Over half-way. Looking back on our right to roam.
One week after my most difficult walk, I was back in the Amberley valley feeling much more relaxed. This walk was to be an exciting one, because it took me past the half-way point of the South Downs Way.
It was a very hot Friday as I climbed high above Amberley. When
you’re heading for a destination it’s very easy to focus only on where you’re
going, but on this walk in particular most of the spectacular views were when I
stopped and looked back at how far I’ve come.
It seems like only yesterday when I decided to challenge myself
to walk the South Downs Way, but it was almost 18 months ago that I had the mad
idea. I was in the Peak District,
finding it hard to climb a hill, and thinking back to my childhood atop dad’s shoulders
on the moors near Sheffield.
Despite my hip dysplasia, we would be out walking as a family most Sundays. Dad was passionate about public access to land. Looking back further to just before my Dad was born, Kinder Scout in the Peak District was actually the location of a mass trespass in 1932 that ultimately led to the right to roam movement and the formation of Britain’s first National Park. More National Parks followed and the South Downs National Park is actually the newest. Imagine a world where we couldn’t get out into the fields, the forests or the moors? I’m grateful to those who walked before me and gave me this right to roam, as slowly as I like.
Day one of my two-day walk was definitely easier than last
week. It was just over 6 miles, but it
was still a slow walk due to the heat, with very little shade on this part of the
Way. Even stopping for an energy snack
or a sandwich was invariably sitting out in the full force of the sun. Of course, the bright sunshine made the views
back over the Amberley valley quite spectacular – every colour imaginable lay
behind me – green downs punctuated by sheep, brown cornfields and a meandering
river like something from a turner painting.
Sadly, there’s no set marker at the half-way point, but the pictured
signpost signalled that I’d passed it two miles back!
It took me five and a half hours in total to make it the 7 miles through farm fields to the A24 water tap (and I was parched by the time I got there) for the turn off to Washington. I was staying in a small B&B called Holt-House – which turned out to be a gem of a place due to its wonderful host, Anne who understands what true hospitality is all about. She welcomed me into her home and beautiful garden for an evening of much needed rest and wonderful conversation.
I departed after breakfast for day two, and climbed up the
steep track from Washington towards the Chanctonbury Ring. Today was more overcast and a perfect walking
day – able to see for miles yet feel a cooling breeze. I enjoyed every minute of this walk not least
due to the sheer number of people out even early in the morning. Whether they were cycling, hiking, jogging, trekking
on horseback or just out walking the dog, everyone was enjoying the spectacular
views from the top of the ridge. I was compelled
to sing a little bit of ‘let’s go fly a kite’ as I wandered across the top of the
moors. I felt so free. This is what the march
for public access was all about.
I was wearing shorts and so my strapped-knee was fully visible
and many of the people I passed asked me how I was injured (the limp is also a
bit of a give away). It was nice to tell
a little of my story and why I’m doing this walk – sharing just how common hip
dysplasia really is and how it’s affected me.
In the end I felt so good that I walked an extra two miles, not turning for Steyning but walking on to Botolphs. Here I was also reminded that not only do our National Parks give us the right to roam, but they are also home to many working farms who produce our food day in, day out. I’ve been used to talking to the sheep, or navigating cow-herds, but today I also passed pig farms, and sows suckling their new litters of piglets. I was saddened to see signs having to remind walkers or cyclists to close the gates, keep dogs on leads and not feed the pigs – a sign that we humans take for granted our right of way without an understanding of the negative impact we can have on those who live there and conserve this land.
Breaking the walk into two days made all the difference to my
enjoyment, and so that will be the plan until the end. Because I am, amazingly, over half way (58
miles down!) Sadly, in this part of the world,
it’s not all down hill from here though!
Until the next time….enjoy your right to roam in England’s
green and pleasant land.
As well as walking to challenge myself I’m also raising
money for a small charity called Steps. Like me, many people are born with hip
dysplasia and other lower leg conditions, and Steps support those individuals
and their families. I’m trying to raise £3830 which would be about £1 for every
step I walk on this path. If you’d like
to support me just a little please click
here.
Walking when it's hard to breathe
I just got back from a swim to try and reset myself from my latest walk, two days ago. As well as my right knee getting more and more painful, I’ve had some unusual pains recently – the hitching on the right-hand side seems to be affecting my ribs which despite two osteopathy appointments won’t crack back into place. So my ribs are sticking into my diaphragm which is making it hard to breathe.
