Walking Home

by Clare Balding

  The Olympic Movement has its faults, but its aim is to take sport around the world, to encourage people to compete well, but within the rules, and to improve access to sport for all communities. By hosting the Winter Olympics in Sochi, President Putin was put under the media spotlight and was asked questions about his attitude to what he calls ‘non-traditional’ relationships. Most countries who get away with reprehensible behaviour do so because they are not challenged by the outside world. Russia was being challenged and could be in no doubt that its attitude was considered backward.

  It’s worth remembering that it was only ten years ago in the UK that the armed forces lifted their ban on homosexuality and that, until 2003, Section 28 prevented schools and institutions from ‘promoting’ homosexuality. That created a culture of shame and encouraged teachers to hide their own relationships. Now, equal marriage is a reality and hundreds of out, proud, gay people show it’s possible to have a successful career without the need to lie and deny. We’ve come a long way.

  I was heartened by the opening-ceremony speech from the International Olympic Committee chairman, Thomas Bach, who openly acknowledged Russia’s bigotry and pointed the way forward:

  ‘This is the Olympic message the athletes spread to the host country and to the whole world. Yes, it is possible to strive even for the greatest victory with respect for the dignity of your competitors. Yes, yes, it is possible – even as competitors – to live together under one roof in harmony, with tolerance and without any form of discrimination for whatever reason. Yes, it is possible – even as competitors – to listen, to understand and to give an example for a peaceful society.’

  So all the political issues were swirling in my head, as well as the rules on interference in short-track speed-skating, the sweeping technique in curling, the judging system in slopestyle, the story behind the first individual Japanese figure-skating gold medallist and the pronunciation of the names of the Korean speed skaters and Norwegian cross-country skiers.

  Yet I stayed as Happy as the Pharrell Williams track that became our anthem. And if I could attribute the delight of that trip to any one thing, it would be my morning walks.

  I hope viewers felt something of that, too. In a dark February, it’s uplifting to see snow-covered mountains and bright-blue skies.

  Even more uplifting is seeing medals being won – Jenny Jones, Lizzy Yarnold and the men’s and women’s curling teams made it the most successful Winter Olympics for a British team since 1924. Even events which we did not win were compelling: most memorably, the short-track speed-skating, where poor Elise Christie got disqualified three times.

  And, as with the Summer Games, the female members of Team GB led the way. Yet more proof that when women’s sport gets funding and media attention, it can be box office.

  The winter athletes are refreshingly enthusiastic about media coverage – partly because they get so little of it – so they were happy to come to our makeshift studio at nearly midnight and chat away about the day’s events. The four-man-bob team, led by John Jackson, was the last to compete at the Games. By the time they made it down the mountain, having finished fifth, the closing ceremony was about to start. They gave a brilliant interview but, as they had arrived late at the Games and had been following it from afar, all they really wanted to do was pose with the trolley, as if pushing it down an icy track. On Twitter, #sochitrolley was trending. The Americans may have had the swankiest studio, the Russians may have won the most golds, but, in Britain, our audience made sure that a shopping trolley was the star of the show.

  I was walking alone in Sochi, but even more beneficial to mental health is walking in groups.

  Clinical psychologist Guy Holmes believes that lack of social interaction is dangerous to our health. He has done a lot of research into dealing with depression, alternatives to medication and the effects of trauma.

  He has set up a walking group for people with mental-health problems called Walk and Talk. It is based in Shrewsbury, and I went there to meet Guy and the members of the group.

  ‘If you get very isolated,’ he told me, ‘perhaps because you are a bit paranoid, or you’re scared, or bad things have happened to you, or you’ve lost touch with people, just getting out of the house and being with people is incredibly powerful. The evidence shows that having no friends has a worse impact on your health than smoking. You are going to die a lot younger if you’ve got no friends – that’s the grim reality.’

  Guy is gentle but very direct. He has worked with victims of sexual abuse, survivors of extreme trauma, suicidal people and those who hear voices. He is an impressive man but, for the purposes of our walk, he was just another member of the group hoping it wouldn’t rain, because he hadn’t brought an umbrella.

  Guy’s Walk and Talk group had developed from a walking group I had met back in 2005, based at the Radbrook Day Centre.

  Karen Gregor, who was producing this episode of Ramblings, has always been interested in the mental-health benefits of walking and wanted to explore the idea further in the series. She came across the research of Penny Priest, who was studying for a doctorate in clinical psychology and had joined the walking group to observe and report on the progress made by the people in it. Penny joined us on the original walk in 2005 and again in Shrewsbury nine years later.

  ‘I came up with this model called the Healing Balm effect,’ Penny said. ‘It captured the reasons why people were walking and what they found to be the benefits. People can come together and be part of something, have company and feel safe. My research has helped legitimize the need for a walking group, and it’s great to see it working.’

  Watching the group gather in the Frankwell car park by the guildhall, it was as if oxygen was coming back into their bloodstream and, with it, colour to their cheeks. The proof of the power of friendship was there before my eyes as they talked and laughed together.

