Running for your Life

“Mom! Mom!” says my older son over the phone. “A stadium! You need a stadium! You should go every day and run the stairs.”

My son, it seems, is trying to kill me. I am two months out from hip replacement surgery.

“I’m serious, Mom.” The sad thing is, he is. He thinks his poor old mother should run up and down a stadium. Every day.

“You gotta be in shape, Mom. You gotta be in shape for Africa.”

I’ve been to Africa, and I can tell you there’s not a lot of hiking. Lions love a moving target. Not to mention leopards, elephants and rhinos. Make a mistake in Africa and they’ll send what’s left of you home in a shoebox.

We visited Namibia seven years ago and now we’re headed to Botswana and the Okavango Delta. We trekked magnificent sand

dunes and deserts last time and now we’re touring lush grasslands and rivers.

This time, we hope to see hippos and crocodiles. Did I mention the most dangerous animal in Africa is the hippo? You don’t have to walk to get killed, you can do it from your perch in a canoe. Or get dragged into the river while you sit on the bank enjoying the scenery.

We’re canoeing—a lot. He really is trying to kill me.

“You’re the one who has to be in shape,” I say. “You have to haul my luggage.”

“Mom! Mom! You can only take 44 pounds total. I’m serious.”

“My hair and makeup weigh that much,” I say.

“Mom! Mom! They’ll weight it. I’m serious. They’ll leave your luggage behind.”

I’ve bought a duffel and organized my clothes. I’ll be under the 44 pounds. But after the stadium remark, I’m going to make him sweat.

“He should be glad you’re old and slow,” says my buddy, Stella, as we nibble on lunch salads. “If you’re being chased by a lion, he’ll outrun you.”

You don’t have to be fast when outrunning a lion, the saying goes, you just have to be faster than your partner.

Yikes! Maybe I should check out the local stadium.