May is #NationalWalkingMonth and on Friday I walked the 7.5 miles (12K) from Harting Down to Cocking Hill, which takes my total so far to 35 miles. I’m trying to walk 100 miles of the South Downs Way to raise awareness of Hip Dysplasia (DDH) – a condition I was born with – and raise money for a small charity called Steps who support children and adults often newly-diagnosed with the condition.
It was actually a perfect day for walking; very light
drizzle so not too hot, but not so wet you have to wrap up in lots of clothing
or be careful not to slip. I think one
of the reasons my body is hurting is because life has been a bit stressful
recently. And like all of us, I tend to
hold that stress in my body and it finds the weak spots. And anxiety also makes it harder to breathe.
Of course, stopping and breathing is a great way to relieve
anxiety. It’s the fundamental basis of
Yoga and many forms of meditation - connecting body and mind. And so, my walk on Friday was a workout for
both.
I started where I left off at the top of Harting Down. I’d caught a cab from where I was going to
finish, as I knew that today I’d have to take my time. Not least because I’d forgotten my poles so I
was having to do it unaided.
This walk was a lovely one, I’d highly recommend it for
people looking for a good day walk.
There was so much variation of scenery and of nature. Vast grassland atop chalky hills led quickly
into woodland of all types – some deciduous, some evergreen. Paths that went through sheep-studded farmland
suddenly turned into tracks through flowery meadows. From the top of the hills you can see the
Isle of Wight (although again I picked a day that was a bit misty so alas not
that far from me). But it was still
spectacular as you can see from the gallery. What was fantastic about this walk was that
this amazing British countryside seemed to change mood every half an hour as it
changed landscape. And each change gave
me the chance to stop and breathe. And
having to stop and breathe more in turn gave me more time to take in my
surroundings. In short, I was more
present.
I almost didn’t go walking that day. I’d wanted to book two days but due to an
event at Goodwood, polo near Cocking and a local village fete all in the same
weekend, finding accommodation anywhere except the most expensive hotels was
impossible. But somewhere inside I knew
I needed it. Time to be. To walk. To
breathe. And to recognise that whatever I go through, I’m strong enough to face
it.
As always I met some lovely people along the route. Usually they’re passing me as they’re
obviously faster - and everyone stops and says hello. It’s common to share why we’re walking and
how we’re doing ‘The Way’. I met a couple
who were doing a series of day trips around visiting family, another who saw me
panting at the top of a hill and said “more South Ups and Downs Way isn’t
it?!” And a man towards the end of the
route who was walking the whole thing in 8 days for his holiday, and we talked
about the mental health benefits of walking alone.
In terms of pace my fitbit was tracking about 18 minutes per
kilometre instead of my usual 12. It was
less that my walking pace had slowed but the fact that I kept stopping and breathing. And it turned out that was just the obstacle
I needed to get the most out of this walk.
Jill Pringle is walking the South Downs Way to raise money for Steps Charity – because not everyone can take walking for granted. You can donate here and help families who are newly diagnosed with conditions like hip dysplasia, which Jill was born with in 1971.
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.
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
These hips weren’t made for walking
Yet here I am having just completed two more days and 12.5 miles walking my hips along the South Downs Way. I’m very grateful that I have the mobility, time and support to do so.
I’ve recently started reading A Guide for Adults with Hip Dysplasia by Sophie West and Denise Sutherland – two women with DDH like me. Denise was diagnosed aged 18 months and has therefore lived a more similar path to me. Sophie (an orthopaedic surgeon) was not diagnosed until she was 27. Their book was recommended on Steps Charity’s website, as part of their mission to support adults with hip dysplasia, as well as families of young children born with DDH.
It helps to know what's happening to you
A friend recently asked me why I’d chosen Steps as a charity to support alongside my walking challenge. For me it's the fact that Steps provide information to people right at the point where they feel vulnerable and lost. Either a parent who’s told their young baby will spend months in a plaster-cast and needs surgery. Or an adult newly-diagnosed after increasing pain in the hips, or like me is interested to find out more about a condition I've been aware of my whole life.
I know first-hand how knowing what’s going to happen to you or your child can be important in how you deal with it. As a child, lots of things ‘happened to’ me that weren’t happening to my friends. I had lots of surgery which from a child's point of view meant people did things to me that hurt. I spent lots of time away from my parents in hospital. There was nothing unnecessary - it's what got me walking. Yet I know from therapy I’ve had as an adult that it’s had a significant impact on how I see the world. Both positively and negatively.
