My name is Ursula, I'm a 35 year old woman and I've just walked 3300 miles.  I've another 200 miles to go before I finish.  I'm walking unsupported and I carry a 14 kilo rucksack. It's taken me 16 months to get this far. 
I'm the only person ever to walk a 3500 mile route in Wales but be assured,  as soon as someone else does it, they will be faster than me.  I'm not the fastest, or the best, I'm not breaking any records but I have had the capacity and tenacity to take my plump body step after step until I have walked thousands of miles. 
If you're thinking of doing something similar, here are some things you might like to know -

Perhaps you can handle the enormity of what you are setting out to do - weeks of walking, hundreds of miles.  I couldn't.  Walking 3500 miles is cartoon numbers, I couldn't comprehend what I was setting out to do and a part of me still can't visualise it.  The only thing I could do in the planning without sending a bubble of panic rising into my chest, cutting short my breathing was to think IF.  IF I was going to walk 3500 miles what would I need.  IF I was going to leave my home and go walking, what would I do.

Don't worry that you haven't done enough training.  You can walk without any preparation or a high level of fitness, anyone can walk out of their front door and set off to walk a thousand miles, you will just be slow to start and gain fitness along the way.  The more you prepare, the easier it will be, you will experience lower levels of pain and a lower likelihood of serious, walk-ending injury.

I'm not going to tell you what to take, there are plenty of lists available elsewhere, only that you do not need everything you will pack at the beginning when you're freaking out and thinking of how to survive in the desert and in a snowstorm all at once.
Get together all the things you think you will need - the knife, the waterproof trousers, the book, the suncream, the washing up liquid, the pack of safety pins, the spare tent pole.
Pack it all into an incredibly heavy rucksack, take out as much as you can, set off and a week later, take stuff out again.  Post things home, post things ahead, just don't carry anything unneccessary.
I don't carry a stove, for most of last summer I didn't carry a tent, just slept under the stars - a little morning dew is worth the weight off your shoulders.  I did, however, carry a book.  However minimal you think you can get, it's always possible to drop more pieces of kit.
Beware of 'just in case'.  What you are putting in your bag will weigh upon your shoulders for every single step, forcing your muscles to work harder, putting more stress on your ankles, your knees your hips, costing more energy, making you hungrier.  Is it worth carrying something that you only need once a month?  Weigh it up - literally.

I don't pop blisters, just tape them over with micropore and leave them alone.  Mine all reabsorbed and disappeared.  After the first week I didn't have any more blisters.
I wear two pairs of socks, one thinner liner and a thicker woollen outer.  Change them every day, it will help stop your boots smelling. (Your boots will still end up smelling, nothing will stop your boots from smelling abysmal)

Take regular breaks while walking your daily miles, put your feet up wherever possible.  Take your shoes and socks off, wiggle your toes, rub your soles and calves.  Do this even if you're just stopping for ten minutes, it will help blood circulation and relieve the tension caused from keeping your feet in the same enclosed position for hours on end.

Stretch whenever you can; at the beginning, middle and end of each session.  You can walk for long distances with tight muscles but it will only transfer the strain of impact onto your joints.

Take baths as often as you can get them.  Same for steak dinners, foot massages and having your rucksack carried forward for you.

Your body will hurt.  Especially in the first couple of weeks.  Your feet will swell and throb, your shoulders will burn with the weight of your bag, your joints will creak, random parts of your body will shoot with pain and then quieten again. 
Stick with it.  Don't give up.  You are asking your body to do something incredible and I promise you it will harden and become capable. 

The things you carry but don't wash - rucksack, food bag, waterproofs, sleeping mat - will slowly start to smell.  Everything you can wash will still become smelly by the end of the walking day.  By the end of the walk you'll probably smell like a mixture of wet dog and wet socks. 
If you walk for long enough you will find you have stopped caring.

The people you meet have the potential to provide some of your most unexpected and interesting moments, don't just walk but make time for conversation and interesting distractions.

Never think to yourself, when you are so so tired after 20 miles of walking and you just want to lie down and become unconscious as quickly as possible, never think to yourself that this lump under your chosen sleeping spot will not matter and you can curl up around it.  You will not sleep properly, it will be come incredibly uncomfortable within an hour and you will wake up the following morning with stabbing back pain.  Be a camping princess, always pick a smooth, level sleeping place.

I once met a woman in tears almost at the top of Snowdon, she was on her way to the end of a 24 hour, 3 mountain challenge - she'd had no sleep and not enough to eat.  She was shivering, her brain shutting down, unable to take action to keep herself safe.  I encouraged her to eat, put a jumper on and left her.  Twenty minutes later she caught me up, refreshed and revitalised - always keep enough food and make sure you eat regularly.  Learn the effects of sugar on your body and balance it with slow-release carbohydrates to ensure a steady supply of energy through the day.

