I have always liked walking as a physical activity. Less traumatic than running. When I lived in London, I really did not like being crammed onto the tube sniffing other people’s armpits, so would walk daily from our flat out east to my office in the West End, a journey that took over an hour and made commuting pleasurable. At the weekends, my husband and I would trundle around the deserted streets of the City – a part of the world normally bustling with suited busy people Monday to Friday - but eerily silent on damp winter Sundays. We would wind our way around the lanes and giggle at rude street names like Back Passage, Cock Lane and Helmet Row, or would wander further east exploring cobbled lanes and underpasses near where we lived and try and soak up some of the grim atmosphere still lingering in the historic brickwork of the trendy wine bars that in times past were gin palaces and brothels. Other weekends we would escape the humdrum of urban life and take ourselves away to do some proper hiking, often biting off more than we could chew, cramming the miles into the couple of precious days we had off. We would often end up sore, tired and blistered, collapsing in a heap in a country pub somewhere after trekking for miles on the Peddars Way, the Brecon Beacons or getting exquisitely lost on Dartmoor.
There is something about clocking up those miles using your own person-power that I find so life-affirming. I feel free without a care in the world. Apart from my commuter-walk, I have always walked with someone – mainly my husband, but when we moved to where we are now and we had our sons, they became my daily walking buddies. When they were tiny, I would stick the boys in a backpack or a sling and trail across the patchwork fields, each season bringing its own colour and smell - and as they got older, they learnt the capability of their own little chubby thighs and kept up with me. We spent day after idyllic day – rain, shine, wind or snow out and about exploring the pathways and fields around our village. They grew strong and flourished into strong fit boys. The eldest one started school which left just two of us and once he eventually started full-time school, I was suddenly on my own. I had never really walked on my own for pleasure. My walking commute when I lived in London was a just that – a commute. Wandering around the countryside, just going for a walk for a walk’s sake, left me feeling very self-conscious, as the only people I could see who walked during a weekday, were either those with pre-school children, those with dogs or retired couples. As I didn’t fall into any of these categories, my weekday walks ceased, and instead I filled my time with work, washing and wallowing. We ventured out for walks at the weekends, but only when all four of us could fit one in around the ever increasingly busy weekends, over-committed to football, rugby and other children’s birthday parties. And now years on, although our sons are near-enough grown men and we still try and fit family walks in when we can; my eldest prefers taking himself off for 10-mile treks on his own without his mother talking at him about A levels; and do far less hilly Snowdon adventures and far more sunny-Suffolk hikes now COVID rules dictate.
I miss my little walking buddies, but we got ourselves a dog last year and because of her, I have rediscovered all the old haunts I explored with the boys. For someone who gets bored with her own company, who feeds off other people, who hates being alone, who constantly natters and doesn’t know when to be still and shut-the-flip up; I have recently discovered the joys of walking alone (albeit with a dog). Dogs can’t talk, so my conversations are very one-sided, but I am finding I am walking for hours, sometimes not muttering a word. Daydreams and thoughts are allowed to run wild and I am noticing what is around me in a way I didn’t when I walked with people. And I am getting braver being on my own. I’m exploring footpaths I have never been down. I’m turning left rather than right quite often – seeking out new trails and adventures without the need of a reassuring map. I’ve crossed fields and streams I didn’t even know were there and tackled tracks that have become overgrown and tangled. I was reminded this week when I was negotiating a particular treacherous snow drift, that one of our favourite books when the boys were smaller, was Michael Rosen’s ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ and we would often repeat the well-known catch phrases when we hit sticky puddles or head-high fields of wheat. For those who aren’t familiar, the story is an adventure where four children and their dog head out to search for a bear, ‘We’re not scared’ they say as they head off on their beautiful day, but quickly face obstacles such as mud, rivers and snowstorms. Each hurdle is met with their chant: ‘Uh Oh. We can't go over it. We can't go under it. Oh no! We've got to go through it!’ and they would squelch, stumble, trip and splash through each one coming out through the other end.
I held this thought as I stood knee deep in a rare Suffolk snowdrift, in a field I wasn’t sure where the ditches and field boundaries were, the dog covered with snowballs and the icy east wind cutting into my face. I had no choice but to carry on and go through it. I make it sound like I was at the North Face of the Eiger, but it was nearly dark, and I hadn’t taken a torch and had visions of a search party finding me next morning stuck face-down in the snow with the crows picking at my frozen skin. I told you I’m not that good in my own company for too long…
The Bear Hunt story has been held up by some as metaphor for life – the way we overcome hurdles and obstacles, and how all we can do is just get through it; and the story came into its own again recently during the pandemic. Not only because during Lockdown #1 – we were all encouraged to display teddy bears in our windows alongside all our rainbows, so children could conduct their own little bear-hunts; but also the author, Michael Rosen, nearly died after contracting COVID-19 and was in intensive care for 7 weeks. I heard an interview with him recently where he said never had the mantra, ‘We’ve got to go through it,’ feel so very poignant.
I for one have rediscovered my love of walking and plan to keep going. To keep moving forward physically and mentally, getting braver each day. Venturing onwards through thick and thin, striving through obstacles that life inevitably will throw my way. There will be times like these, where huge hurdles like illness and pandemics, death and grief just can’t be avoided. Situations and difficulties that we can't go over or under. Times where we've just got to go through it. Keep on walking. Keep on moving forward. We will all get through this.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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