The Walk

    [click on pictures to enlarge]

Here we are - Walkers, ages 43-70: (right to left) Karen, Fiona, Elise, Reina, Tamar, Beth

We came to walk the Wall:

Hadrian's Wall:

 

We started out at Newcastle, at the East coast, gathering a sharp stone from the banks of the river to the sea. We started with four of us and were joined by two more on the fifth day:

Six days and at least 84 miles later, arrived at Bowness on Solway, on the West Coast where we cast the stone we had gathered in Newcastle, into the waters of the Solway Firth (my sister and her friends have developed this ritual over the years, through six different walks. They throw the stone high over their shoulders, with their backs to the sea):

There was much to see along the way, apart from the Wall that is. Green slopes and rocky climbs. Ancient trees and wild flowers as far as the eye could see. When Karen sends me the photographs she took ...

... I should imagine there will be fields of poppies to show. Knowing how much I love wildflowers, she directed my attention away from blistering feet and exhausted muscles to the fields of red and orange poppies along the way. I would stop for a moment, lean on my walking stick that Tom had given me for my birthday this year (with a compass on the top of its handle to guide my way), and gasping for breath look out at the poppies, thankful for the sight, getting my mind away from physical pain. The rain poured, dripped, showered and dribbled, day in and day out, falling down our backs, dripping into our eyes, lashing our cheeks, and filling shoes with pools that soothed and buoyed my constantly forming blisters with cool, soothing waters. And on and on we walked. For hours. Sometimes chatting and laughing, telling our life stories and sharing anecdotes or jokes. At times we fell silent, contemplative or just silent, meditative, minds at rest following the fields, the hills, or sky. Once, at the end of a long day, we broke into a brisk run, and jogged into the village as evening fell. I could not believe what was happening, as just minutes before that I had been hobbling along gingerly, taking care with each step, aching and exhausted. One afternoon during the longest walk of all, I even broke into dramatic singing, which helped spur me onwards and onwards, keeping up with these strong, forceful, dynamic and unyielding women. When I would joke about finding the nearest bus, calling for a taxi, or even calling out and up to an overflying helicopter to come and save me, my sister-walkers would become serious and determined, refusing me that option, and telling me glorious tales about feelings of achievement and satisfaction with completing the walk at all costs. One day, walking through a small copse, the skies blackened, lightening flashed and thunder roared and pellets of hail began to rage down on us as we huddled together against a wall of a nearby farm. We were way up coming upon the highest point of the wall, and the weather seemed as close to the sky as it could ever have been. Scrambling down rocky inclines and walking over a tall bridge were challenges for me with my ancient fear of heights. My sister grabbed my hand and talked me through some of these moments with a firm, gentle voice that calmed and strengthened me. I guess I will always be her little sister. I was grateful to overcome those hurdles. When I would become excited about an easy patch as we walked briskly down a road, my sister would caution me softly,

Remember. What goes down must come up ...

And, indeed, up we would go, as sheer and steep as an incline could be, straining the calf and thigh muscles in ways I would never have dreamed possible.  Each time I arrived at the top I would whisper to myself words of encouragement and amazement that I had made it. Each time was as exhilarating and exciting as the first. In fact, it seemed like a miracle that I made it at all!

Walking, nay sinking in, the mud, sometimes mingled with huge, watery, cow patties, was quite the challenging experience. Sometimes I thought I might have to leave my shoes behind, but presto, out my foot accompanied by walking shoe, would pop, squelching and sucking through the thick brown substance into the air, only to fall way down into the next boggy mess once again until we found our way to a firm piece of ground or grass.

But at the end of each day, a charming Bed and Breakfast would greet us with floral drapes and hot cups of tea, warm showers and comfortable beds. Following a cheery evening meal at a pub nearby, and perhaps a game of "speed scrabble," I would flop into bed exhausted, aching into muscles and bones and fall into a deep sleep, only to rise fresh and clear, ready to start again. Early in the morning, I would stretch into yoga postures, ironing out the creases and wrinkles of yesterday's pain, do my breathing exercises and over and over again would miraculously discover renewed strength each and every day to do it all again. And each time I would marvel at the resiliency of the human body.

One day, I wrote in my journal comparing my psychological development and maturation with the walk:

... after fifty seven and a half years of learning how I came to be who I am. Gathering strength, knowledge, validation, support along the way, growing and maturing, analyzing, redefining, self-altering. A struggle at times, excruciatingly painful - just like the walk - full of moments of tremendous fear. But, at the end - a great and uplifting experience. One full of a feeling of achievement. Emancipation. Individuation. Discrimination between I and thou ...

Early this morning I described my trip briefly in an e-mail to Joe-from-Philly:

The security at Gatwick was fine - strong but not too intrusive. I arrived there with plenty of time to spare so was not affected by the terrorist stuff. What a week to be in Britain though - new Prime Minister, flooding (it rained every day but one while I was there!), and then terrorist attacks! I spent the whole time pretty much oblivious to it all though - just walking and walking through fields and slopes of sheep, cows and mud! However, Hadrian's Wall was impressive and the most important thing for me always is human connection and there was plenty of that with all the women walking together - ages ranged from 43-70!

Comments

[Joy]

Now don't you all look great! What a wonderful trip and an amazing journey...bad weather and all. Kudos to you Tamar.

[mary godwin]

OMGoodness... call me impressed and overwhelmed at the idea of 84 miles! I am inspired by your story to "pump up the volume" on one of my own. Thanks for keeping us a part of the journey. -mg

[Natalie]

tamar, what a fantastic account of your experience. I can feel every ache and blister and cowpat and raindrop falling on my head. I'm in open-mouthed admiration and I'm sure that in your place I would have given up after only a couple of days (or maybe even hours) and caught the next train/bus/taxi home. But how marvellous to have done it! I wish I could have been able to welcome you back with a nice hot dinner and a bottle of champagne. Bravo.

[Jean]

Wonderful to share all this with you. What an achievement, especially in the rain and mud! Just thinking how far you must have walked each day - yikes! Could I do that? - not without a lot of training, I think. You must have such a sense of achievement. There is something really special about completing a linear long-distance walk. It's such a metaphor for our path through life - especially the plunging into deep mud :-) - and yet also it is satisfying precisely because, unlike in life, it is finite, and if you keep going you always arrive somewhere. To walk right across England: that is something I have never done, and would so love to.

Well done, all of you! I was really wondering, in all that rain last week, if you would make it.

[fp]

Thank you for this wonderful story of your achievement! And yes, welcome home.