Looking after yourself is hard.  Looking after yourself when you have been walking alone for ten hours and you are exhausted, probably low on blood sugar and unable to make decisions is really difficult.  Talk to yourself, prioritise, help yourself to take action, bring your struggling brain into focus and form the sequence of things you need to do to make yourself warm, safe, fed, rested, relaxed and ready to do exactly the same thing the next day.  Keeping your brain able to do these things is what will make your walk possible - just as much as the amount of power in your legs.

You cannot throw yourself at this journey - a walk of hundreds of miles cannot be pushed until the end.  This is too big, let the target dwarf you, you cannot force this journey to be over quickly with your strength of will - this is too big for rushing, you will break your body trying. 
Settle in to this, accept that the amount of time you spend achieving this will stretch and slow down, you have to live in this journey, not speed up and miss it.

Walking hundreds of miles is hard.  Walking hundreds of miles to a schedule is stressful and demanding.
Get rid of schedules and targets, they just add pressure.  If you must have one, make it flexible.
Only one person can be the fastest, you are probably not that person.  Just walk, it doesn't matter how good you are, just the fact that you are pushing your body to walk hundreds of miles is enough.  Do it in your own time.

All your ideas, your expectations, your targets, your plans, your competition with yourself, your competition with others.  Drop them.  Just walk, get as far as you can every day, keep yourself warm, keep yourself safe, keep yourself rested, get up the next day and do the same again.
Let go of fear and expectations.  Just go for it.  This is what your body evolved to do.

(Have I missed anything?  Ask questions in the comments.  )

When I set out to walk three and a half thousand miles I set out to camp.  I didn't have a tent on my back but the next best thing, a bivvy bag and a piece of tarpaulin for rigging shelters in times of bad weather.  I didn't know what was going to happen, only that I didn't have enough budget to pay to sleep anywhere so I expected plenty of wild camping, curling up in wherever safe spot I could find.  I've lived in Wales for almost sixteen years, in three different towns, long enough to have a network of different friends who were offering me places to stay when I reached their area.  I'm not a hugely social person but it was enough of a network that I'd have a friend to visit every few weeks or so, every month at least.
I can't remember how long it took before the first message came, I'd have to go back and look again and I'm not ready to delve into those memories yet.  I'm keeping this trip rolled up like a tangled ball of wool in my mind and only when I come to write it all down will I separate out these glowing strands into a distinct string of story.  No, the first message was soon but I don't remember how soon but it was a surprise - someone, a complete stranger, more than a friend of a friend but someone who my journey had reached over the myraid connections and sharings of the internet had reached out in return and invited me into their home.  "Hi, when you get to _______, you can come and stay with me".  The list grew and grew, I started to make a map, a star for each person, for each place I could stay.  It meant more than just a bed, it meant a shower, the washing of my clothes, a safe place to close my eyes.  I wouldn't say I was an untrusting person but it just never occurred to me that so many people would open their homes to me.
I've done plenty of camping on this journey, showering in leisure centres, washing my socks in bathroom sinks, but it's never been more than a week without a bed, mostly about three nights.
Pembrokeshire in particular was brilliant; a combination of three people who hosted me for more than one night, plus another five who had me for one night meant that I didn't camp for the entire county.  Just strangers, with a variety of ways of finding me, who'd decided to help me out.

