The fan beside my bed seems to succeed in only blowing hot air at me. But even that has been a slight relief during the hot nights this summer.
I love summer sunshine, but the heat of summer 2022 has been hard to bear some days, and nights.
However, I am still fairly young, and sort of fit. Emphasis on the "sort of" in that sentence. So I have dared to traipse footpaths around the village where I live some days. If you do not have a walking buddy, to hold your hand and make sure you stay safe, and hydrated, and you are brave/stupid enough, like me, to go out walking in the summer sun, make sure you take a fully charged mobile phone with you. Tell someone you trust where you are going, know as much as you can about the paths you are going to walk, and have the means to stay hydrated.
Also, money cannot buy you love, but it can buy you food and drink. And access to public transport. It's worth taking your wallet with you when going out for a ramble.
A twisted ankle or some other unexpected change of circumstances is going to be a lot easier to navigate if you take this advice.
Wearing my backpack and my walking boots in the traditional manner, I walked through Stevington. A man, shirtless and bronzed, worked in his garden, sweat glistening. A woman cycled by, another woman walking beside her, sunglasses and smiles. And the sun beat down oppressively.
I felt fine, offering nods, smiles, and greetings.
However, it feels like weeks and weeks since anything more than a ten minute trickle has fallen from the skies. Temperatures have soared. Thanks to that, and my physique, I knew it wouldn't be long until sweat began to pour and my breathing was noticeably heavier. Thankfully, I was taking to more solitary paths, and others would be spared the sight of me.
I turned down a dusty dirt path and through a metal swing gate, onto a public footpath I know well. Once I got to know these paths, when I was younger, I preferred to use them rather than buses as a means of travel between villages. And sometimes even the longer trip into town. My legs, so far at least, have certainly been more reliable than the bus service.
I am an odd sort, I know. By the time I had reached the dusty paths that line the fields, the back of my shirt was sufficiently cool and soaked with sweat. I traipsed uphill, breathing heavy and wiping at my brow, through grass the colour of dull straw. But even this I enjoy. Common buzzard fly high, with their almost kitten-like calls. A kestrel flies from a wire, hovers overhead, and then is off. And then, there's me, a sweaty and pink-red fleshy mess, panting along, much less gracefully. But I love it.
Years and years ago, in those adolescent days that can feel like yesterday, I used to take off exploring footpaths with brothers and sisters. Or, just as happily, by myself. Later on, it was with my dog. It was a heady mix of calm and excitement I found on those footpaths. Sometimes one, sometimes the other, and sometimes the two mixed like osmosis.
Walking through a wood, coming upon a pair of deer or a fox on the path, is peace and excitement at the same time.
I made it into Bromham, the next village over, after taking the paths worn into the earth, the paths that line fields, that lead into woods. I thought about the cool of the wood nearby, the shade provided by the trees, and was tempted by the thought. Oh, what sweet relief!
But my intended route was into Bromham, to visit the local shop there – combining my joy of long walks with the domestic chore of purchasing a few rolls of toilet paper. So, off towards the village I headed.
By the time I was on the return leg of my walk, an observer would have found evidence of the day's heat in my appearance alone. The bottle of juice I had purchased in the local shop had been relief. But I probably would have needed four more bottles to replace the fluids I was losing in my sweat. My brow glistened and my back was damp.
I endure a workout infrequently, and really only to prove to myself that I am still capable of it. Just to check that my body hasn't descended into complete and utter uselessness. These long walks are really my only form of consistent exercise. However, a love of salt, sweetness, and alcohol keep a healthy amount of padding firmly on my frame. Still, the walks get me out of breath, and my heart pumping.
They also clear the head. I didn't really realise it at the time, but I think one of the main reasons I fell in love with long rambles as a teenager was that they got me out of my head. Riddled with anxieties, empty footpaths without taunting and demands were a safe space for me. And then, later on, I read about all those studies which have discovered all the ways in which being out in nature is good for the mind. How our brains are hardwired to recognise and be at one with the patterns in nature. How chemicals are released in the brain that reduce stress and anxiety. Yeah, that made sense to me. I already knew it, sort of.
When I arrived home from my walk, I was sweaty, tired, and happy. I was also in need of something icy cold. But I was happy.
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