Thru-Hiking UK with Rheumatoid Arthritis

Ten years ago, or thereabouts, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. An often underestimated and overlooked auto-immune disease which can be deadly. You wouldn't think it. But it's there, in the literature, how bad it can be. Trust me, I've read the literature...and formed every excuse I can think of from those warnings.

Over exercising was one thing that stuck. So I went to extremes to avoid it! I used to camp a lot when younger. I had an active job. I made sure I had an active job, because I despise going to the gym. Sweaty Betty in a leotard, grunting away among a throng of other Bettys and Bills, trying to achieve that perfect shape.

Except we're all different shapes. I'm pear-shaped. Big bum, smallish upper torso, and have I mentioned how much I despise the gym? Mostly because while we're all grunting away, we're looking and comparing and criticizing everyone else. Hmmm. Not great for self-esteem. And once you pile on those pounds, now people video the unfit ones for kicks on social media. Lovely!

I'm also fairly lazy, tbh.

If I lose weight because I'm doing something productive, that's okay. If I have to think about cake loss, the alarm bells ring loudly and I go into denial - a steep slump - and, as is often the case with fatties like me, go into self-sabotage mode. I comfort eat. Or in this case eat because I refuse to consider I have a problem with sugar. Love sugar!

Over the years, before RA set in, I definitely had issues with sugar and weigh gain. As I said, in an active working environment, this hasn't been an problem. I cut out certain things, make sure I put a bit of welly into a task, and the weight stayed off. Now that my joints are a bit more painful...knees, ankles, and hips are the annoyingly painful ones...I have the perfect excuse not to exercise. So the weight piles on...and on...and on...

Then Covid-19 struck.

Here I am, in my world of denial and pain and excuses, and a deadly virus takes over the world, accomplishing what many terror organizations have failed to do. The tiniest microbe shut down entire cities, transportation, tourism, cruises...and we all went into lockdown mode with our piles of toilet tissues, canned goods, and highly honed instinct for self-preservation. Another perfect excuse not to exercise.

But then something else happened. After the first lockdown I had to move with mother, out of the caravan we'd been inhabiting for a few years, to a more appropriate residence on the west coast of Cumbria.

Mum has all the signs of dementia, which were growing more apparent trapped in a small box with lots of windows on a caravan site where people were far too nosy, and their kids even more annoying. Mum's anxiety and mine was sky-high.

The move highlighted a few things to me.

1. Barbara Windsor, an actress in the UK suffering Alzheimer's, had just died after 6 years with the condition. Mum's had it for a similar length of time, I think, though in the early years it was less pronounced.

2. Dementia is incurable. Mum isn't going to be around forever. Or, possibly, by Christmas 2021. She's fading before my eyes.

3. Mum's nearly ready to need full-time professional care; more than I can offer. Wandering at night, confusion, getting lost between the kitchen and living room. Nearly getting locked in the bathroom because she forgot where she was. Unsteady on her feet. A couple of falls (fortunately not on the stairs at night during her wandering).

4. What do I do when she's in a home? Life is short. When we moved, I didn't expect her to deteriorate so rapidly...I thought this would be it as far as moves. It also means, I realized - selfishly perhaps - that I'll have a lot more free time on my hands. Taking care of someone with dementia is a full time job.

5. I can't just sit around on my fat butt all day long, writing about the world...I need to get back to being OUT in the world. Like I used to do. When I had no excuses.

So I came up with an idea to get me off the aforementioned fat butt, once mum's settled somewhere, stimulate my wellness setting - it's been on a fast decline for a few years - and motivate myself to spread awareness about Rheumatoid Arthritis while doing a long distance hike around the UK's most famous trails. West Highland Way. Great Glen Way. Coast to Coast. Pennine Way. To name but a few. Walking. (I can do walking). With a backpack and a pocket rocket stove. By myself. (I'm socially phobic amongst other things, which has increased over the past few years). That part actually scares me spitless, if I'm being brutally honest. But I can't let fear rule me.

We get one life. I should make the most of it.

Thru-Hike UK RA Style is the venture. It's in the planning stages while I shed 100lbs of excess fat, get some kit together, and arrange for mum to get the best care she can have so she's safe and well, and I don't have to worry about her constantly. It takes its toll on a carer, watching someone close to you slowly lose their mind, memory, and decline into anxiety and confusion and hallucinations. Awful.

Being a carer shouldn't mean ignoring your own health. Mental health is as important as physical wellbeing. I'd forgotten about my own needs. That has led me, without me realizing it, to cling onto my excuses, fearful of letting go, in case anything else happens.

Having RA was a huge shock. One minute I was fit as a flea, the next I couldn't walk properly, hobbling around because my arches were so sore, and having endless blood tests while taking medication that was worse than the symptoms.

I'm remembering me, at last. And being honest about what I'm able to handle myself, and when I should hand over to someone more qualified. we're none of us an island. Sometimes, even when we feel strong or independent, we should reach out.

My confidence ebbs and flows, but I also realized something else. The goals I've had in life - the big ones like becoming a full time writer, or taking a cruise to Hawaii, or becoming a store manager. Those goals I've achieved. In fact, when I've set myself a mission - like Thru-Hike UK RA Style - I may not have always been confident during the journey, but I somehow persevered.

This new mission is one I'm determined to complete, one way or the other. There will probably be grunting, swearing, anxiety, sweating, and a lot of kerfuffle along the way. But I'll do it.

We get one life. We have to make the most of it.

Be kind to yourself. And don't let Dolly Doubters bring you down. They're doubting you because their dreams and goals haven't always been achieved. Grab your backbone and your willpower and see what you can achieve. You might surprise yourself. I have.