The last four days -
I left Lorna and Gez in Laugharne, saying goodbye to their cute children, all eager eyes and playthings and headed out towards Carmarthen, all my contacts had finished and I was going to wild camp that night, first time in ages.  Lorna offered to take my bag ahead to a pub in Llangain and I eagerly agreed, welcoming any chance to walk without the usual 14 kilos on my back.  Steady trudge all day in the hot sunshine, up and over Lord's Park, with a view across the tidal estuary back to Laugharne and Pendine and ahead to Cefn Sidan and Gower.  Eventually I reached the pub at 5pm, not too tired after fifteen miles but ready to search for a place to sleep.  The barman hauled my bag out from behind the bar and said "There was a man in at lunchtime, said you could stay at his campsite?"  I looked and there was a piece of paper sticking out of my donation tin with a letter, inviting me to stay and a map.  "You gonna go there or what."  said the barman "I don't know where you were thinking of camping up otherwise"  "Yeah, I'll go there" I said, "that'll do", not thinking how strange it might seem for me to be so relaxed about potential sleeping places.  I followed the map through the back village roads and found Ian and Angela at the end of it, running a campsite and offering free nights to anyone walking for charity.  Ian talked a lot, I'll be honest, but they showed me where to pitch up on the lovely flat, short grass, invited me in for dinner and even opened a couple of bottles of Prosecco in my honour.  A lovely, lovely couple, just doing their thing very well in a quiet village of Carmarthenshire.  I drank the Prosecco, felt tipsy and headed off to bed as the sun was setting.  Next morning, up to say goodbye, left them a card and off.  I was definitely going to wild camp that night, somewhere near Ferryside.  First, up to Carmarthen where I sat mindlessly in a cafe for a couple of hours (a neccessary part of my journey) and received a message.  It was from Helen, the person who'd offered me a place to stay in Llanelli - "I've got friends in Kidwelly who can have you to stay, they'll come and pick you up from Ferryside.  Peter and Frances, here's their phone numbers"  Peter was very efficient, texting me the car details and an identifying photograph.  I just had to get to Ferryside by 6; it was a bit of a struggle and I made it by 7 instead - getting lost in a derelict farm, no sign posts to show me the way out.  Eventually Ferryside came into view, just a mile across the water from Llansteffan but a two day walk for me, up to Carmarthen and back again.  There she was, as described, Frances, come to pick me up.  "So how do you know Helen?"  Frances asked.  I had to admit that I didn't, not at all.  She was just a name on a Facebook message and an offer of help.  I was a stranger to her and therefore to Frances, just putting my trust in what was coming forward.  Frances and Peter were very nice, sharing stories of their Christian faith but I was tired, so tired.  I'd been walking for two weeks straight and I needed a day off.  I planned to have one on the Gower, just find a place to put my tent and lie quietly for a day, letting my feet rest.  They were starting to throb painfully again, as they did for most of last year, the tendons strained beyond stretching and starting to pull at their connection to my heel bone.  I needed to stop, rest, give them a chance to heal.  I went to bed early after doing some stretching.
The next day I had to walk to Llanelli - 19 miles.  It was more than I can usually manage with a rucksack but I plugged away, through fields and hillsides at first, over to Kidwelly but then came a tough stretch.  The path took me for three miles alongside Pembrey airfield, heading towards a section of forestry and then a two mile beach walk before I could turn inland and find a cycle path.  The gritty road seemed to last for hours, every time I came to a corner I'd think, this is it, now I'll see the beach ahead, but no, there would always be another section of road, stretching away into the distance.  Finally I came to the beach but that was even worse, a long straight piece of sand, kite buggies rattling along it but not another person to be seen.  I was looking for a cafe which would mark the place to turn inland.  Far away in the distance were some dark posts sticking out of the sand.  I walked, finding a place on the sand where my feet didn't sink into it and sap valuable energy.  The dark objects came closer, it was the skeleton of a huge fishing boat, left there to rot.  Far far away in the distance there was a line of rocks, built to break the force of the waves.  I trudged towards it.  When I reached the rocks, far far away in the distance there was a van parked on the sands, people were milling around it, small sticks flying kites.  I trudged towards it.  When I reached the van, far far away in the distance there were some flags, the RNLI stand.  That was where the cafe was.  I trudged towards it, raising a grudging hand when the kite buggies waved at me.  I reached the cafe and collapsed on a bench.  Today was not pleasant.  Boots off, lie back, cup of tea, check the internet.  Oh damm, rain on Sunday, the day I was hoping to camp on Gower.  Oh that would mean a truly unpleasant day off, trying to relax in a wet tent.  Perhaps I could ask Helen if I could have a day off in her house; it's not something I like to do though, what if she's not comfortable with it, I don't like to ask for more than people are willing to give and would hate to make her feel embarrassed.  She's going away for the night though, it would be really nice.  Argh, I'll have to at least ask.
But first, more walking.  I found the beginning of the cycle path and trudged on, resorting to music to help me move my feet.  Getting lost in the rhythym of my friends mixes helped me with the final five miles.  I wasn't going to make it to Llanelli, my feet were too painful for that but I could at least get to Pwll - a respectable 17 miles.
Helen and her friend Penny came out to pick me up; I was tired, as usual, not able to do much in the way of conversation but just about able to hold my end up.  I went to Penny's house for a shower (Helen's out of order) and Helen's for tea.  She regaled me with travelling tales and I felt a funny, relaxed spirit within her.  "Could I stay here tomorrow night, while you go off to St David's?"  "Of course!  Make the house your own!  Here's a key, I'll be back on Sunday afternoon".  I cannot describe the bliss of a space of ones own when those spaces are in short supply.  What's even better, Helen's house comes with a hammock, in which I have spent most of the day.  I've stretched, I've washed my clothes, I've had a good session with the tennis ball (my favourite bit of kit, you roll around on it to give something like deep tissue massage) and most of all I have slept.
I am restored - not fully, for that will come at the end - but enough to keep injury at bay and allow me to walk a little further.  The more relaxed my muscles the better they can do their work and keep the strain of my movements away from my tendons.  It's been a lovely, unexpected, unplanned day off - all thanks to help from strangers.

Reached Carmarthen, only thirteen miles to walk today so I'm taking a little time for myself in a cafe.

