How I walked my way back to health and happiness
After suffering a devastating mental breakdown, LINDA KELSEY hit rock bottom. Now, she reveals . . .
as — as I now understand it — a genetic susceptibility to depression, passed on by my grandmother and my mother, who suffered from anxiety and periodic depressions.
My anxiety i ncreased over a period of about two years, before I suddenly imploded, unable to work or even function at home, leading to a stay in a psychiatric hospital and a long period of recovery.
I am convinced that, while pills, therapy and time helped, walking was the single, most significant factor in my route to recovery.
At the time, I was utterly depleted — physically, as well as mentally — as the depression and anxiety seemed to grow, rather than diminish, with the initial medications.
A weight loss of more than a stone-and-a-half in the first few months alone tipped me below 8 st. My husband said I looked so fragile, he was frightened to touch me — in case I might break. Then, my older sister, Susan, a childrenswear designer, suggested that I join her walking group — a bunch of middle-aged urban ramblers who, every Saturday and Sunday morning, would tramp across Hampstead Heath.
In Susan’s case, it was in preparation for a charity trek. Just short of powerwalking, it involved a two-hour workout that anyone in reasonable health could manage.
The first t i me I joined them, I trailed pathetically behind, but completed the course, then spent the rest of the day in bed.
I was so tired after my exertions that I slept well for the first time in months, and woke up determined to try it again: a small sucess against the barrage of depression and anxiety I was feeling. After a few weeks, I began to get the hang of it. I was growing to like my fellow walkers — none of whom wer e the frighteningly toned types you see in the gym — and I began to make friends.
I began to f eel muscle tone coming back into my legs, which I liked a great deal. And I noticed that I could stave off the overwhelming sense of anxiety that accompanied my depression for at least the duration of the walk. Slowly, over months, the relief from anxiety I found when walking seemed to last longer and longer after my walks came to an end.
I was still ill, wrestling with the demons that had sapped my lust for life and the medications that made me feel like a zombie. But all this walking was doing me good.
Instead of taking the bus to hospital, for my weekly therapy sessions, I started to walk the halfhour each way. Instead of driving to the supermarket, I walked.
Walking the streets of London made me much more aware of my surroundings. I discovered small, out- of-the-way shops and cafés I had never seen before on my destination-focused outings.
Anxiety makes you fold in on yourself. You hug your arms around yourself for protection; you hunch your body and look at your feet.
Walking made me want to open myself up and, literally, let in the light. I learned a little trick, which works miraculously: i f you’re out walking and feeling anxious, focus on the horizon, rather than the pavement, and you will feel instantly better.
It seems to work because, instead of focusing inwards on negative thoughts, as though you are the only creature in existence and the only space is the bubble in which you are trapped, you become aware of the vast world around you and, somehow, your anxieties are released into the ether.
ULT I MATeLY, my breakdown resolved itself, but I’ve become increasingly aware of what has been documented as an epidemic of anxiety among women in their 50s. It’s down, I’m sure, to a toxic combination of the menopause, loss of body confidence, empty-nest syndrome and the increasing prevalence of divorce amongst older women.
exercise is probably the last thing a woman wants to do when all of this hits, but walking requires so little effort. It may not resolve your problems, but it will certainly help you put them into perspective.
For me, walking has also turned out be an important aid to love. When I met my partner of six years, after my husband ended our 23-year relationship in 2007, I was tentative about embarking on a new relationship and terrified of physical intimacy. I got to know my new partner, Ronny, slowly, over several months, and, while we occasionally went out for dinner, mostly, we walked and talked. Walking beside someone gives a freedom to conversation that you don’t have when you’re sitting, gazing into each other’s eyes. The night he finally came to stay, three months after we’d met, was at the end of a day walking in the Chilterns. I was muddy, sweaty and happy — definitely not looking my best — yet, suddenly, it all seemed so easy.
We’ve just spent a week in Tuscany, walking the Via Francigena from Lucca to Siena, part of the extraordinary pilgrim route that goes all the way from Canterbury to Rome.
We covered 120km in six days, meandering through vineyards heavy with grapes and acres of olive groves and forests at the start of the autumn harvest. each day, I felt daunted by the terrain ahead, but as we reached our next destination (our luggage having been transported by the tour operator), I felt satisfied and more than a little smug. It was both exhausting and exhilarating.
