Exactly two years ago I started walking. Not for the first time of course, I’d grasped the basics at roughly the correct age but to be perfectly honest that’s about as physically active as I’ve ever been. Even as a child I never ran around a lot, and once I left school, well that was it really.

Then two years ago I had a near death experience on the flight of stairs that lead from the back of Kingshill to Okus Road. I was walking with a party of Year 6 children on a visit to Commonweal School when my past, inactive life, flashed before my eyes. While 30 eleven year olds sprinted to the top I thought my head was going to explode, probably shortly after my lungs.

I spent the next couple of weeks obsessively reading up on all the diseases I faced developing if I didn’t take my weight seriously and then I bought three books on walking, and off I went. One month in and I’d a lost stone and dropped a dress size. I walked through wind and rain and that December, even snow. In total I lost four stone and my entire wardrobe and became a born again walker. Then I thought, I should have been blogging about this. I could have inspired other 50 something women to a healthier lifestyle, my experiences could have led to a book deal, a fitness video, a fortune! And then I came up with a cunning plan.

I know, I thought, I’ll put all the weight back on and start again.

Well, that’s not really how it happened. Fool hardy and flushed with previously unknown levels of fitness, I decided to run! Now I knew I couldn’t run properly, like the whole way to work, so I decided to part walk, part run. The first day was a triumph. Everyone at work was well impressed. The second day I tore my Achilles tendon. Like Becks I thought my career in professional football might be over too.

Unlike Becks I wasn’t stretched off but limped on to work, which was probably the worst thing I could have done, and the next day I couldn’t even walk as far as the bus stop.

To begin with I missed the walking terribly, but as the pain continued and the weeks went by, I lost my motivation, my routine, my newly found waist and rediscovered biscuits and crisps and Mars Bars.

Two years on and déjà vu. With all routes to Radnor Street Cemetery involving a hike up the hill my body has issued me with a warning, get walking or else. So as I’m not quite ready to be buried there yet, I’m back in training. Watch this space.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here