The finish. The ceasing of the walk. It's unimaginable yet it is coming, it will happen. I am forcing myself forward to this point, I am making it end. It has to end.
The end of the walk is a moment in time that I have already decided. Next Saturday, eight days time. I must walk fifteen miles a day until then. My body is exhausted. My feet are hurting. Pain shoots through them and into the bones of my legs. Every day is an effort but I must do it because the finish is coming. This walk must end next Saturday and I must be in Machynlleth when it does.
Each day is a blur, I see people, I experience beautiful things, I do not remember them. I am only walking and it's just a slow grind until I can stop. I am in Herefordshire. The accents contain sounds of Wales and it is joyful. The Wye Valley is beautiful. The land is lush and full of crops, the rain only serves to makes them flourish. The buildings are ancient and wonderful. The land is different to Wales and I feel that. I do not have time to process and enjoy this. I am walking through with no time to stop. I must walk hard every day, my body is tired so the mileage takes all day. I must walk fifteen miles every day and my body is tired.
I don't want the end to happen. I need it to happen. I cannot stop it from happening. I love this and I need it to stop.