An early Spring in my Steps…
I've taken a break from walking the South Downs Way for the last four months. Today I decided to spring into action and get back on the trail from Buriton to Harting Down.
Whilst I’m sure I missed some breath-taking views of the South Downs in Winter, I have learned that snow and ice don’t go so well with hip-dysplasia (DDH). The tricky mechanics of keeping myself on my feet tend to disappear if I can’t get a grip on the ground. I become one of those penguins that shuffles slowly along trying to hold an egg on its feet. Let’s just say it would have taken a while…!
My Dad (who I have written about so often
in this blog) died just six weeks ago and of course I’m missing him so much
right now. Being in the countryside always
makes me feel close to Dad because he loved it so much. I talked at his funeral about how much he
loved the moors of the Peak District, his time living at Lockerbrook Farm as a warden for
the WoodCraft Folk, and the work they do to encourage young people to get outdoors
and learn to work in harmony with nature and each other.
So over the last four weeks I’ve been waiting eagerly for ‘Spring’
- a sign that the weather had permanently picked up and that ‘perfect’ day to get
out there again. Of course, predicting
the British weather is about as futile as trying to predict whether my knee or neck
or ribs will hurt more or less on any given day. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it rains. So today I decided to stop waiting and just
start walking again.
At 4.5 miles it was a shorter walk than some of the other ‘legs’. It takes my total so far to 29 miles and I’ve challenged myself to walk the full 100 miles to Eastbourne by October this year to raise awareness of hip dysplasia.
It was amazing to be back out there. I had forgotten how good this walk is for me –
for my mind, for my soul and for my body.
I started by dropping the car at Harting Down where a local taxi company picked me up and drove me
to Buriton, which is where I left off in November. It’s important for me to walk every step of
the way in sequence – to do it ‘right’.
Something else my Dad taught me.
The taxi driver waved me off with the cash from his last fare – just one
of the kind donations to Steps
Charity I’ve had so far to support people who are born with lower leg
conditions like mine.
Today’s walk took me along the ridge of the Downs, through
pretty woodland and lots of hedgerows.
Everything had that early Spring feel about it – a fresh start. It had rained in the morning but lightly. There were lambs in the fields. The birds
tweeted calmly, the air smelled fresh and there was a gentle breeze in the many
trees. Being up high gave me amazing views
over the whole valley, lush green fields punctuated by occasional farms, cottages
and villages.
I’m glad I stopped waiting and started walking. I found the spring in my Step I was looking
for and ready to walk again. Turns out
it was that perfect day after all.
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.
Hip-py New Year!
Wow. What a year 2018 has been for me and my hips. I celebrated my Birthday three days ago, 47 years after I was born with hip dysplasia. This time last year I never imagined that I’d have walked a 10K race and 24.5 miles of the South Downs Way. Yet I have, and 2018 has been a thrilling year.
I started walking more this year really as a form of therapy. It all started in March when I found it hard to walk up Back Tor in the Peak District. I realised how much I protect myself and how I struggle to find the right the balance (literally and mentally) between accepting my limitations and pushing myself.
In this year of walking and writing, I’ve also realised how little I knew about DDH – a condition I’ve had all my life. So part of my journey this year has been reading about hip dysplasia and connecting with other people who have the same condition.
Here are 5 things I’ve learned:
- 1 in 10 babies are born with hip instability, 1 in 100 are treated for hip dysplasia and 1 in 500 infants are born with completely dislocated hips. In short, it’s actually quite common. (IHDI figures)
- You’re 4x more likely to have hip dysplasia if you’re female, it’s most common in the left hip and only about 20% of cases are bilateral - i.e. both sides like me. (HipWomen stats)
- A baby’s hips are mainly cartilage and so it’s about 4-5 months before everything is visible on an X-Ray. If the hips aren’t actually dislocated at birth, it can be hard to detect. One of the biggest surprises to me is the number of people who are only diagnosed as adults when they start to develop groin pain. (Sutherland/West)
- To this day, no one knows what causes it. There is a higher incidence with breach birth (which I was), certain positions in the womb, very large babies (I was actually a chubby baby, believe it or not). But these are all correlated risk factors not definitive causes. (Sutherland/West)
- The best way of thinking about hip dysplasia (from Sutherland/West) is to imagine an egg on a shallow spoon (wobbles around) rather than sitting snuggly in an egg cup (which is more like a normal hip). Ironic then that egg and spoon is the race that all the non-athletic kids did at my school sports day. Including me, which was pretty hilarious; precarious actual egg on spoon carried by someone who couldn’t walk straight. Let’s just say we learned quickly to hard boil the egg first!
