I've been feeling pangs of nostalgia lately.
Maybe it's because it is the summertime, and every summer I would ship off to the woods of Maine for six weeks with nothing more than a trunk full of clothes and the knowledge that I was going to spend my entire summer at camp with the best friends a girl could ask for.
We were quite the foursome, Jamie, Alex, Rachel, and I. We met when we were 8. Immediate friends. Pen-pals during the year with occasional visits to each other's homes. But during the summer? Ah, we were the queens of the summer.
These nostalgia pangs got me thinking about what an idyllic setting we grew up summering in: the morning fog was always thick, but would burn off like clockwork around 9 a.m. The lake water was always chilly, and looked like glass at night before the sun went down. And the paths. I would give anything to trip over some of those troublesome roots and rocks again.
Those paths along camp? Number 1 on my running bucket list. I want to run them now, as an adult. I ran them so often from age 8 on that, during a game of all-camp capture the flag I knew just which paths had the bigger rocks and should be avoided so as not to be slowed down. I could navigate the paths in darkness without even so much as a flashlight (not that we ever snuck out at night -- not that anyone knows of anyway).
I didn't think about what it felt like to run around that summer camp while I was doing it. And yet, as an adult, I try to carefully document and remember what each step during a run feels like.
Maybe that's why I miss those paths so much: I don't remember the times (countless I'm sure) I stubbed my toes or sprained my ankle or skinned my knee.
The truth? Even if I had the chance, I'm not sure I would run around that camp now. I've too carefully preserved the memory.
What's one summer activity from childhood you'd like to do again?