As a child I tried to control things by screaming and refusing to let the nurses come near me without a fight. Apparently when my parents weren’t there (in those days they had to stick to visiting times) the only person who I’d let near me was a ward cleaner called ‘June’. Or as I could pronounce it aged 2; ‘Dune’. My mum tells me that my consultant always had to co-opt this cleaner into holding my hand so that he could examine my hips. When I had my left femur lengthened aged 16, I took control by watching a video for medical students about the surgery. The nurses thought I was mad watching how they use a chisel to break the femur, a drill to put the holes in the side of the leg for the fixator and so on. But for me, I knew what was going to happen to me and that felt better than not knowing.
So the South Downs Way is double challenge. I’ve chosen to do it, but it involves uncontrollable things like the weather or the potential of getting lost or injured whilst alone.
Leg 2: My walk from Exton to Buriton
This weekend my two days took me from Exton (where I left off last time) to Buriton - a total of 12.5 miles. The great thing about this part of the walk is that there’s a place to stay on the path exactly half-way. Each day also has a place to stop for a rest and cuppa mid-way. The hard part about this section of the South Downs Way is that it’s very hilly. So tough going, even if your hips were made for walking…
It’s also beautiful. Friday was mainly dry but misty and it had been raining and snowing the day before. The ground was muddy and slippery as I made my way through the Meon Valley. It’s an idyllic part of the world; green fields and hedgerows punctuated by fluffy white sheep. The first challenge was to walk up and around Old Winchester Hill, the site of an Iron Age Fort 650 ft above sea level and where, on a sunny clear day, you can get a great view out to sea. Today the view was of the nearby sheep and fields with a far horizon of mist.
The trip down the other side of the hill took my mud-clogged boots past amazing hang-gliders to Meon Springs - a fly fishing lake where they cater for walkers with tea, toilets, water top-ups and friendly conversation. From there it was a gradual and constant climb back up to 800 ft. The hardest part was half-an-hour up a steep path of uneven chalk stones, which I traversed, at the pace of a penguin, with two walking sticks. By the time I got to the top it was dark and I had to get out the torch to see where I was walking. My hips, knees and the right side of my ribs (which work overtime to stabilise me) were hurting as I stopped for a drink and an energy ball before the final half hour along the ridge to Wetherdown Lodge. Part of an old Naval communications encampment called HMS Mercury, it’s a lovely warm and hospitable hostel, and was the perfect place to stop.
The following morning I awoke to the sound of rain. I’d expected this and it wasn’t too heavy, but what I hadn’t expected was fog. I left layered-up and walked a slow incline through a canopy of trees and the tapping rain, to Butser Hill. It’s the highest peak of the Downs at 888 feet and the original start point of the South Downs Way – until it was extended another 22 miles to Winchester. I can’t really comment on the view (see picture) - I must go back on a clearer day to actually see it!
Down the steep grassy hill of Queen Elizabeth Country Park for a tea break. As I was eating my toasted tea-cake (a religious ritual if you’re from Yorkshire) I looked to the right and a very steep hill of fir trees. “Hope I’m not walking up that” I think. Twenty minutes later and I’m climbing through the trees. It’s stunning and fragrant from the rain. Watching the birds hop around almost takes my mind off how much my hips, knees, feet and shoulders are aching.
An hour and a half later, as I approached the Five Bells in Buriton a woman stopped and got out of her car. She kindly asks “is that the way you usually walk or are you hurt and need help?” I smile as I know that my Fitbit will have logged this un-trackable gait as ‘sport’ not walking. I explained what I’m doing and why and that my lovely partner was waiting in the pub to drive me home. I arrived bedraggled and tired yet feeling so very grateful that I’ve been able to complete a quarter of the South Downs Way already.
For this leg my steps were short and my pace slower than the first trip; each 6-mile day took me and my hips over 5 hours. I’m so proud to be doing this. And grateful that these hips were made for walking. Just very differently.
I'll be back walking in the Spring, hopefully joined by a few friends. If you’d like to donate to Steps Charity you can do so here. £5 would pay for an information pack to be sent to the family of someone newly diagnosed.
