Stepping into Quicksand

In August, we are panning to do a four-day walk around Lake Thun in Switzerland.  You can see, this post is a little different, as for one, I haven't yet done the sporty thing that I should do so that I can then write about it.

On the other hand, there will be a little less falling over my feet and a little more struggling to get my words out.

So if you are looking to read about my ditsy drill disasters, check back on in the second part of this post about walking - it will probably be called something corny like "walking on sunshine" or "something something pun proclaimers". And will hopefully be written at some point in the summer holidays, after I survived the hike around Lake Thun.

But we're not there yet.  For now, I'm trying to not freak out about the fact that I've agreed to walk for four consecutive days, through hilly terrain, with my favourite husband.  You see, walking freaks me out.

I know.  Crazy, huh. So much so that I feel I have to explain why this is going to be such a big deal.  I have to explain it because people don't understand my face when they excitedly enquire about our holiday plans, they don't understand my obsessive need to change the topic and they surely cannot understand my snappy responses when they express envy at the idea of strolling across wildflower meadows towards the candy-floss clouds.

The idea of going "for a walk" can give me palpitations, sweaty palms and can - occasionally - end in a panic attack. Because walking was part of the emotional and physical abuse I lived through as a teenager. And whilst I won't bore you with the details, I will say that people had to go to prison for child abuse at a time and in a place where they would have been more likely to be elected into political office than be detained for child abuse.  Just so we're clear on the scale.

And so, whilst people relish the idea of a relaxing wander along dirt paths, my head constantly calculates how many minutes I have left to still "earn my dinner", and whether I can afford another drink stop without losing the right to lie down to sleep.  And sleeping standing up - not as cool as it sounds, trust me on that. In the time that other walkers enjoy a break to look at the old church or study the map, my mental voice repeatedly points out that I am taking too long, and that I'll lose my shower for another week, not to mention access to clean clothes for the foreseeable future.

So when a friendly inviter points out how lovely it would be if I could join them for the next stroll, my brain kicks into karate tiger mode of  self defence.  Usually, I end up giving vague answers and dim smiles, and I know that sometimes, that can come across as rude.   Please know, I'm not trying to cause offence, I'm trying to manage with what I have. The alternative would be to say "thank you for the lovely invite, I'd rather sit on a fence post." And that would be highly unseemly.

Why not just say "I don't want to" and be done with it?  Because then "it" would have won. And I don't want that.  I want to be someone who goes on walks.  And some days, I can absolutely be that person.  Other days, I can just about summon up the energy to keep "it" in its box to get through a ramble.  Sometimes, I will have used all my energy to get myself there, and arrive to whatever starting point high as a kite on adrenaline and fight - usually, those are the walks where I end up on my knees in some random field, struggling to breathe because I've run empty. Where I blindly feel for an asthma pump that I know won't resolve anything but it will stop people staring. It will force the overwhelming emotions and make way for action.   And some days, painting my toenails is the closest I can get to "being active on my feet". 

I know that this walk will challenge me physically, because  covering 100s of meters of height difference in most likely hot or rainy weather is tough.  There's surely no need for me to reiterate that I am possibly the least fit person ever in the world, and carrying all my oxfam-purchased apparel on my back does not appeal. 

With that, I mean I know that this would be a challenge at the best of times.  And I know that sometimes, I just might not feel like going for a lengthy walk because it is the 27th re-run of my very favourite episode of "Call the Midwife".  Not every thing that feels challenging is based on childhood nightmares.

But I'm trying to say that there are reasons beyond the obvious as to why some of us really struggle with some stuff.  You might have your reasons and triggers as to why certain things are extra-hard for you.  You may not even fully understand what these reasons are, and of some of them you might think "but it was sooo small, it probably has nothing to do with it" or "it's so long ago, I'm tots over it". About some stuff, you might even say "but this wasn't even the worst part of what happened, so why is that having such a massive impact?"

It is totally absolutely OK to feel these things and to find them extra hard.  And it's also OK if some days, these things are even too hard. But please don't let them stop you completely.  Try again tomorrow.  Get someone to come along with you. Tell someone, ask for help. (Here's my hooray to those who have been there for me: HOOOORAY! And thank you.)

"Well, Anna, listen to your own advice then", I hear you mutter.  I'm trying. But the closer to the holidays we get, the louder the plea from my head: Cancel.  Don't go.  You can't do it.  

So I've written it all down here.  Now you know.  Now I can't cancel. 

And if I tell you I'm thinking of bailing, remind me of my own wise-ass words of advice I tend to happily dish out to others:

Don't let "it" win.  Lake Thun (and the world) is too beautiful to give it up to fear without a fight.

Courage, dear heart.  (CS Lewis)