I used to walk 10,000 steps a day.
Not trying. Just getting on with my London life.
If I was actually ‘going out for a walk’, I knew I’d only really properly be ‘warmed up’ after 10 kilometres.
And if ever I was at all out of sorts, I always knew that after 10 days walking, I’d be back to my smiley self.
Like when I walked the Ridgeway.
It’s England’s oldest road, perched up on the chalk ridge from ancient Avebury through the chintzy Chilterns to suburban Reading.
Five thousand years of Saxon and Viking soldiers marching into and out of Wessex.
Medieval drovers walking their flocks to market.
And me, striding along, breathing the clean air and enjoying the glorious views.
I specially loved watching the majestic red kites soaring and circling, showing off their aerodynamic prowess.
And then I noticed that I wasn’t noticing them.
I looked around
and eventually upwards.
Saw two adult birds circling directly above me, hovering on the breeze and edging ever nearer. Checking me out, deciding whether I was skinny enough (I am skinnier than skinny!) to swoop in and grab and fly away with to feast on.
I took this as a compliment.
With eight days of quiet walking, I was now part of the local fauna.
And when I stared up at him, the biggest bird stared right back at me.
With his tiny hawk eyes. And his proud vicious beak.
Then, just like when your cat pretends she hasn’t been doing anything wrong and o so casually saunters away, the kite flicked his tail and sped off.
This is what walking gets you.
Unique pleasures!
So please imagine
how I feel now I can’t walk.
10 minutes walking is just a faraway dream for me now.
I’m someone who has used walking for the best sort of fun, the best sort of medicine…
and im not able to walk.
Please … imagine …