  We crossed the River Severn and turned right into a park with wide pathways. I started to chat to a retired policeman who had spent over twenty years in the control room in a busy city but suffered badly when he stopped working and moved to the country. Then his marriage broke down and he fell into depression. He said that walking with the group was the highlight of his week.

  ‘Four years ago I split up from my wife,’ he explained. ‘I live in a very isolated spot and I have no contact with anyone really. I got very depressed. First of all I was prescribed medication, and then my GP suggested I join this Walk and Talk group.’

  He doesn’t come on the walks for the views or the fresh air (he gets plenty of that living in the middle of the countryside with his nearest neighbour over a mile away) but for the human contact.

  ‘Through coming to this, I’ve been able to come off the medication and, hopefully, I’m as right as rain. I was a policeman for twenty-five years in Manchester. When I first started there was an armed robbery once a week, but when I came out of the control room there was an armed robbery three or four times a week, and murders. It was horrendous.

  ‘I had counselling when I left, but the counsellor hadn’t been in the police force so they didn’t understand. I’ve always been aware of mental issues because of being in the police and having to deal with people who have them, but it’s not until it affects you personally that you can appreciate how bad and how low you can get. I was suicidal. I was that bad.’

  He shook his head as if he didn’t recognize the person he had been, then smiled.

  ‘If I know I’m coming here on a Thursday, that keeps me going for the whole week. I just look forward to meeting people and having a chat with them.’

  It seems such a small, insignificant thing, a walking group that meets once a week, but it is life-changing. People need to feel safe, they need to feel loved and they need a reason to meet up. We are not all gregarious, confident beings who will stride up to strangers and strike up a conversation. We need help.

  We had climbed up a path towards Shrewsbury School and stood with our backs to the red-br
ick walls, looking down at the town. From up here, we could see the way the river bent right round in a U-shape, its ends nearly meeting at the top, almost creating an island in the middle. In the distance we could see in one direction the Wrekin and, in the other, the jagged quartz tor of the Stiperstones. Between them was the humpback whale of the Long Mynd and the ancient volcano of Caer Caradoc, with a hill fort on its summit. We were opposite a park called the Quarry, which has a beautiful manicured garden in its centre called the Dingle, designed by Percy Thrower.

  One of the walkers, Gio, pointed out the landmarks to me, adding detail where I lacked knowledge. He first joined the group in 1995. He had suffered a breakdown when he was in his teens, studying for a degree. The pressure had frozen his brain and he started hearing voices. He has never fully recovered and is heavily medicated, a condition that he finds frustrating, because his brain feels as if it is constantly wrapped in a blanket, deadened to the world. He tried running and cycling, but the walking group worked differently.

  ‘When I went for that first walk, I felt like I was being looked after and cared for,’ he said. ‘It feels safe in a way that a local ramblers’ group wouldn’t feel. Having had mental-health problems, we feel a bit vulnerable. We’re a bit raw and more sensitive. The walking group provides a nice little atmosphere in which to have a safe walk and be part of a close-knit family group.

  ‘It’s a very meditative thing, more so than running. Walking tends to feel more like meditation.’

  Penny’s research has found this to be true because of the rhythm of walking. It seems that it’s valuable for people to find a steady pace and stick to it, she said. ‘We all experience various degrees of distress, and it can be useful for any person at any time, depending on what they’re going through. Rhythm is very soothing. Think back to being a baby and being rocked.’

  It had been threatening rain and, as the drops started falling, I was talking to Gio again. For him, the weather is irrelevant. Sometimes a grey, damp day can be a useful reflection of the mood inside. I have always tended to assume that people feel happier on a bright day, but in fact most of us identify strongly with our environment: it’s comforting to be in a landscape that mirrors your mental state, rather than being in one that seems the opposite of how you feel.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what the weather is doing or where we are,’ he said. ‘It’s always magical. When I get back to the van at the end, I feel relieved that the walk is over because of the tiring effect – that’s the medication that makes me more tired – but there are times when I feel a flow of endorphins and I’m energized, which is rare when you’re on medication.’

  We had covered maybe four miles of a circular walk, crossing the river two or three times and climbing high enough to get a good view of Shrewsbury and across to those ‘blue remembered hills’, as described by the poet A. E. Housman. The aim of the group is not to climb mountains or cover miles, but it knows what its purpose is more clearly than most walking groups. Crucial to the experience is to go to a pub or a café after the walk, share a table, chat and recover. By that point, conversation is easy and problems are shared. There is nothing adversarial about it and the pressure is negligible. It sounds to me as if Guy would choose walking therapy over any other.

  ‘I run psychotherapy groups,’ he said, ‘and they’re absolutely terrifying places for people to sit in. This is much more relaxing. People can talk about their difficulties if they want to, but they don’t have to. They can talk about other things if they want.

  ‘Talking about your difficulties is of some help to some people some of the time, but people are much more than their problems. This group is open to all, so we have people who have no connection with mental-health services at all, but they get the same benefits.’

  Walk and Talk has become self-sustaining, with members taking on the responsibility of organizing, planning routes and booking the pub. It can’t be ruined by bureaucracy and, apart from Guy’s time, it costs the state nothing. The research backs up the general feeling that walking is good for us and a group like Walk and Talk can quickly become a lifeline for its members.

