Eight weeks ago on a Sunday I walked into Edinburgh; I had been walking almost everyday for twelve weeks by then. As of today I’ve not been walking -getting up each morning and putting my pack on my back- for almost as long as I was stepping out everyday. The days of the journey feel so big compared to the days that have passed since. Almost each moment, conversation, noticing is remembered; back here in the *real* world things seem to be more blurry.
Well, I have walked since June 21. Not as much as I would have hoped, but I have ventured out. More on that later.
The purpose of writing now is a sort of epilogue, a wrap up, an overview of the whole thing. At the end of most days on my walk I reflected on that day’s events, places, sites, interesting things, and what I had learned. That learning covered a lot of areas: about Britain, about farming, about people now and in the past, about birds and plants, and frequently about myself. Now that my journey has ended (paused really, for I am still 400 miles away from finishing at John O’ Groats and officially calling myself an End-to-Ender; more on that later, too, in another post), everybody asks “How was it?” (-Great. It was great.) Then more questions flow: “Were you scared?” (-Yes, a couple of times.) “Did you get bored?” (-Nope.) How did your body hold up?” (-Remarkably & surprisingly well, once the psoas and blister issues were taken care of.) “Is it hard to adjust to being back?” (-Remarkably & surprisingly, no.) “What was your favorite part?” (-The unceasing kindness and generosity of people.) “What did you learn?” (-So much. And that is why this post has taken so long to get written, because I have felt a little overwhelmed and bewildered by the processing of all the new things I have experienced.)
But it is time to sift through that abundance and make some sense of it. In writing, not just as a happy jumble in my head. So here goes. It may take a few posts to get it all out, I don’t want to glaze anyone’s eyes over through too many paragraphs. This week I’m dedicating time to reflect upon what this trip meant. I am deeply grateful to so many friends who have been curious and patient with me through meandering conversations, asking pertinent and thoughtful questions that have allowed me to understand better what happened over 800 miles stepping across Britain. I have also been deeply humbled by generous reports of how people looked forward to my regular missives, expecting them to appear in their inboxes at a certain time of day. So this week they will return. A few people have asked if I’d keep writing regularly; that is such a sweet suggestion, and I’m not sure. When I’m not involved in some crazy big adventure, would I have something to say that’s worthy of print? There is mulling to be done, but that’s consideration for a future week. First, the LeJog.
Way back in March I wrote that I was embarking on this trip for three primary reasons. They essentially fell into categories mapping onto body, heart and mind. I kept a focus on these intentions, and things shifted. There were other shifts too, unexpected and quite transformational ones, sneaking up on me as the miles passed. Again, more for later.
The purpose for the journey most easy to understand was the fact that I was becoming stiff, heavy, weak, and generally less healthy, and wanted to change that. All sorts of ailments, big and small, seemed to be multiplying each year. I realized much of this was due to aging, and I was fine with that; after all, as the wisdom goes, I’d rather be aging than not. But I also knew much of the physical decline was due to my choices, choices that would have surprised my younger self. I was getting kind of sloppy about honoring my body and taking care of it, and it was sapping my energy and joy; and that kind of living seems to spiral. I needed a large project to commit myself to that necessitated using all my body could give me. Training for, and then walking the many miles, up and down hills, with a pack on my back, across an entire country’s coast to coast seemed to do the trick. I wasn’t in the kind of shape I had hoped to be when I started off on April 1st, but the first three weeks averaging 14 mile days with a typical 3000 feet of climbing on the South West Coast Path through Cornwall and Devon whipped me into a level of fitness that had alluded me for half a decade. There was pain and fatigue, and a minor early injury to my groin muscles, but a twenty-five year yoga practice has given me a very good sense of my body; when to support it and keep going, and when to let it be and rest. I had the help and patience of Kimberly, Suzanne and Richard, and I enabled myself to keep going by using massage, physical supports, pacing, judicious use of medicines, nourishing food and water, rests. I respected my body’s needs as I felt it grow stronger.
