Alone on the South Downs Way by Holly Worton

Author:Holly Worton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tribal Publishing
Published: 2016-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

The Evening

I was shown quickly to my room (first up two flights of stairs and then down another, along a hallway that seemed to go on forever), where I had another meltdown when I couldn’t figure out how to operate the shower. Yes, I broke down and cried once again. This was clearly not my best day in terms of managing my emotions. I eventually realized that I had to tug on a string hanging from the bathroom ceiling, which looked more like a light switch than a shower switch. Luckily, the water was as refreshing as always, and it improved my mood a bit.

I was still feeling so awful that I was seriously considering quitting the walk. I knew I had a long twenty-mile day for Day 6, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of it. Day 5 was supposed to be Regeneration, but I felt terrible. The only upside was that I had swapped shoes for the day, and in doing so had gained a whole new set of blisters while I gave the old ones a chance to rest and recover. The card I had pulled for Day 6 was Bluebell/Inner Truth. Would quitting the Way be my Inner Truth? Was I really not cut out for a 100-mile walk? Once again, the theme sounded a bit ominous, and didn’t make me feel better at all.

I hobbled painfully downstairs for dinner on the outside patio where I drank two more bottles of water as I waited for my meal. I debated about dessert, because I was feeling so terrible, but I decided to opt out. After limping back up and down the stairs to my room, I ended up going to bed very, very early. I checked my blisters one last time, slathered arnica cream all over my legs, and hoped I would fall asleep quickly so this day could finally come to a close.

I was still unsure as to whether I would continue on my journey or whether I would call it quits. At the same time, I was disappointed in myself for even thinking about quitting. I had been talking up this walk for the past couple of months. Walking was my thing. I loved it! How could I quit? Impossible! I wasn’t a quitter. I was a walker. Wasn’t I?

I knew that entertaining thoughts of quitting was dangerous. Years ago, when I had first started running, I signed up for a marathon. It was slow going, and I was the last in the race, slowly plodding along. The spectators’ cheers kept me going, but I felt pressured by the van that drove slowly behind me, marking me as the last of the runners.

My thoughts had gotten more and more dismal. Rather than feeling proud of myself for participating in a marathon just six months after starting to run, I was embarrassed to be last. I had prepared for this. I had trained for the event. Why did I have to be last?

In the end, I gave up, just a couple of kilometers before the end of the race.

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