  Drug companies are never going to advocate walking as a medicine – there’s no money in it for them – but there is emerging evidence that walking can help slow down the development of Alzheimer’s and early-onset dementia.

  I met a group near Swindon called Forget Me Not who firmly believe that to be the case. We were crowded into the living room of a house in a cul-de-sac. I wouldn’t be able to find it again if I tried, because Swindon manages to hide houses in a way that only Basingstoke or Milton Keynes can rival. The buzz of chatter in the room was fuelled by cups of tea and biscuits. We were discussing where we might walk that day, and the decision was not to be rushed.

  Forget Me Not is run by Lynda Hughes, an occupational therapist who focuses on fitness, stimulation and independence. Members of the group have the responsibility of choosing where they will walk, providing the maps and helping make lunch. Lynda makes sure there is no pressure of time so, even after an hour of discussion, debate and looking at maps, she never once said, ‘Have we decided yet?’ or ‘Let’s get going, shall we?’

  After an hour or so we piled into a minibus and headed off to our starting point. They had decided on a route near Wanborough, to the east of Swindon on the north side of the M4. Everyone had knapsacks stuffed with food and drink, maps and waterproof clothes. The windows steamed up as soon as we closed the doors and I started drawing love hearts in the mist. I can’t help it. It’s something about being in a minibus.

  When we arrived at our start point, we piled out like children on a school trip. It felt exciting and new. People around me were smiling and laughing. They looked relaxed but eager to venture forth. Lynda believes that more and more of us will develop dementia, and that we need to learn to live with it.

  ‘If people can feel more relaxed about it, can feel as if it’s not the end of the world, then that goes a long way,’ she explained. ‘The early diagnosis is important because you want to understand what you’ve got; otherwise, you live in fear of it. There are thousands of people living entirely normal lives with just a few changes for years, and years, and years with Alzheimer’s or early-onset dementia. The media only shows you the end stages, which are scary, but your life can be quite manageable with it.’

  The Forget Me Not group is made up of about ten people, all of whom have a diagnosis of early-onset memory problems. They were all under sixty-five, and no one person was in charge so they were all encouraged to take responsibility. They walk once a week, whatever the weather – in fact, the more inclement it is, the more of an adventure they have and the more everyone remembers it.

  We headed off down a track towards a farm about a mile away. Lynda didn’t lead the walk, nor did any of the other carers. I could see a man I knew was called Jamie up near the front, along with another, called Ian, who was looking at his map.

  I had read plenty about Alzheimer’s but had never had the chance to talk to anyone at length about living with it. For some it’s a case of forgetting names or how to get home; for others it can affect coordination. One lady was less mobile than the rest. When it came to stiles, she couldn’t always feel where her feet were or signal to her legs what to do next. Others gathered round to help, offering a hand or a gentle push from behind.

  ‘One of the effects of any illness is that you’re looked after and you lose the ability of being useful to other people,’ Lynda said. ‘All of us need to be useful to other people to feel good about our own existence. In this group they all help each other out, and it’s just beautiful to see.’

  They walk for five or six hours and nearly always get lost. But finding their way again is part of the challenge, so Lynda doesn’t interfere. Being out walking is good for the members of the group but also gives their wife or husband a break from constant caring. Ian told me, ‘Everyone is very relaxed and I like it that they don’t do things for us that we can do for ourselve
s.’ In the outside world, he explained, every mistake you make affects your confidence because of the reaction of other people. When you can’t park the car properly, it can make you feel that you’re messing everything up. ‘Here, you feel a sense of normality,’ he said.

  We had been walking for a couple of hours before we stopped for lunch. Everyone was starving and fell upon the heaps of food, sharing sandwiches, crisps, fruit and cheese as we sat on the side of a hill looking at the Vale of the White Horse. I could hear the faint hum of the motorway in the distance, and I had no idea where we were or where we were headed.

  After lunch, we followed the map as best we could but ended up in the middle of a field with no obvious exit. One of the faster members of the group said he would walk to the far corner to see if there was a stile and a footpath sign.

  We watched him go and come back again, some fifteen minutes later.

  ‘Was there a stile?’ I asked.

  ‘A stile?’ he said. ‘I have no idea.’

  The others laughed and then he said, ‘Did I go over there to see if there was a stile? Oh dear, that was a bad idea. I really can’t remember whether there was or not.’

  He didn’t panic about not remembering, he just laughed because the others were laughing. It must be frustrating as hell not to be able to remember the most basic of things, but if you let that frustration take over you are living in a double hell. Lynda makes sure that everyone feels that, whatever happens, it’s just fine.

  Soon we had lost another walker, together with her 25-year-old carer. But then we could hear hysterical laughter.

  ‘I fell in a bush!’ said Sandy, emerging from the hedgerow. ‘It was brilliant.’

  It didn’t matter that we were lost, because the group felt at home – and by ‘home’, I don’t mean a house or a village, but a place where everyone can feel safe, loved and, most of all, relevant.