A weekend of walks... The one where things step up a gear!

Short walks- check.

Fast walks- check

Country walks… City streets- Check. Check. Check

Walks into double digits… Errrrm!

Walks back to back… Double errrm!

So, last weekend arrived and I found myself facing a ten mile walk on the Saturday, followed by a 9 miler on the Sunday. This walking malarkey just got real! It was time to stop talking the talk, and walk the walk… literally! Friday night arrived with apprehensions, a nervousness… was I worried about the longer walk? Or two walks on the bounce? Kind of… but that wasn’t the cause of my fluttery tummy. After I sat with the feeling for a while, I realised I was a little nervous about meeting the ladies I'll be walking the Camino with, and the reasons were two-fold. One- I’m not used to walking with people, for me walking is mainly a place of solitude where I connect with myself and my inner thoughts (*cough- demons!) Two- liking the ladies, and vice versa was a pretty big deal if I was going to spend a week in Spain walking with them. Eek!

My chatterbox/ inner critic was going heavy with all the negative self-talk, but I as I’m more aware of the triggers now- I recognised the thought and I changed the pattern by counteracting the negative chatter with positive statements. There was no point wasting my energy on worrying, when I was going to need ALL OF IT to actually walk. I’ve got this, I told myself as I fells asleep. I’ve got this, I repeated as I stepped into in to my friend Jane’s car, I’ve got this I said as I met two of the Las Seis Camigas (new what’s app group name- do you like it?)… and both Mel and Grainne were lovely (our doggy company was pretty special too!)- I felt like I’d known them for years. And on that sunny morning in Berkswelll, with three of Las Seis Camigas, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

That feeling stayed with me as we walked along village roads, through fields, past duck ponds and took a few wrong turns. It stayed with me when I watched the spring lambs, playing in the fields, stood on the crest of the hills, and marveled at the views. It didn’t falter when my back started twinging, my hip niggling and my stomach growling (snacks are going to be my friend on future walks!). I loved EVERY SINGLE STEP. Even the hundreds of steps we didn't plan due to taking a detour around to the HS2 demolition derby destroying the countryside (shocking – the destruction that is, not the detour).

But those two extra miles were walked and talked away with ease. I loved the way we round-robined our conversations, sometimes in twos with different people, sometimes in a three whilst one of us had a moment to ourselves and sometimes together as a four. We also met people along the way- an over 50’s meet up walking group, a young couple who'd also taken a few wrong turns, and a very friendly man who couldn’t tell us the way whilst standing in front of the sign that did. We walked 12 miles in four and half hours and the enjoyment from the walk itself was wonderful, but the icing on the walking-cake was a delicious meal in the pub afterwards. I could definitely get used to this!

After an early night Saturday night (I was absolutely zonked- but in that lovely ‘I’ve achieved loads’ kind of zonked), I bounced out of bed and into my walking gear for round two. A nine mile walk to Warwick to watch my youngest son play football. My mind was more engaged than my body was and it groaned a little as we settled into our quickstep. If a quickstep dance is fast and powerfully flowing, then our walk also deserved this title. Lively and exciting- what this walk lacked in distance, it made up for in pace.

I’m generally a fast walker but my mate Becks is another level- and we marched the streets, circumnavigated the War Memorial Park and charged down the magnificent and seemingly never ending Kenilworth Road. We walked and we talked, and we talked and we walked, barely stopping for breath… until the scent of coffee on the breeze tugged at our nostrils, enticing us in to refuel. That coffee was nectar for my soul and the sandwich was heaven on a plate… well, heaven in a bag as I ate it next to the football pitch with the whiff of freshly released feet as a side dish! We completed nine miles in 2 hours 15, and boy did my feet know it. Blisters, blummin, blisters! But I figure my feet need to get used to it and harden up- and they will… they’ll have to if they are required to walk an additional four days with almost double the daily miles. What have I actually signed myself up for? Cue chatterbox and negative self- talk… But I’m not having any of it… I’VE GOT THIS!

I’VE GOT THIS!

I’VE GOT THIS…

Right?