Droplets of water fall from my paddle as it dips into the lake and emerges. My arm muscles flex as they drive the kayak forward away from the pull of the shore. Under the bright sunlight the lake shimmers like thousands of tiny diamonds. This is fitting because the lake is my treasure.
Lake Arthur at Moraine State Park in western Pennsylvania is my home away from home. The 3,225-acre watery playground is away from the crowds, the traffic and the city that seems to continuously expand as new shopping plazas are constructed. It’s not the place that time forgot, but it’s a place where I can forget time can just be. There are no cell phones, no computers and no distractions. I can paddle the lake, exploring its nooks and crannies, or nap in a cove as my kayak bobs in the gentle waves. My clock is the sun and when it starts to journey west, I know it’s time to go back to my life. A life I sometimes try to forget.
I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a demyelinating autoimmune disease that affects the central nervous system, a year ago. As the doctor’s words sealed my fate I wondered activities like kayaking would even be possible.
MS is like a glue and I can’t get off my body. There is always something :tingling in the feet, fatigue, itchiness, brain fog. There’s no cure and I can feel great one day and half alive the next. It affects my work life, making me forget how to do things, and my home life, by overwhelming me with fatigue.
There is only one place where I can seem to escape MS — the lake. I don’t know if it’s the exertion of paddling that chases the fatigue away. the sunlight that doses my body with vitamin D or the oneness with nature that quiets my soul, but on the lake I am stress-free and I can leave all my worries on the shore.
Fluffy white clouds drift above as I paddle away from shore. A blue heron is perched on a partially submerged trunk of a fallen tree and I head towards it. I lay my paddle across my boat and let my orange kayak glide through the water so as not to startle the bird.
It’s so peaceful on the lake and everything feels right in the world. I’ve seen birds perform the most amazing aeronautic feats. I’ve sat just off shore and watched a doe and her two fawns come down to the water’s edge and drink. I’ve seen baby animals play, blissfully unaware that a human is even nearby.
After my diagnosis I started treatment and began the long arduous journey of healing myself. I credit kayaking as one of the reasons I’m doing so well with the disease. The lake provides the escape I need from needles, nurses and the constant reminder that I live with a chronic disease. Whenever I’m paddling against the waves or cruising with the current I’m reminded that life is worth fighting for.