Walking the Souths Downs Way and a week
on the Hoffman Process both helped me see the impact my differently-abled hips
have had on my emotional and mental health.
Good and bad.
I have a pretty strong will to achieve and a very strong
desire to prove I’m capable. That determination is not a bad trait, but I’ve
learned this year that accepting what’s happening right now, and what I really
can’t do, is also helpful. Like my first
day walking 9 miles from Winchester. Not
likely to make that mistake again…
I also have a fear of abandonment and reluctance to ask for
help from others. Until Hoffman
I had never really thought about how many of my attachments were broken when I
was very young - in and out of hospital and experiencing bodily trauma. I now
recognise the impact that has had on my willingness to rely on others.
Of course, the South Downs Way has been the perfect place to consider these impacts. Each weekend has been a true exercise in mindfulness and self-compassion. Often just me, birds, raindrops, sheep and the occasional tractor.
In June 2018 I walked the Turks Head 10K in Twickenham with the amazing, supportive Bearcats Running Club community – collecting my first ever medal. I then did two test walks before taking on the first two ‘legs’ of the South Downs Way – Winchester to Exton in October and Exton to Buriton in November. It’s been an amazing journey so far through amazing English countryside.
In 2019 I will continue my walking - slowly making my way
over the Downs to Eastbourne. Hopefully
this year you’ll get to meet a few friends along the way, and maybe a few other
‘hippies’ who’ve reached out to share their amazing stories with me too.
Until then, thanks for all your love and support for my
first year @WalkingJill.
And a very Hip-py New Year to you all xx
Walking Test Two: Jill (not Jack) goes up Beacon Hill
Today I took a sneaky day off work and headed for the South Downs Way. My goal was to try out Beacon Hill with my walking boots and some new walking poles. And to visit what will likely be the end of the first ‘leg’ (ha!) of my South Downs Way walk; the pretty village of Exton.
I was born with hip dysplasia (DDH) which means my hip joints didn’t form properly before I was born. Early this year I realised that I spent too much energy ‘protecting’ myself physically, and that I needed to walk more to understand and push my limits. Not doing things by halves, I came up with the mad idea to walk the 100 miles of the South Downs Way. I'm also raising money for Steps charity whose slogan is ‘not everyone takes walking for granted’.
Today was a magical day to visit Beacon Hill, about 10 miles from Winchester. I had brilliant Autumn sunshine and breath-taking 360 views, and experienced nature at its best with hedgerows, lush green fields, fluffy white clouds, colourful birds and hundreds of butterflies. Unlike me, all that nature does need protecting and I’m pleased to see the #MendOurWay campaign working to protect and fix broken sections of the trail.
I wanted to try a hill, because hills present a particular challenge for the way I walk. And there are quite a few of them on the South Downs Way!
The right side of my body is my anchor. On the flat, I walk by hitching my right leg to minimise the time on my left leg and use my upper body to create momentum. On a hill, or even a slant, the mechanics of that become a bit tricky. The result is usually a pain in the neck (literally) and a sub-snail pace.
I parked at the top of Beacon Hill and walked downhill first because I actually find it harder than walking up. Up is slower. Down is way less stable, basically because I need to build my bum (J-Lo I’m not!). As it turns out, I did OK today, so my recent tricycling in the local park may be starting to work. The poles helped a lot (thanks Lidl of all places!) and I managed an average pace of 20 minutes per kilometre. I was pleased to get to Exton and met some lovely people in The Shoe pub before turning round and heading back up the hill.
