The recovery was now just something that was happening passively in the background while I lived my life
Look how far I had come.
When, on one day, a group came back chuckling that one of them had almost died when he slipped, but another had grabbed him by the backpack, my heart turned over.
My time trapped in bed or in my wheelchair seemed to drag on interminably. People who visited me remarked on how quickly I seemed to be getting better, but I didn’t feel that way at all. I was constantly frustrated.
We reached the summit cairn and waited for our turn to pose on top of it, with Steve and Hugo loudly saying things along the lines of “Walked all the way from Snowdon, eh? Nice going!” then looking round to see if anyone reacted. Steve produced some celebratory whiskey, which we all knocked back a sip of.
We altered course, and more and more frequently had to dodge round large puddles and soaked earth, which then turned into entire sections of path that were submerged. Our route-finding involved some creative clambering and fence-hopping, until eventually we were checkmated. Caught on a track between two walls in an abandoned farmstead, with no way round and twenty metres of water between us and the road, we gave up and sprinted through it.
It was harvest season, and several of the farm houses we passed had tables set up on the roadside with honesty boxes, and great piles of apples for sale, along with chicken and even duck eggs. After passing a few of these we could no longer resist and got an apple each. We couldn’t guess what variety they were, but they were crisp and sweet. Duncan declared his the most delicious apple he had ever eaten.