These boots are made for walking...

"If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there..." But you are going to need sensible footwear. (Quote by Lewis Carrol, addendum by me)

It's time to dust off the walking boots and get serious about this walking malarkey. So, full of beans (well, the juice of ground coffee beans!) and a ferret through the wardrobe later, I find my walking boots. I open the box, take out the boots, and there staring at me from the bottom is a picture of my mum holding Two year old-me. A picture I can't be certain I've seen before, but I can be certain I didn't put there. It makes me smile. It makes my heart swell. And it reassures me that I am on the right path. You see, my mum died 20 years ago this March and I often look out for signs that she is with me- white feathers, robins in the garden, that sort of thing. But finding this photo this feels symbolic. In the picture, my mum, Jude, is carrying me from behind, holding me, supporting me- like she did when she was alive and continues to do so through her legacy. Right there and then, I know that as I walk Camino Way, and things get tough as they inevitably will, she will be behind me all the way. The wind beneath my wings! But for now, as the rain taps against the window, and the wind rattles the air vent, I could do with a shove to get me into these walking boots and out on the path. And yes, Jude shoves me out of the house before I can change my mind and curl up in bed with my book. Cheers Mum!

And so I find myself walking with no particular path in mind, and decide as I walk in the opposite direction to last week, that this will be an exploratory walk (a.k.a winging-it-walk). I'll see how far I can go, before my hips hurt, my glutes groan and my thighs tire. And I won't multi-task; I'll stay in the moment and focus on what I can see, hear (my knees creaking), and feel (my back bloody aching a mile in-seriously!) I'll mono-task and stay connected and present. And I do. I see the birds dancing in the sky, hear the gurgling of the swollen River Sowe and feel the sun on my face as it appears periodically from behind the clouds. And then the talking starts...

I'm a walker. And when I walk, I talk. Which is fine... almost expected if your passing pleasantries with people you pass, shooing away a dog cocking its leg over your walking boot, or nattering away to Jude, because it feels like she's with me. But I pretty much talk continuously... to myself... out loud. I always talk my thoughts. I do this at home... I do it in my car and I do it on the streets. Since the invention of mobile phones the odd looks my way have been dramatically reduced and I can put my headphones and talk to myself to my hearts content. However, given that I'm supposed to be mono-tasking, I just smile at the passers by and carry on talking to myself. I know that by its very definition, walking and talking is doing two things at once and could therefore be deemed as multi -tasking, but I would argue that I'm not doing it to disconnect. The opposite in fact, I'm noticing my thoughts as they come, I'm connecting with some of them and others I'm letting pass. In fact, I think some would call that a moving meditation. (Please tell me I'm not alone in my walking meditation, ahem... talking to myself!)

Anyway, I walk and talk through the back of the hospital and about 3 miles in I arrive onto the farm track that leads to Coombe Country Park. My feet feel okay in the walking books, knees are good, hips happy and my glutes aren't groaning... until The Hill. It's not Snowdon by any stretch of the imagination, but it takes a thigh power that I haven't yet built and I'm thankful for the wind (beneath my wings) which propels me to the top and into Coombe. A walk in the park...Literally! I pass blooms of snowdrops, a robin in the branches and walk alongside the Serpentine lake (created by Capability Brown in 1771) which slithers through the landscape, the twists and turns creating the illusion that its never ending (a bit like this bloody walk!) I'm about 6 miles in,at the 1hr 45 mins mark and I'm thinking about the route to take home. Well, at least my legs are, they automatically walk towards the Capability Brown trail- which is one of my favourite places. The field is vast and open, on one side the Serpentine Lake the other the A427 Covetry to Lutterworth Road- but you'd never know- it feels a million miles away from the traffic and bustle of the city suburbs.

For the sake of exploration, I take the bottom route- as when I'm with my OH and the kids we tend to take the well-trodden top route out of habit. I find myself walking down the Avenue of Lime Trees and it is as every bit beautiful as it sounds. And I feel free- the open space, the sun on my face and my words being whipped away by the wind. I have a little chat to the sheep as I pass and apologise for interupting their Sunday lunch... some were eating hay and others were having a post-food coma nap on the heath. I'm looking forward to doing exactly that when I get home- a well deserved soup and snooze to refill the tank and rest my bones. My body aches from the exercise and my face aches from smiling (and my ears ache from the wind, but can't win 'em all, can you?)

Footnote: Today's walk was approximatey 8.5 miles in 2.5 hours and for my first proper solo ramble, it was a good effort. However, I'm under no illusion that I need to up my game. The shortest walk (Day 2) on the Camino Ingles is approximately 9.5 miles so should be doable... it's the 18 mile walk on Day Five that's going to be the killer (even with the wind beneath my wings, and Jude on my side). Are these boots made for THAT? Will they ever be? Only one way to find out!