I climbed a mountain in Central Park

“Momma, come climb with me!”

“You go ahead, Sweetie.  Momma’s not very good at climbing.  I’ll stay here and take pictures of you.”

“I don’t want my picture taken and I want to climb with you.”

Okay, so it wasn’t really a mountain.  Obviously Central Park doesn’t have mountains.

But that rocky hill looked like a mountain to me.

I’m clumsy, nearly 300 pounds, hadn’t worked out in months and was wearing flip flops.

Plus, I’m a Florida native.  Elevation is a big deal for us.

(Well, except for my daughter who had already reached the top while I was still pondering if I should give it a try.)

I decided to just do it, despite all the reasons I couldn’t and shouldn’t.  I’m constantly telling my kid not to sell herself short, so why would I do it to myself?

I slowly and cautiously found my footing while holding on to tree branches for balance.  I was sweaty and out of breath when I reached the top, but I did it!  My daughter was proud – and surprised I did it.  “I didn’t think you’d do it!  I knew you could, but I didn’t think you would.”

I didn’t think I could or would, so I surprised us both.