I've made it through Pembrokeshire with an incredible amount of help, being passed, basically, from person to person, just walking the miles between houses.  It's not that my life has been easy; but it could be much much harder.  I'm already thinking ahead to future walking challenges abroad and knowing that I'm having a relatively gentle time of it on this one, home turf.
I only have one tiny drawback to all this lovely help - no time to myself.  No time in the evenings to sit and stare, to think, to process and no time to write.

It's a worthwhile exchange, swapping comfort for the lack of writing time - I camped last night for the first time in a month and had the usual return to uncomfortable sleep, waking up over and over again, hips aching, condensation dripping on me from the inside of the tent.  I just feel like my experiences are slipping away - days pass where I walk, I look at the scenery, I meet new people.  They're all the same, nothing to report.

It's hard to keep a record of what I do every day.  There's never enough time to sit and write it all down, especially when I'm spending so much time with other people in the evenings.  The days pass, I walk, I rest, I meet new people and somehow, when I come to look back on it the minutiae have slipped away.  Does it matter where I sat to rub my feet?  Or the ten minutes I spent watching seagulls curve upwards on clifftop wind currents, swooping and jockeying for territory.  Or the packet of sandwiches wrapped in paper, secured with a rubber band that I opened under the table in a cafe, only drinking tea because it was too wet to sit outside for free.  All these small details of every day, wet grass shedding water into my boots, a line of sheep standing patiently with their backs to the wind, the heavy ache of my tired thighs as I pull up onto another stile, a line of steps stretching up into the side of yet another hill; they are indistinguishable, undescribable.  Have I been doing this too long?  Am I no longer able to document it?  I eat my breakfast in a field, finding a suitable flat rock to sit on, swilling out the bowl from my water bottle, drying it on my knee, repacking it as I have done hundreds of times over.  The extraordinary has become mundane.

I've had a good few days making 20+ miles in Pembrokeshire, something that, for my body and level of fitness is brilliant.  Walking 21 miles in a day is, for me, a case of keeping up a steady rhythym, watching my rest breaks, timing myself on my hourly mileage, keeping it going , rarely stopping.  It's not that it isn't fun - the sense of achievement at pushing my body to this sort of mileage is high but it's not relaxing.  I spend much of the time watching the ground under my feet, especially on a cliffside path it can be rocky, unsteady, with unexpected animal burrows and when I'm walking at speed there's little time for changing footsteps.  So my eyes remain downwards, rarely looking up to feast on the fantastic coastal surroundings.  Do I miss out?  I'm not sure.  I get what I want which is to walk miles and miles every day; this isn't a holiday after all.

I suppose it's another stage, another state to experience.  Gone is the euphoria, gone is the struggle, gone too is the majority of the pain.  I'm hardened, deadened in a way.  A machine, just making its way towards the predetermined destination.
A happy machine.  Satisfied with its simple, mechanical life.

I went to Glastonbury Festival, for the second time during this now sixteen month journey.  I would never have guessed it would take this long when I started out, would I even have started at all if I'd known how long I'd be committing for?  This is an awful lot of pain and discomfort for one body.

Glastonbury is wonderful, I have a lot of fun, see incredible pieces of theatre, comedy and cabaret during the day and at night I put on my apron and talk a lot of rubbish in an entertaining manner to the various people who come to order our delicious pizza.  It provides money for my charities, thanks to my employers donating a portion of their income.  It also provides money for me, topping up my dwindling resources and allowing me to eat for the final two months of this journey.  It's also incredibly physically difficult.  I must reverse my sleep cycle; starting work at 8pm when normally I'd be readying myself for bed.  Finish work 3 or 4am, try to sleep in a tent that slowly heats as soon as the sun rises.  Sauna conditions are normally reached by about 8 or 9 am and I can stand no more, scrambling out of bed for fresh air.  Glastonbury this year has shown me how shallow a reserve of strength I have remaining; it doesn't take much to exhaust me completely.  I can walk, I do it for hours every day, but take me into something different and I flop.

I'm also tired in a different way.  I'm tired of travelling, I'm tired of always moving.  I want a place to live, where I can shut the door and not have to leave again.  I want to go to bed for a week and not have to explain that to anyone.  It's a suprise, this longing for a place, I thought I was a traveller, I thought I didn't have homely feelings.  But I guess I do.  Everyone needs a base, somewhere in the world to return to and although I have a town, I don't have much else.  Normally I'm fine with that but I guess, after sixteen months of almost constant movement, hundreds of different beds, I want the change to stop.  I want some surety and certainty, just for a while.
Nothing doing though, I'm not going to get it yet....

I need to pull myself together, find the energy and keep on going.  Another 600 miles and, step by step, I'll complete them.  I have to.  It would impossible to give up now, so close to the end.  When there are no other options, I'll keep walking.  September, I'll be done by September.