You can also follow my blog posts on Facebook and Twitter @WalkingJill
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
Left hip, right path. Getting me walking with hip dysplasia.
Recently I found myself overnight in Alfriston which, as it happens, is directly on the South Downs Way. I had a spare hour or so and decided to walk along the path that I will return to at some point on my 100-mile walk. Straight away I had a choice - left path or right path?
This felt like a symbolic turning point as I had just spent a week on the Hoffman Process exploring my past and finding my own 'right path'. Over the course of that week I realised I have quite a sketchy memory of my childhood surgery for hip dysplaysia (DDH). In Alfriston I realised I could take the left path and remain sketchy. Or the right path - find out more and own the story of my body.
I see so many posts on the Steps Charity group from mums and dads who want to know more about the treatments and surgeries their child will go through. So I started by asking my mum about her memories of my surgeries.
I had my first operation when I was 5 months old. My left hip socket was completely missing as was part of my pelvis. So it was clear that walking was going to be a challenge. Who knows what they could do today with 3D printing or growing bones - in 1971 those were probably sci-fi!
Sheffield Children’s Hospital is a teaching hospital and my mum tells me we were regular guests in the lecture theatre there. My case was unusual so not only attracted medical students but also orthopaedic consultants from other hospitals who contributed ideas about my treatment.
My mum then tells me about a turning point when I was 3 years old. I’d had eight unsuccessful operations already – they were grafting muscle from my groin to try and strap my femur to the pelvis (being medically untrained I can only picture something like a hinge and a rubber band!). They were concerned that I was 3 now and had to get on my feet soon if I was going to walk.
On this particular day my own consultant - who was always mindful of phrasing his explanations in front of mum - wasn’t there. Instead my mum heard another consultant say “so as you can see it’s a hopeless case”. She summarily grabbed me from his arms, saying “if that’s the case, why are you putting her through any more of this” and took me home. Convinced I would not walk.
It was a turning point because it led to a vote and a decision. Three of my consultants came to see mum and dad at home. They explained that there had been a vote and some consultants had voted not to undertake further surgery. But that the three of them wanted to try one more thing. If that didn't work they would stop.
On the day of the operation, after watching me go into theatre, a nurse called mum into the office. On the table was a stack of greetings cards. They had been sent to the hospital by people from across the council estate where I grew up. The nurse turned to mum and said “This is going to work. Because this child has so many people rooting for her.”
And of course, it did. The muscles finally held the femur in place. It was my last chance to walk and I took it. Five days later I came home and took my first steps. I guess I’d watched all the other kids around me do it, I was just waiting for my turn.
Today I’ve been able to walk a few miles along the South Downs Way in Alfriston and I'm preparing for a series of big walks to complete the 100 miles from start to finish.
I know that I wouldn’t be able to consider doing that without two dedicated parents, two supportive siblings, and friends, neighbours and a community cheering me on. And a medical team in Sheffield, led by Mr DK Evans, who didn’t give up. Somehow, together, they gave me my first steps on the right path. I will always be grateful. And I intend to use them wisely.
If the shoe doesn’t fit... orthotics and hip dysplasia
Walking my first 10K for Steps last month taught me a couple of valuable lessons. Firstly, I need to build up my leg strength, particularly around my knees, or I’ll never manage the hills and rugged terrain of the South Downs Way. And secondly, I need to find some comfortable walking boots that my orthotics fit into properly, so I don’t get blisters.
This second realisation makes my heart sink. Oh no, not shoes….
Shoes have always been my personal nemesis. Practically and emotionally.
I was born with hip dysplasia (DDH). My pelvis is incomplete, crooked and I have legs that are different lengths. I also inherited some ‘unusual’ feet that are different sizes - and a left ankle that turns out a bit like Mary Poppins. I wear orthotics to correct my leg length and knee position so practically speaking, pumps or shoes that are light and tie tightly to my feet are the best.
Emotionally – well, like many women I drool over the sexy heels on display in the LK Bennett window. But shoe shopping just isn’t fun. Unlike Cinderella, the shoe rarely fits on either foot and the need to insert orthotics writes most girl-shoes off the list. When it comes to dressing up girly, I often feel more like the ugly sister than the fabled princess in waiting.
I didn’t mind shoe shopping as a kid. My orthopaedic consultant insisted on good shoes that fastened well to my feet so we always went to Clarks in the Co-op department store in Sheffield. They had animated models of the Animal Kwackers there, who I loved. Like Boots and his silver platforms there was a blingster in young Jill - so I always chose the shiny shoes with gold braiding. Happy memories.
