A step too far….Cocking to Amberley
Yesterday I walked 11.5 miles of the South Downs Way to Amberley.
It’s always difficult to know our limits and of course we don’t know what they are until we find them. As a child with hip dysplasia I definitely used to push myself – I remember jumping off the top of garages along with the other kids on the estate or climbing the A-frame in P.E. class to the nervousness of onlooking teachers. As an adult, post-hip replacement, I’ve become more cautious and protective.
I’m not saying the route so far has been easy – it really
hasn’t. But since the very first day of this walk, where it was longer than
expected, I’ve become accustomed – if not comfortable – walking about 6 miles
at a time. Yesterday I left Cocking Down
to see how far I could walk towards Amberley. This stretch is one of the most accessible by
public transport. The 60 bus from
Chichester Station stops right where I left off last time, and the South Downs Way
passes Amberley train station in Houghton Bridge. Sounds easy.
After a week of heatwaves, Friday was a nice 24 degrees,
slightly overcast, with a breeze and occasional drizzle; a perfect day for
walking. I packed plenty of food and
water but didn’t need a lot of layers which kept my bag small which is always a
consideration for me. Carrying anything
totally changes the delicate balance of bio-mechanics that let me walk.
The path climbed quickly up 220m to a ridge which is where
this walk stays for most of the route - high above the world with stunning views
of the downs. Walking along the edge of Heyshott
Down I was in familiar territory – saying hello to sheep, enjoying the birds flitting
in and out of pretty hedgerows, and taking the shade of intermittent forests to
one side or the other. This is the quintessentially English countryside of
American movies.
But quite quickly I could tell how tired I was. The night before was so hot I’d not had much
sleep, and my body wasn’t fully rested.
And today that meant I had to take more breaks than usual. I have learned that the best thing for me is
to lay on my back (with trusty inflatable pillow under my head) and knees
bent. This allows my pelvis and back to re-align
from the backward-tilt position it uses to stabilise my walking with flat-as-pancake
glutes; a tell-tale sign of DDH.
On the down-side this made the walk slower (in the end I walked
for over 8 hours…more of that later). On the plus-side, I had some amazingly
mindful moments resting under rustling tree canopies. The most magical of these
was near Graffham Down Nature Reserve, beautiful unfenced fields of wild flowers,
shrubs and trees to protect and encourage our natural wildlife. The only
challenge here was not to drift off to sleep…
I’d left Cocking at 12 noon – later than usual due the public
transport connections (if you’re on the 60 bus push the bell early or you end
up right down a steep hill in Cocking before you’ve even started!). So, by the
time I got to down from the ridge to the A285 near Duncton, it was already
3.30pm. And here, I had a choice - stick or twist. Stop and call a bus on demand (helpful service
but only every hour and a half and I’d just missed one) or keep going on to
Amberley. I literally dithered for what
seemed like a very long time (about 15 minutes) but with the help of some trusty
malt-loaf and butter, I took the decision to push on. I would never know how
far I could go until I tried.
The first reward was a slow but fairly steep climb back up
to the ridge and Bignor Hill. And by the time I was up the hill I was already
regretting my choice. I sat for a while on
a rare bench overlooking the National Trust Slindon Estate
and enjoyed the amazing vistas over the Downs in every direction. It made the
climb worth it but I was painfully aware that I still had about 5 miles to go
and it was nearly tea-time by now. My pace was slow – the paths are good and
straight but chalky and rocky, so you do have to watch your footing. Suddenly
my protection mindset started to kick in – twisting an ankle up here would be pretty
tricky.
A few hellos from dog-walkers and cyclists at the NT Slindon
car-park; I have to say I love meeting different people on this walk – it reminds
me of Yorkshire where people say hello! I then ended up on the most tricky part
of the path. A very steep, winding
descent on a rocky chalk path down to some barns. I always know when it feels
too hard because I start ‘coaching’ myself out loud. So there I was, jabbering my way down the
hill watching my steps. I stopped admiring the view and started counting my
steps and saying “one step at a time, Jill – you can do it”.
At this point, I also had to turn off my phone which was running
out of juice as was the back-up battery pack. I still had 4 miles to go and I
was starting to feel isolated and question whether I’d get there. Everything
hurt. My body was telling me that my hips, legs and shoulders couldn’t keep
going and my mind was telling me to keep going and get to a village. Like most
DDH’ers, learning to walk isn’t intuitive but a deliberate process. This moment
reminded me of learning to walk again after my hip-replacement and I thought,
if I could do that, then I can do this.