I have a protection mindset about my body that doesn’t always serve me well, which is why I’m doing this walk and writing this blog. What struck me today was how it’s the things that you don’t plan for that end up being your biggest challenge. It wasn’t the hill, the boots, the poles or anything to do with my hips really. It was actually some belligerent cows who insisted on herding me across a field.
Of course this is where protection comes right back in. I had the same feeling of fear that I get when I'm somewhere really crowded where there are lots of boisterous people. Like being on the dance floor when someone decides to start the conga and tries to grab you to join in. For me that means I feel out of physical control.
In this instance it was big cows, small me. It was a great test of pushing through that fear and recognising that I can manage my own physical boundaries perfectly well. And so I just carried on walking.
And, as it turned out, there's nothing like a herd of cows to give you that extra momentum you need to get back up the hill...
You can follow my blog on Facebook @WalkingJill and if you'd like to donate something to Steps Charity please click here
My 10K Walk. Fitting in by Standing Out.
Yesterday I walked my first ever 10K race.
I consider myself lucky. Despite being born with hip dysplasia, as a child I wasn’t bullied much about my walk, or even about my legs with their knobbly knees and surgery scars. Like many people who have a weakness in one area (for me, sports) I found areas that I was good at and could compete in. I focused on being a bit of a swot at school and singing with a girls’ choir (if you’re thinking bookish-choirgirl you’re about right and the dating profile that generated is a whole other blog post!).
The downside of focusing only on what I’m comfortably good at, is that for a long time I avoided situations where I had to hang out with the ‘sporty’ kids. I’d told myself I didn’t fit and would have to ‘compare’ myself with people who were very physically able. So I’d spare my emotions and protect my body by playing it safe and not joining in. I got fairly good at swimming because it’s something you can do easily alone, and I braved aquafit classes because they’re good for the injured. And that was my keep-fit comfort-box ticked.
Yet I have a distinct memory of being at primary school and insisting (to probably mildly-terrified teachers) that I would climb the tall A-frame or get on the beam in PE class, because I was going to do what everyone else was doing. Or at least as close to it as I could. I’d just do it the Jill way. About a year ago I wondered - “where did that little girl go”? It struck me that she had it about right. Of course, at 6 you don’t understand the risks, at 46 you do. But risk and reward go together.
So a year ago I joined a local running club. I’ve never been able to run really because my hips are at very different levels and my knees and ankles are also mildly deformed. But I’d learned from friends that they had a walking group and went along. I remember my first Sunday and how afraid I was. Afraid that I’d physically hurt myself, but even more fearful of the impact on others. What if I was too slow, what if I held others back from pushing themselves? Standing out for all the ‘wrong’ reasons (wrong in my head, not theirs of course).
I consider myself lucky. Because the Bearcats was the perfect running club to do this. I was amongst people of all running and walking abilities who just took me in their stride. Some run marathons; many do not. Some of the walkers used to run until their knees stopped them; some are walking first to build up to running something like a 10K; others are just injured for a week or two so walk instead. Everyone is differently-abled. They encourage me to push myself, just as they push themselves too. I’ve never felt more included, anywhere.
And so yesterday, nearly a year on, I walked my first ever race – the Turks Head 10K fun run. I did some fundraising for a small charity called Steps, but mainly I did it to push myself. And to join in with the sporty kids rather than always watch them.
Just like everyone who was doing their first 10K (or even their fifth!) I had to train to build up my distance and pace. I started walking 4K twice a week and then built from there. Each week I stepped up the distance or the pace and every time I did, my knees or my hips ached more or my neck locked to compensate for the instability of my funny walk.
Yesterday, I woke up with neck pain and a locked left shoulder. OK, so that felt less lucky. Yet I completed the race in just over 1 hour 45 minutes. I was way behind everyone, it started to hurt through the last few kilometres and I’ve had to have my neck clicked by an osteopath today. But I suspect I’m not the only one who’s feeling sore today.
I crossed the finish line to people cheering me, just like everyone else. I did it the Jill way and I fitted in, by standing out. And I loved every minute.