I've not penned an essay for the last three weeks due partly to a mix of lethargy and work.
I was also training for the Yorkshire Three Peaks challenge.
This is a tough challenge of just under twenty-six miles, including climbing three summits of approximately 2,500 feet (not huge; my biggest is 6,500 ft. self-bragging rights allowed here)
The physical challenge of three climbs, with few stops and hikes of eleven miles in between, has to be completed in twelve hours.
I got it done in 10 hours and 17 minutes.
This gave way to a mix of elation and exhaustion in conditions that can best be described as bloody awful.
Rain, cold, and wind gusts up to 40 mph undoubtedly slowed the finishing time.
Out of 46 in the group, less than half finished it, which shows the enormity of the challenge.
As I reached the halfway mark, it was pelting with rain.
You couldn't see more than 50 meters, and the wind battered us at the first checkpoint.
I considered phoning my ground crew, AKA my husband, to come and pick me up.
After all, it would not have been the end of the world.
Walking twenty-six miles in those conditions is enough to test anyone's resoluteness.
What the hell am I doing on a Friday in the Yorkshire Dales when I could be home working, resting, or sleeping?
Menopausal madness?
Was it something to prove?
A need to satisfy some underlying human desire?
Overzealousness, or the need to test my human condition?
A crazy moment of menopause madness made me sign up for this.
As we made our way down from the third mountain, slipping and falling over, I was the first to fall smack onto my back into a mud bath.
Then it was like watching dominoes go over one by one.
Everyone in our group fell over in varying degrees of amateur dramatics.
The chaos that ensued afterwards, coupled with the swearing and the laughter, drove us to keep going.
Only another three hours of this shit before we get to the end, I shouted.
That moment of madness saw a bunch of crazy f**kers bond over mud and sweat.
It demonstrated the human spirit triumphing over adversity and was bloody hard work.
But we laughed until we almost cried.
We were determined to finish despite our legs burning and our muscles aching.
The one thing that kept me going was staying grounded and focusing on the finish line.
Start with the end in mind.
This was permanently repeating in my mind, and I kept saying it under my breath on that final climb, even though my legs felt like dead weights; I couldn't get them to move fast enough.
As my husband says, give up or die trying; that's me.
I will never give up. It's not in me or my psyche.
As we marched back down the mountain, the sun showed itself, and finally, we had a view.
The group whittled down to just two of us, who split away from the rest and headed to the finish.
It's funny how walking downhill, knowing you are on the home stretch, gives you extra energy.
The joy of walking or hiking shouldn't be underestimated.
It is excellent for health and mental well-being and offers the opportunity to meet other like-minded people.
Walking with purpose is the essence of movement, putting one foot in front of the other.
Scrambling over rocks or walking along your local high street, there is always something to see.
Walking provides new opportunities to learn more about yourself and the world. It is also a great way to let everything go and be in the moment.
In our frenetic, crazy world, walking calms the mind, and the world seems to slow when your mind rests.
Frederic Gros in A Philosophy of Walking writes: "By walking, you escape from the very idea of identity, the temptation to be someone, to have a name and a history...The freedom in walking lies in not being anyone; for the walking body has no history, it is just an eddy in the stream of immemorial life."
One step, the ability to walk taken for granted is an essential edit for our times.
I value letting it all go and emerging myself in my environment, whether hiking, rambling, climbing, or whatever my quest is; to walk and be walking is my halcyon, and to be on solid ground, preferably.