Setbacks, disappointments, changes of plan: you’ve had them or you're going to, in your challenge and your life. We must get that gremlin of self-criticism off our back – and walking is our powerful ally.
Mileage below where you’d hoped? Not made the perfect start to the year? Reckon your walking’s a flop because you haven’t yet seen the sunrise from a mountain top? Don’t listen to any of the nonsense the must-do-better gremlin in your head spouts. You’re doing great.
Millions of people will not walk 1000 miles this year. Thousands will give up on the attempt after being disheartened by a setback. Absolutely nobody will walk your 1000 miles unless you do. And though the target dictates a daily average of 2.74 miles over 12 months, you should never mistake that for a scythe you must daily jump or be cut down by. Because it doesn’t matter how slowly your mileage builds – the only defeat lies in stopping moving towards the goal altogether.
Set your mind to the simple imperative of ‘just keeping moving forward’ and you will get there, just as you will draw the daunting eight million breaths and pump the 40 million heartbeats you must also do this year – without thinking about it, and to your incalculable benefit. The days are long, the year is longer, the averages are kind and so should the voice in your head be – the voice you’ll hear from more than any other.
Doing #walk1000miles – like most of the really worthwhile things in life – is an achievement you build like a wall: brick by brick and through determination, with the materials that lie to hand in the shape of your body today and your situation now, not like scoring a World Cup-winning goal or hole-in-one, reliant on perfect conditions and a make-or-break moment of freakish genius.
If you ever find yourself down about your mileage, disheartened after a zero-mile day or a low-scoring week, or cowed by what other people seem to be doing, take care to ask: is this the gremlin of perfectionism in me talking? And has its counsel ever led you to enjoy anything more, or spurred you to any kind of positive action? Is this how friends talk to friends?
Thinking things should or must or even CAN be perfect can be a powerful demotivator. The antidote is to realise things don’t have to be perfect to be brilliant. Not your mileage, not your fitness, not the weather, not your location, not your plans, not your gear, not the way you walk or the way you look. It’s a message walking constantly, cogently counsels – and it’s true. A walk of any kind is always infinitely better than doing nothing, just as a clumsy hug from someone you love is infinitely better than the embrace of a beautiful stranger.
If your year (or your day) hasn’t got off to the start you expected, that doesn’t mean it isn’t still full of infinite promise – that’s the gremlin’s favourite fib. You just have to keep going. The day, the year, your 1000 miles may unfold in all kinds of unexpectedly positive ways: if only you keep moving forward. By journey’s end you’ll know the wall you built brick by brick is actually a tower of strength – and that things don’t have to be perfect to be perfectly wonderful. It’s a trophy even more precious than your 1000-mile medal.
Remember...
We’re here for you
You can rely on encouragement from the community however you’re feeling – post it in the Facebook group. A problem shared is a problem halved; a joy shared, squared!
Every mile you walk is valuable
Think of your body as a Labrador puppy: any walk, however short or humdrum, will be absolutely brilliant, thank you.
Your challenge isn’t on life-support
A few blank days on your progress chart? Your challenge is as durable as your determination not to quit. It suits the gremlin to tell you any deviation from the perfect plan spells failure, but that’s nonsense. Not giving up? Then you are golden!
Perfectly imperfect
Why these 1000-milers have zero time for gremlins – because they know things don’t have to be perfect, or even go according to plan, to turn out just great.
Feelings can fib
‘On Mondays I volunteer at the hospital on a cancer ward. I usually don’t feel like going. If I’m healthy, I go anyway. I NEVER regret it. I always feel I’ve helped and it makes me feel useful, needed and a little proud of myself.’ Mandy Jamieson
Challenging times
‘Not much is going to plan in my life presently, including my challenge. But I’m making a point of getting out every Sunday for a big long walk and it’s REALLY lifting the week ahead. Hoping to start adding in a mid-week early morning walk soon and before I know it I’ll be back to everyday walks.’ Becca Gulliver
Beyond the clouds
‘My husband and I were staying in Keswick and set off on a walk neither of us wanted to do (too much to drink the night before, and a very, grey miserable day!). After slogging sullenly up a hill for a mile or so we suddenly emerged through the cloud to the most amazing temperature inversion. Brilliant blue sky, above a sea of clouds with just the tops of distance peaks visible. It was like it for most of the walk. Keswick below stayed grey and miserable whilst we had glorious sunshine. It was incredible.’ Susan Parkin
Reframe the problem
‘We have a saying “We’re not lost, we just don’t know where we are” and it’s become a bit of a go-to for all manner of things. The paths in life are often confusing, and it’s unclear where they will lead, so I remind myself that I’m not lost, just not sure where I am.’ Catherine Muirhead
It’s not the drop, it’s how you bounce
‘I’d just bought a new tent and sleeping bag ready to backpack the Coast to Coast – but 18 months ago injured my back and am now awaiting a new hip before spinal surgery. I can barely walk at the moment. But on a good day, I go out the front door and with my walking frame make it round the block, and come back full of the joys of spring, even on dull, wet days. Then I dream of all the walks I hope are yet to come.’ Cheryl Taylor
The start doesn’t determine the end
‘The best thing I ever did was having my beautiful daughters. But crippling post natal depression set in the first time and I failed to bond with my baby. When I looked at my beautiful baby I couldn’t even see she was mine. I hid it for a year, then one day after the health visitor at a group asked if anyone would like to speak, and nobody offered, I told the honest truth. It was painful and I cried, and so did some of my audience. But at the end they stood and applauded me! One mum hugged me and whispered she was so relieved she felt the same and was going to seek help. Job done. I helped someone else. So my perfect family life started most imperfectly!’ Sarah Peplow
