I recently spent a weekend on the Norfolk Coast enjoying the beach, the sunshine and copious amounts of ice cream. As usual I spent much of my days (when I was not eating ice cream) on long walks. Norfolk has some great long distance walking paths, with the Norfolk Coast Path a firm favourite of mine, and I find myself returning to the prettiest sections again and again. This time I also explored some terrain more inland and racked up over fifty kilometres over the weekend.

To accompany me I brought a very appropriate book that had caught my eye in the library. Windswept: Why Women Walk by Annabel Abbs is part memoir (about Abbs own mixed feelings about walking) and part biography of several famous women who walked. The rota includes Simone de Beauviour, Gwen John, and Georgia O’Keeffe, and I was curious to find out more about their lives and the role walking played in it.

I must say that I liked the memoir element the least. It sometimes feels as if Abbs tries to reshape the stories of the women she writes about to make her own life make more sense. Seeing how all these women were outspoken and independent, I wonder what they would have had to say about this. Sometimes the memoir element took up space I thought would have been better spent digging deeper into the lives and works of the women depicted. I suppose I should do further research myself but for a book which claims to be about women who walk it felt like a missed opportunity.

Moans aside, the book did get me thinking about walking and how it has played a role in my own life. I don’t normally spend much time contemplating my own womanhood but Abbs pointing out that walking used to be a risky activity for women did make me realize how privileged I am to walk on my own in freedom. Of course you could say that this is a privilege many women around the world are still unable to enjoy. A sobering thought.

Perhaps unexpectedly, considering she likes walking enough to write an entire book about it, Abbs devotes a lot of words to fear. She’s afraid of being harrassed by men, of getting hurt, and of being alone. Considering the health problems she describes her physical worries are perhaps not unwarranted, but it was an eye opener to be shown how frightening walking can be for some. Of course I’m not naive and I know there are people (mainly men) out there who will jump at the opportunity to molest a lone woman. Stranger danger is real. At the same time, what a shame to let fear get in the way of doing something you enjoy. Especially because it is an illusion to think that, by never straying far from familiar ground, you may avert disaster altogether.

Even more overpowering was Abbs fear of being alone. As an introvert who occasionally veers into misanthropic territory, this is a sentiment I can’t really relate to. I’m someone who craves time alone and walking has always been a great way to experience solitude by choice. Sure, walking alone in nature can be unsettling because it makes you realize that you’re but a small part of this enormous planet. Nature is not simply there as a backdrop to your adventures and it doesn’t exist for your benefit. You don’t really matter. I find this a very comforting thought, especially when I find myself spending too much time worrying about insignificant everyday things, but I can see how it could be scary to others.

It’s not the point of Abbs’s book, but I’d urge anyone considering giving walking a go to prepare carefully and use your common sense. Study the route you’re planning to take, pick one that suits your fitness level, let someone know where you’re going. Bring a first aid kit, food and drink, waterproof gear, sunscream, a hat. Invest in an Ordnance Survey map (DO NOT trust Google Maps, especially in remote areas). Check public transport links. Don’t wear trainers. They’re fine in the city but can’t cope with mud and rocks. Listen to experienced walkers and follow their advice (if they say your chosen route is dangerous in bad weather, this is NOT your cue to go ahead and try to prove them wrong).

Sometimes a book’s value does not (only) lie in its contents but in its ability to signpost you to other books or activities that are worthwhile. I’ll definitely be walking more in future (after a long spell of telling myself that I lacked time and energy), I’ll read more about the incredible women she writes about, and who knows, I may even connect to others who walk. Abbs eventually leaves her comfort zone and learns to love walking and perhaps, as a committed solo pedestrian, I will travel in the opposity direction.

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