The psychological challenges started for me as a teenager. Wearing stilettos was a marker that you were growing up and at that age I become hyper-conscious of the image that heels = sexy. So I persevered with my heels and fishnets at school (it was the 80s in a school with no uniform) because I wanted to fit in. And I wanted boys to look at me like they did the other girls. In reality heels just accentuated my limp and made me walk badly because they’re less stable.
Yet to this day I still dread dressing up for a night out where women wear sexy high heels with their dresses. My own inability to stand up, let alone walk or dance in them, makes me feel like I'm not quite cutting it as a woman. Of course, this is just my own perception - a story I've invented in my own head. But it’s honestly what goes on in it! Rationally I know it really doesn’t matter and I’m lucky I can walk. But emotions are funny things….
I was recently with a group of girlfriends who were sharing their first childhood memories. Ironically, mine is about shoes. My pre-school playgroup used to streamline the rush for bags and coats at the end of the morning, by sending you to get them according to shoe colour. “Everyone with red shoes. Now everyone with brown shoes.” It’s a happy memory for me because I got to go up on my own. I was the only one in blue shoes and I simply loved that I was different. I was differently-abled and differently-minded.
Thankfully stilettos aren’t the rage along the South Downs Way. So right now it’s about finding boots that can support but not cripple my funny ankles. And getting good orthotics that are fitted properly inside them. Since my 10K I’ve been consulting with a chiropractor and my podiatrist, and I’m being fitted for new orthotics next week.
The more I explore my life with hip dysplasia (DDH) and what goes on in my mind about that, the more I see that we’re all differently-abled. We all have things we’re not good at or a bit paranoid about. And let’s face it, you don’t need to have hip dysplasia to be crap at walking in heels!
My pledge is to try and be more like 3-year-old Jill - newly walking in her blue shoes. Walking differently. And proud of it.
The Obstacle is the Way. Walking the South Downs Way?
It’s March 2018 and I’m at the top of Lose Hill in the Peak District. I have fond memories of walking in the Peaks with my family. Although when I say walking, I mean walking a bit then Dad carrying me on his shoulders. I love being outdoors in this landscape. But I’m not exactly the best equipped walker.
I’d say for the last year or so, I’ve been on a personal journey to understand myself better and how my different-ability has influenced who I am today. For a lot of my life I tried to ‘ignore’ my different hips – pretend I’m like everyone else and avoid situations where it was obvious I wasn’t. And ‘protect’ myself – which I’m realising has had some interesting psychological impacts.
Like half way up the track to the ridge from the farm we’re staying at, I seriously want to cry. It’s very steep and rocky. I’m not in significant pain but I realise that somewhere in there I’m waiting for my dad to pick me up because I’m tired. My boyfriend is less thrilled at that prospect than my dad used to be and tells me to keep going because it’s good for me. He reminds me that “the obstacle is the way”. If you haven’t read the book by Ryan Holiday it’s a worth a read. Our ability to tackle problems head on not avoid them is critical – but knowing that doesn’t make me feel better at this point up the hill. When I get to the top of the ridge I sit down, and then refuse to walk further and suggest he does the rest on his own. I’m going to ache tomorrow, my knee keeps cracking in pain, and I know that I find downhill harder than uphill so best to stop now. What I feel is fear - and the need to protect myself from possible injury. Eventually after a rest and realising that I need to stop sulking like a 5-year-old, I get up and walk the ridge all the way along to Lose Hill. I take my time, and the view is spectacular and worth the walk.
And then I decide to do something crazy. If the obstacle is the way, then maybe I need to walk more not less? Maybe I need to find what my true limits are, rather than stop at the first sign of pain because ‘I have a good excuse, right’? I’ve already entered my first 10K in June which is feeling scary, but what if I walk something like the Pennine Way, or logistically better as closer to home, The South Downs Way.
So that’s what I’m going to do. Walk the South Downs Way. I’m not going to do 100 miles at once but I’m going to chunk it up and do it over a year. And share all the obstacles I come across in preparing and doing it. Walking my way to better mental health, where being diff-abled is the obstacle. And the way.
In my day job as a brand marketer, I help businesses embrace their differences. This blog is about me, trying to do the same. Embrace my differences, not hide them.