The trail became generally less arduous as I walked across Exmoor, through Somerset, and north into Wales, but the terrain change I believe ironically caused more challenges for my feet. Blister management, and its temporary failure, became a major preoccupation. Mostly though, as the weeks passed, I noticed a myriad of health improvements. There were almost no headaches, I was sleeping well, my gut was robust and happy, knots and pain in my neck disappeared, my back, knees and hips weren’t nagging, the morning arthritis in my hands eased, the cloud often surrounding my head due to tinnitus and dizziness had lifted. I felt light and perky. All of this continued, and just grew more robust. This was exactly what I was hoping for. I wasn’t overtly trying to force my way to better health, unless choosing to strap on a pack and head off each day for a dozen or so miles to a new destination is “forcing”. But I didn’t see it that way. I was doing a very natural thing: walking from one place to another; and as a bonus I was meeting people and learning new things, eating delicious food, learning about flowers and birds and sheep. And in so doing, my body was responding.
As my body righted itself, came into better balance and was doing a task it was immanently designed for, my mood and thoughts cleared as well. The health of my body extended to the health of my interior world. I have suffered bouts of bipolar depression for decades, kept at bay often by a small daily dose of lithium and occasional counseling. Not to mention the understanding and care of my family. During this three month journey, though, I grew more emotionally stable, with fewer spinning thoughts, and drops in mood rare. Of course there were moments of anxiety, of frustration, of despair, of sadness, of confusion, of franticness — but the ability to look at these as passing moments and to not get bogged down was a welcome outgrowth of walking. I think looking at the horizon for hours each day, while feeling the temperature of the air on my cheeks change through the hours under cloud and sun, noticing the flowers singularly or in bright groups, feeling the texture of stone walls I walked beside, hearing the sheep bleat alarm or comfort to one another, and being always aware I was walking in the memories of footsteps of hundreds of years of people who stepped before me on their way to market or home or salvation or war or a new adventure - these things I absorbed into my wellbeing with each step forward.
All of these positive trends continued, and I was getting used to feeling good. I wondered how it would be to return home: would I fall into bad habits of social media that bends my head and twists my hands over electronic devices, would I find silly little tasks that keep me inside most hours of the day, would I hop into my car for short errands, would I eat when I was bored instead of fueling my body as it called for nourishing food, would I fret and worry about things beyond my control as most things are? It turns out yeah, all those a little bit, but not completely falling back into a lifestyle that encouraged the downward spiral I had found myself in. After not having a kitchen for three months and being at the mercy of whatever someone else was preparing for me three meals a day (which was lovely, and I am so appreciative of all the care people took to keep me well fed), I am delighting in choosing and preparing all sorts of things I never had the courage to try before. I am enjoying seeing muscles on my legs and arms and I feel strong and lean, my clothes fit better and I stand up from sitting without that “umph” sound that was increasingly escaping my mouth. So I’m making it the gym for weights, Zumba and spinning classes. I missed my friends while I was gone, and I learned I much prefer to walk with people than alone thanks to Kimberly, Suzanne, Rachel, Bill, Annegret and Tory joining me along the paths, so I’ve ventured out occasionally on chatty hikes with those friends I’ve missed. I read more from actual books rather than flipping through screen images and spend time watering the wildflowers growing under the pine trees in the forest behind my house. I argue with and shoo the chipmunks eager to nibble the bright blooms in the pots on my patio, but it’s a losing battle and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m just feeding them on marigolds and pansies. I cuddle with my dog, play with my granddaughter, and talk about things of no particular consequence with my husband just because it’s enjoyable. We had fallen into the poor habit of discussing taxes, home repairs, and car maintenance. I am more conscientious of each choice I make and pay more attention to the person in front of me. Not always, but more than I used to. Three months of walking doesn’t bring miracles, but it does bring shifts. And I’ll take that. First goal of walking from Cornwall to Scotland, done. I’ve improved my health and feel in a very good place as I move into my 60s and beyond.
Many folks said they especially loved the photos, so here are some images from what’s been keeping me healthy since I’ve returned to California: walks around Truckee/Tahoe and my beloved Berkeley with people I cherish, playing with my granddaughter, napping with my dog, going to the gym.
