Dilemma: I didn’t finish the LeJog. Some of you might have noticed. LeJog is an abbreviation of Land’s End-to-John O’ Groats; instead I walked into Edinburgh in June and that was it for this year. 400 miles short. Last fall when I was planning routes, booking accommodations, improving my fitness I had fully anticipated that I would take the obligatory photo next to the tall white sign on the southwest cliffs in Cornwall, and about four months later take its companion photo next to the sign on the northeast cliffs of Scotland. For various reasons, in January I started to rethink that scenario. My lovely sisters-in-law who had wanted to join me for the last couple of weeks in the far north had things come up in their lives that precluded their making the trip in July of 2026. I decided to push back the last stages of the trip a year to enable them to walk with me on the John O’ Groats path north from Inverness. There were a few other reasons, a sweet one being I was so sad to leave my granddaughter for such a long time. I wrestled with this decision, weighing how important it was for me to do the whole thing in one continuous, unbroken trip. Would it count if I broke it into bits of ¾ and ¼? Is it as hard an endeavor, or as noble if split up? What does that even mean? Would I see myself as worthy, or as a failure? What would other people think, would I be considered a fraud? Or lazy? Or a silly nincompoop? These are ridiculous questions and concerns, I knew that. The reasons that drew me to make this trip would be addressed regardless of the timing of finishing, or even if I didn’t finish the entire length of the planned route. Nevertheless, they haunted me a bit. And honestly still nag in the quiet hours. Ego and goal-setting can wreak havoc on one’s mood and contentment. Yet here is one more gift of this whole thing: in confronting these doubts I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a person who did a big thing in the best way possible, who can pay attention to what I care most about and make choices accordingly. To see and feel my worth, and revel in my accomplishments and friendships, even when I still feel a bit unsure and wobbly about my choices. I have learned to listen to and trust advice from loved ones, and listen to and trust my own inner wisdom. By spreading this whole end-to-end thing over two years I have lost a little, but gained much.
Discovery: So, onto 2027. I assumed of course that I would complete the journey six weeks on foot. That would mean leaving alone in late April from Edinburgh, walking across central Scotland to Fort William, below Ben Nevis and beside Loch Ness. In Inverness Kimberly and Sally would join me for the final leg along the northern coast. But as I walked through the weeks and miles this year, niggling little naysaying thoughts became more frequent. I had to acknowledge that they weren’t phantoms, but truths I was learning about myself. I don’t generally like to walk alone. I can, and there are advantages to spending days alone, meandering and navigating, lost in my own thoughts. But I much prefer sharing experiences with other people; it’s so much richer and full of discovery for me to be there with another person. Add to that some element of fear, of animals, of getting lost, of having a vertigo attack when I’m miles from help and all alone. It has been beneficial to confront these fears and learn my strength and ingenuity, but I really feel like I’ve had my fill of cortisol-raising moments and now I’d rather just enjoy myself and feel safe next to a friend. Finally, I very much enjoy spending time with my family and in my home in California; I am so grateful for the community and place in which I live. I’m almost 62, and while I realize that’s not old old, I have a deep sense of wanting to quietly relish the few decades I have left. Six weeks was feeling like a long time to be away, after traveling for over three months this year. What to do?
Solution: Along my trip there were some places where us folks walking 1400 miles crossed the route with the cyclists doing the journey, but they were whizzing along doing the whole thing in three weeks. There were hostels and small towns where the footpaths and the cycle routes converged, and it was fun to swap stories and experiences about the different styles of traveling across the country. I’m not much of a cyclist, and I actually prefer my activities with minimal gear so walking shoes and a backpack were the ideal set up. Also, riding in the wind, rain, and over the many hills, sharing the roads with faster vehicles, all seemed unduly arduous. They were a passionate bunch though, and friendly, so I grew intrigued by this way of covering thousands of miles. As I walked those last few weeks in June I found myself mulling over if cycling might be a viable way to complete my trip to the top of Britain. I decided that when I returned to California I would embark on trying some long distance cycling around Tahoe and the San Francisco Bay Area, to see if many hours on a bike might suit me.