At night, we rewarded ourselves with mounds of pasta and way too much Chianti.
If walking has been good for my love life, it has enhanced my friendships, too. One female friend is so busy globe-trotting in her role as a conflict resolution specialist that it’s hard to catch up with her.
So, we have this ritual. Whenever she has a weekend in town, we meet at 9.30am on Sunday, go for a walk and get up to speed on all the intimate details of our lives. We’re so busy chatting, we barely notice the ground we’ve covered.
At the age of 62, I subscribe to Dr Brown’s ‘use it or lose it’ philosophy when it comes to keeping active and healthy as we grow older. It’s simple: the more immobile we are, the more muscle we lose.
As someone who also has a degree of osteoporosis, I’m aware that the weight-bearing nature of walking is useful in warding off further bone loss — and may even help build it.
When I walk, not only does my anxiety drop away, but I feel a sense of incredible well-being. I love walking alone, as much as in company.
Walking has made me calmer, fitter, happier, and more creative. It has literally changed my life — and in every way, for the better.
WHeN I woke up last Monday, at 7am, there was that f amiliar knot of anxiety in my chest.
In the upcoming week, I had to meet four work deadlines, have an unpleasant medical procedure, attend a study day at the start of my final year of my part-time Ba in arts and Humanities and decide what to make for a dinner party of eight at the weekend.
Then there was the business of the rat that kept scurrying past my back door to deal with and the problem of the moths that had attacked my favourite cashmere jumpers.
I got up, showered and made myself some porridge. But then, instead of methodically approaching my tasks one by one, I ignored them all and went out for a walk.
I knew that the second I set foot outside the door, my anxiety would start to dissipate. The early morning air would clear my head, my clenched shoulders would drop and I’d drift into a semimeditative state.
I’d look around and notice whether the autumn leaves had begun to fall; I’d see harassed mums, bustling their reluctant children along. But mostly, I’d go into myself and enjoy the freedom of the street, without having to race to the Tube or the school gates.
an hour later, after briskly navigating the neighbourhood, dog in tow, I was no longer groggy or on-edge, but refreshed and raring to go. My tasks were just as many, but seemed less monumental. I knew I could tackle them now, without that sense of panic.
Walking is my drug of choice. But, unlike cigarettes, booze or narcotics, walking relaxes, soothes and calms me, with no nasty side- effects beyond the occasional blister and aching calves.
and, at last, it seems I’m not alone in touting its benefits. Walking is now being claimed as the equivalent of a wonderdrug, which can prevent obesity and diabetes, lower the risk of some cancers and relieve depression and anxiety, as well as slow the progression of alzheimer’s, reduce arthritic pain by 50 per cent, boost energy and minimise fatigue.
according to dr James Brown, from the School of life and Health Sciences at aston University, the aforementioned benefits are not seen in people who run marathons, lift weights, or spend hours running on the treadmill, but in people who simply walk for half-an-hour a day.
last week, a study by Macmillan Cancer Support reinforced this. It showed that, if breast cancer patients walk for a mile at a moderate pace of around 3mph for 20 minutes a day, they can reduce their risk of dying from the disease by 40 per cent. Those with prostate cancer who do the same could reduce their risk of death by 30 per cent.
ReallY, it’s a no-brainer. Whatever your age, or your size, you can do it. You don’t have to i nvest in expensive equipment. and you don’t need to join a gym and suffer the humiliation of buff young men flexing their pecs and girls in crop tops strutting their stuff, while you huff and puff in baggy joggers and a T-shirt. When it comes to walking, it really is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.
I wasn’t always a walking zealot. Having been dragged around golf courses as caddy to my dad when I was a little girl growing up in the london suburbs, I regarded walking as a tiresome chore.
When I became a magazine executive in my late 20s, I began to get irritated if I had to walk 100 yards from the taxi to my destination.
I took aerobics classes and did yoga, but saw exercise as an activity distinct from daily life, rather than part of it. I felt self-righteous for doing the classes, but they didn’t calm me.
In fact, yoga had the opposite effect — the more I tried to concentrate on my breathing, the more anxious I became about not getting it right.
My attitude to walking underwent a sea-change almost 20 years ago, when I suffered a massive nervous breakdown at the age of 44, brought about by a combination of stress from juggling my busy life as a magazine editor with being a good mother to my young son, as well