Cliche time. You don't fully appreciate what your body means to you when you're young. Most of us simply take it for granted, that we can run, eat and drink what we like, and stay up all night if we want to. Then your view starts to change. Something turns up, some time, to tell you that your physical attributes aren't quite what they once were. You ache more, you miss a bus you'd once have caught, you can't face that all night party. Whatever it is you'll know when it happens. That reminder of mortality.
Those little reminders have been coming at me with increasing velocity over the past two or three decades. I try to stay reasonably healthy, I try to exercise. But the chances are I'll miss that bus now. And if I don't get a night's sleep.....
So when I decided to join a group entering this year's Kiltwalk charity event (on 16 September, and yes, since you're asking, I will be pestering you in future to pledge a donation) maybe I didn't give it the thought it deserved. Thirteen miles didn't sound all that far. Did it? Then the route was published. Fifteen and half miles. Mostly flat terrain along the coast, with all the hills saved for the final two miles. Hang on.... When was the last time I walked fifteen miles? Have I ever walked fifteen miles? This was starting to fall into the "it seemed like a good idea at the time" category. Then add in the fact that the four people I'm walking with are younger. Not just 'younger', but 'YOUNGER'. As in decades rather than years. Was I going to be the one to let the side down? An exploration of what my body was still capable of seemed called for. If there was a lot of work to be done on it then now might be a good time to find out, when there remained a good few weeks to do the necessary.
So I thought I'd challenge myself with about half the distance to start with. Three weeks ago I set off for Musselburgh. About seven miles. The last half mile or so seemed to leave me with somebody else's legs to walk on, but other than that it went fine. I'd actually enjoyed it. Even the next day, once the initial stiffness wore off, I was back to normal. This was encouraging.
Another walk last week, this time from the edge of Prestonpans to Newhaven, thence home. Eleven miles, only a couple of proper rest stops. On one of the hottest days. Sore feet. Aching legs. Aching everywhere. But again I enjoyed it, again I recovered fairly well next day. Age? Pah, just a number....?
Yesterday. The Water of Leith Walkway. Twelve and a half miles. Leith to Balerno. Another hot day, but at least this route provides plenty shade. Just follow the signs I thought, no problem. The naivety of age. All was well for the first seven or eight miles. But in Colinton I managed to take a wrong turn, walked a long way before I admitted defeat and resorted to Google Maps. This probably added a mile and a half to my trek. Did I give up? Almost. A 10 bus went past. A 10 bus would take me home.... But I got back on track and slogged on. Bloodymindedness has it's benefits sometimes. But every bit of me spoke it's pleasure at seeing the end of the track and a nearby bus stop. The worst bit proved to be getting off the bus to find my legs had developed their own independent ideas about support and direction.
But here I am, twenty hours later, and not dead yet. Everything works roughly as it should. So maybe fifteen and half isn't such a bad prospect after all, as long as I keep doing a decent walk each week until the day itself. Then the thing to adapt to will be walking with others as part of a group. Walking at the group's pace, not mine. And now I'm wondering....yes, they're so much younger, but they're also short-arses. Will they be able to keep up with me?
Will I be doing the Walkway again? Too right I will. Only this time I'll do it in the sensible people's direction, from the hills down to the coast. I'm more than old enough to learn from my stupid mistakes.
