into the sea and began life again there.

We listened in as a dozen or so locals sat in a circle and played acoustic tunes. We perused the museum, looked at outdoor displays of whale teeth and various other animal parts, enjoyed conversing with Parks employees and met a few more of our fellow islanders. It was soon time for Jenn and me to say good-bye to the husbands who had come over to the museum by car to meet up with us and partake in the afternoon’s activities.

Then it was on to the strenuous part of our journey: Jenn and I headed off for the look-out part of the hike. And here’s where I needed to toughen up.

It was on one very steep forest path that I just put my head down and kept going, one step at a time, following my friend’s lead. I reminded myself during that stretch that I had survived giving birth and I was going to make it up this mountain. In fact, I was remembering that the nurses offered me a mirror as Lauren was crowning, but I didn’t want to see how much farther I still had to go. That’s how I felt on this hike: just keep going, keep pushing, and you’ll get there.

We did. This is the view that a backless but welcome bench afforded us upon our arrival.

We didn’t see any whales – just this guy at the Pender Museum. Maybe the rest of them were out partying on their big day.

Now, there were a few eagles circling far below us. Could’ve been worse: might have been vultures above us! The best part of the whole day was the literal hours that we spent talking, sharing our stories, our journeys that brought us both here, our troubles and our wisdom. Oh, and there were plenty of laughs, a few well-placed expletives and just connection on an otherwise isolated trail.

The descent was the trickier part of the day. Leaves on the path made getting a grip in my stupid sneakers more challenging and only once did I slip and nearly lose my footing. I picked up a branch and used it as a walking stick, eventually getting a finger puncture for my troubles. Again, though, the mantras of “one step at a time” and “don’t look too far down the path, just get to the next level space” served me well.

As the walk ended, I not only felt an immense sense of accomplishment, but a bit of a renewed purpose. That night I was ordering collapsible walking sticks (one for Rob should he want it) for the next time I need a bit of stability help on a decline. I looked into a small hiking backpack to take the place of the waist purse I used, so I could put a water bottle in it and free up my hands to grab trees or potentially break a fall.

While I don’t expect a weekly hike will be the norm – it did take a fair bit of Saturday for my legs to feel more like they usually do – I won’t rule it out, either. The pains of giving birth didn’t end when the pushing was done, just as my body didn’t let me forget right away what I’d put it through (12.2 km, 17,000+ steps and the equivalent of 87 flights of stairs).

Has anything worthwhile ever come easily, without a bit of fear and doubt? Not ever for me, anyway. And I just may have gotten the hint of a new passion sparked within me. We’ll see. Just as long as none of the outings starts before noon, I’m great!

Speaking of new goals, Lisa Brandt and I passed a milestone on the weekend (a quarter million downloads) and wanted to thank you for making us at Gracefully and Frankly part of your week. If you haven’t yet tried it, we have a short clip to introduce you to it, here.

So please share the love and if you have friends who haven’t tried podcasts yet, we’d love to be their first. Or yours! Why not try something new? I promise you it’s free, and way easier than hiking!

And, by the way, I’ll have a new sleep story for you tomorrow on Drift called Fawn In the Wood.