Descents are the hardest thing for me and of course this
walk ends with a long, slow descent down past the A29 and on to Houghton Bridge.
As I crossed the A29 I watched the 7.17pm London train pull out of Amberley Station
and I set myself the goal of getting the next one. Even in immense pain, feeling so lonely and vulnerable,
I had to stop for a minute and look at the amazing view as the valley of
Amberley spread out in front of me. It was
late afternoon and simply magical.
I walked myself, one step after another, down the hill - remembering why I’m doing this: “not everyone can take walking for granted”. I don’t know how long I will be able to, but I can still do this – pain and all. I was exhausted as I got closer to Hougton Bridge, and by now I wasn’t just talking to myself but also my cat, my father and anyone else whose support I needed to get there! I must have looked a sight :-)
I got to station approach at Amberley just as the train
left. I missed it by 3 minutes. I burst into
tears. I was so exhausted that I didn’t stop to recognise my achievement. I had
walked 11.5 miles, the longest I ever have, and I had made it.
After catching a train the other way to Barnham 20 minutes later, I found a train to Clapham and then back to Twickenham where I live. I got home just before 11pm to the most delicious meal and cuppa made by my partner who was supportively waiting. I had left home at 8.15am. Needless to say, I slept well last night and I’m very tired today.
Whilst there is satisfaction knowing that I’ve now completed
over 46 miles of my 100-mile trek,
I also found my limit yesterday.
I think the next leg will be like my left one - a bit
shorter!
Paddling with my hands: pain and hip dysplasia
People often ask me if it hurts to walk. The answer is ‘sometimes’. Funnily enough, since I had my hip
replacement, the one part of my body I rarely feel pain is in that left
hip. It’s everywhere else that’s working
so hard to compensate that causes me discomfort. Usually for me it’s pain in my neck and
shoulders and my right knee. The knee
because I take so much weight through that leg and the right hip itself doesn’t
rotate normally so I hitch and throw my leg out. And my shoulders and neck because they’re
working overtime to stabilise me, to keep my balance.
Sports have always been a bit of a challenge. I’ve talked about my early, wobbly attempts at the egg and spoon race. At junior school I could do two things. I have very long arms (no really, like they almost hang to my knees) and so I was good at badminton for a while. I could reach the shuttlecock from anywhere without moving! But as the other kids got older and stronger I had to start chasing the damn thing around the court, and it was clear this wouldn’t be my sport after all.
The other thing I could do, and to this day I love to do, is
swim.
In the water something extraordinary happens for me and it occurred to me the other day that what I love about it is I feel no tension, discomfort or pain. It’s what I imagine some people feel when they walk – it’s automatic and they don’t have to think about it. Once I get into a rhythm swimming, that’s what I feel. I’ve done five laps and I don’t notice – I’m just in flow. Walking has never been like that. I don’t consciously mark every step but I do always have to focus on where my feet are placed and what I’m doing. I’m hyper-vigilant about what’s around me in a crowd (yet still end up in that confused ‘dance’ with a facing stranger who can’t figure out which way I’m trying to go past them). It’s also easier for me to walk with others if they’re on my right-hand side as I’m less likely to bump into them. So thinking about those things is a conscious thing I have learned to do. Steps Charity say “not everyone can take walking for granted” and yet despite all this, I still do. It’s just a slightly different walk. I’ll be back walking the South Downs in the Spring when there’s no chance of slippery frost. Until then you can find me in the swimming pool.
I don’t know how long I’ve loved the water but I remember swimming lessons with joy. It just worked. I could actually do it better than some people and that was a rare feeling for me when it came to sports. The picture you see on this post made me smile. It’s of me and my dad at the seaside (Mablethorpe’s golden sands) where he’s giving me the chance to paddle with my hands because I’m in a chest-to-ankle plaster-cast called a hip spica. It was a way of holding my hips in the sockets after surgery. It didn’t make a very good swimming costume though. Maybe my love of swimming comes from this picture? I found something I could do and so I focused on that.
I still love the sea, and swimming. And it occurs to me looking at this picture, that swimming is still simply paddling with my hands.