ohon a sweltering hot evening in 2020 during the first lockdown, while sitting in the shed at the end of the garden drinking wine, my husband and I came to the surprising decision to end our 17-year relationship. “This is the end of the line, isn’t it?” I dared it. “I know,” he replied, looking down at his glass. “I think about it every day.” The unspoken has finally been said.
I’m breathing. Unexpectedly, there was a wave of relief as recent frustrations dissolved. We feasted on our newfound honesty and talked into the wee hours of the morning, celebrating how civilized we were. But the next morning reality hit: it felt strange to be drinking takeaway coffee together on a sunny bench, yet not reneging on what had been agreed upon. Admittedly, I was also sad, after the recent death of my father and then our beloved jack russell in rapid succession. Did I do the right thing? Was it too much to start again in my mid-40s? And all this against the background of Covid. The airless heat didn’t help.
The only way to make sense of it all, I assumed, was to get out and walk. The idea of doing 15,000 steps each day came quickly, a relatively achievable goal that I hoped would provide consistency and comfort, a ritual to help frame the next phase of my life. As a travel writer, I have occasionally written about walking, whether it be the completion of the 78 mile Capital Ring walk in a week or so walk the Kent coast over a weekend. But a daily quota was different. “Everything is solved by walking” was my father’s catchphrase.
The warm weather soon broke. In the relentless rain that followed, I found peace on my two-hour walks; fortunately in London I am surrounded by the tall trees and winding paths of Epping Forest; the rivers, canals and wetlands of the Olympic Park; and the semi-wild marshes near Hackney and Walthamstow. I would find my rhythm and feel like I could go on and on, the drum of anxiety stilling. With a deeper breath, the thoughts calmed down: together with journals, it became my therapy. And, pragmatically, the Pacer app helped – this goal, I realized, turned out to be addictive.
As winter arrived, so did swampy paths, sparse forests and low afternoon sun. My now divorced ex and I would meet from time to time to continue our discussions, but our minds were firmly set. Meanwhile, I sought out off-road routes, with self-imposed rules: podcasts or music were only allowed during the “boring bits” – those repeated stretches of pavement on traffic-clogged roads. It’s been more restorative to be mindful, whether I’m doing gentle meditation exercises or just contemplating the half-finished novel I’ve been struggling with.
When the satisfaction of hunger pangs inevitably hit, along with the anticipation of a lie-down, the sense of time productively spent lingered. My sleep has also improved.
So many people tell me, slightly haughtily, that they are “way too busy” to fit in 15,000 steps a day – but, as a freelancer, it still provides a framework for my working week, easy to absorb into my routine, whether it’s a walk to and from my co-working space or to another neighborhood for a night out. Seasonal variations also take over: heat waves mean early morning walks, while in winter I’ll wait for the day to warm up. I’ve even been known to tick off a few thousand in the apartment when I’m feeling down (luckily for my neighbors I’m on the ground floor).
Once I was ready to download dating apps – for the first time ever – walking, along with the odd workout, became increasingly important to feeling attractive and building confidence.
Three years later, post-divorce, my ex and I are now good friends – and both happily in new relationships. My boyfriend is amused, if not entirely convinced, by my daily step count, although I’m not quite so religious about it these days: some days the total is less, sometimes more, but still the monthly average remains quietly on target. More importantly, the practice is a reminder to me of life’s impermanence, of how you never stop evolving – and of that moment in my garden shed that began a new chapter.