My husband Bill also found this an enticing possibility, as I think he enjoyed more than he had expected to his time moving slowly for a month through England and was now surprisingly interested in returning with me to travel further north into Scotland. He is an avid cyclist, so the joy of such a trip was easily apparent to him. When he joined me in Derbyshire to start the 268 mile Pennine Way, I had been walking over a month and a half and had *learned* how to walk rugged trails. There is a skill set that develops from moving without tripping or fatiguing over variously sized rocks, through wet ground, up hills and down into valleys, along cliffsides; agility, pacing and confidence grows. I had a sense that I was walking better, and that was weird because after all I’ve been walking for sixty years so hardly a new endeavor. It was gratifying to have him notice, as on our first day out on the trail he noted from behind me, “You’ve gotten really good at walking!” - which would usually be a very odd thing for someone to say, but I understood. I felt a swell of pride and that dangerous pushing expansion of ego. I tried to take it in stride, literally. A couple of weeks later, having lunch beside a high and remote reservoir in Yorkshire, chatting about my concerns for finishing the trip north of Edinburgh, he very adeptly played into that ego a bit by suggesting that wouldn’t it be fun to add to my increasing skill set of outdoor activities by learning how to cycle long distances? My desire to do more and get better at things was piqued. The motivation of an ego boost is a sneaky one; not necessarily a bad thing, and it’s in our nature to want to grow and become competent. But it is a tendency to be observed, and I can tilt out of balance quickly so that the weight falls on doing better equals worthiness and superiority, instead of doing better equals competence and opportunity. Thank you walking trip, more self-awareness gained!
And so, through this summer, despite returning to the busy-ness of my “normal” life, I have been testing things out. I have continued to walk mountain trails when I can, and it is clear my body best responds with a sense of fluidity and looseness when I can get close to walking ten miles at a stretch. That takes a long time, though, and usually it's a shorter walk with a friend or my dog. Walking used to be a way to fitness for me- pretty, but also a drudgery, but now it is a balm to follow the curves of a dirt trail and look out at the horizon or down at the rocks I’m stepping over. I notice more, breathe deeply, hum gently. On other days I’ve been cycling, building up to 50 mile rides. For this Bill has been a great support, as have other friends who spend much time on two wheels. I’ve borrowed a pedal assist e-bike, bought fancy cycling bibs, found a bike saddle and handle bars that are comfortable. I’ve been learning how to safely exist alongside cars, keep myself hydrated and fueled, remember to unclip my foot from the pedal, and how to use a garmin cycling computer. The first days were pretty awful: I was very uncomfortable in very private parts of my body, I was terrified of crossing streets, I found disconcerting the speed of zooming past houses and interesting things to see. I felt crestfallen that cycling seemed less an option for finishing the trip. With Bill’s companionship and patience, though, the rides grew longer and this mode of transport has grown on me.
Plan: I have decided. Plans are being made. I will leave Edinburgh early next May on bicycle, and travel through the Cairngorms to Inverness and the northern Highlands, into the Flow country to the northern coast and seven days later will ride up to the John O’ Groats sign to take my photo of completion…one year and six weeks after I started. That will feel very good. I recently started rereading Jack Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’, and like many 18 year olds I loved it way back then and had to restrain myself from the fantasy of running out to jump on a Greyhound bus with just a $10 bill in my pocket. I realized taking off across Britain was a teeny bit like living out that fantasy of just setting off and discovering things firsthand, but now in my sixties a slightly more staid version than the recklessness of a teenager. Still, I take to heart Kerouac's wish for his novel’s readers: I hope you get where you’re going, and be happy when you do. Thanks Jack, I’m sure I will be very happy. I’m almost giddy right now devising cycle routes, booking hostels, reserving flights, checking climate conditions in Scotland for May.
And, with the extra time that cycling will afford, plans have been extended to go further north. Ferries to the Orkney Islands, and then the Shetland Islands, eventually cycling to Unst, the most northern of the Shetlands, and pedaling to the end of the last paved road in Great Britain. I think it will be chilly and windy to get there, and I will be happy when I do. I will be alongside Bill, Sally, Kimberly and my cousin John who are all gamely joining the trip.
You might be receiving this from an email list you signed up for to get these blog posts directly sent to you. If so, I don’t want to inundate you with posts you didn’t choose, and I will not send LeJog posts out through that method until I re-start my journey next May. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing to this blog site. I’m not sure about what or which topics exactly or how frequently, but I’ve found that writing here really engages and nurtures me. It keeps me healthy. I beg your indulgence in my whims of putting thoughts and events into words on this page. Check back here at beactiveyoga.com occasionally if you’re interested in what I’m up to. Here are some photos from this summer of sorting out how I will finish my LeJog journey.
camping at Gray Lake
Relay Peak
Desolation Wilderness & Willow’s first backpacking trip
a few laps around Donner Lake
always there’s a heart to be found