There is the happiness of knowing that I'm half-way through, that I, with my plump little legs that turn in at the ankles, have managed to stride, plod, climb, drag and stumble my way through almost 1700 miles. If I can do this I can do anything.....or another 1600 miles at least. Once I reached 1000 miles, I knew I could make the full 3000, it's a good feeling, satisfying.
There is also the apprehension of only being half-way through; half-way through the effort, the grime, the sleepless nights trying to curl my body around the unyielding ground. There's the same again coming; all the high hills rising in front of me, all the muddy patches, all the gleefully saturating bog, all the pain. All the foot pain, back pain, neck pain, ankle pain. All the evenings spent hobbling, unable to put feet to the ground. All the foot rubs, calf stretches, sun salutes. All the shooting kicks and twitches, all the cramps. All the outdoor shitting.
I have to do the same again. Except this time in the Winter. It's a sinking feeling, of fear.
There's the anticipation of being half-way through. I get to walk another 1600 miles before I have to go back to work, back to a normal life. I have another eight months of freedom, of the wild wind blowing my hair, of hard won mountains, of turning to look back at the view, of dreamy hours in cafes, of conversations and connections with strangers, of wild flowers and bird calls, talking to animals, waking up at night and watching the moon sail above me. The wind can blow my senses out to the horizon for another 1600 miles. There will be rain in my face, there will be frozen, red hands, there will be deep deep exhaustion and I will savour it all because it makes me deeply, deeply happy.
There is also the apprehension of only being half-way through; half-way through the effort, the grime, the sleepless nights trying to curl my body around the unyielding ground. There's the same again coming; all the high hills rising in front of me, all the muddy patches, all the gleefully saturating bog, all the pain. All the foot pain, back pain, neck pain, ankle pain. All the evenings spent hobbling, unable to put feet to the ground. All the foot rubs, calf stretches, sun salutes. All the shooting kicks and twitches, all the cramps. All the outdoor shitting.
I have to do the same again. Except this time in the Winter. It's a sinking feeling, of fear.
There's the anticipation of being half-way through. I get to walk another 1600 miles before I have to go back to work, back to a normal life. I have another eight months of freedom, of the wild wind blowing my hair, of hard won mountains, of turning to look back at the view, of dreamy hours in cafes, of conversations and connections with strangers, of wild flowers and bird calls, talking to animals, waking up at night and watching the moon sail above me. The wind can blow my senses out to the horizon for another 1600 miles. There will be rain in my face, there will be frozen, red hands, there will be deep deep exhaustion and I will savour it all because it makes me deeply, deeply happy.
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