I’m still so very tentative every time I come to a cattle grid or a gate, fence or obstacle I have to climb over — inching my way across, half-expecting my foot to slip. I simply can’t afford an injury now, not after all these miles. It’s funny how something so ordinary can suddenly feel like a real test of nerve.
I’ve noticed my gait has become quite uneven. Even though my left foot feels so much better than it has in months — maybe even most of the year — the pattern of my walk still isn’t right. I keep trying to correct it, concentrating for a while, but before long it slips back to that awkward rhythm again. Old habits, I suppose, both physical and mental. The uneven wear on the heels of my shoes is witness to this.
What’s been eye-opening, though, is realising how much energy pain steals.
Now that the worst of the foot pain has gone, I’m suddenly aware of how much lighter walking feels — how much less effort it takes just to move forward. Every step used to be a battle; I’d feel the sting of pain constantly, especially when I started walking again after stopping.
Now, I only really notice the ache at the end of the day when I finally take off my shoes. I still can’t walk barefoot, but my cushioned sliders are a little slice of heaven — the only thing I can truly relax in. Well, those and the fantastic shoes Louise gave me way back in North Cornwall. They’ve been absolute lifesavers.
Even my shoulder pain, a souvenir from that heavy fall in Tintagel, has eased off at last. Step by step, bruise by bruise, the body heals — and I’m learning to trust it again.
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