Gone are the days when I would take a walk along the river and the grand finale was to climb the path to the top, bringing me back to my village. I would take the steps one after the other, pause in between perhaps, look back and enjoy the view and then I would continue.
This was the hike that told me that I was no longer able. My walks of an hour or two dwindled to half an hour and I would take a rest on a bench on the way. I began to climb the steps sideways, gripping on the wooden supports, but I could still do it.
Our holidays in the Bernese Overland amongst the alps and peaks became dreams of another life that I lead just 20-30 years ago. My husband leading the way, me at the end and the two sons in between. We would laugh, enjoy, and make a stop for lunch: usually something cold or on the adventurous days we might light a small fire and roast our cervelat (the Swiss sausage). Now memories of another life.
I never thought I would grow old, be less fit, thought that life would continue as ever. Now I look at the photos, see the local paths from a distance in my wheelchair and wonder how it all happened.