There’s something about walking in the hills that gets under your skin.

It isn’t just the views. It isn’t simply the sense of achievement when you reach the top. For me, walking has always represented something much bigger — freedom, challenge, adventure and, perhaps more than anything, a reminder that I’m still here.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been out exploring some beautiful parts of the north of England, including Loughrigg Terrace in the Lake District, Hardraw Force in Wensleydale and the magnificent Ribblehead Viaduct.

None of these adventures involved climbing a 19,000-foot mountain like Kilimanjaro, not once but twice or the incredible gradients of the High Atlas and Mt Toubkal.

But, strangely, some of them have been every bit as challenging mentally.

And that’s because these days I don’t just have to think about where the path is going.

I have to think about what my body is capable of.

Loughrigg Terrace — learning to listen

Loughrigg Terrace is one of those places that reminds me why the Lake District is so special. It’s a gentle walk that, for me, starts at Skelwith Bridge – the entrance to the Langdale Valley, Cumbria

The views open out across the landscape as you exit Deer Bolt Wood and, for a while, it’s easy to forget everything else. The views of Grasmere and Rydal Water never fail to just stop you in your tracks.

But walking with adrenal insufficiency means I can’t quite forget.

Since the effects of my immunotherapy (IpiNivo combination) left me with adrenal insufficiency, I have had to learn about something I had never really thought about before — cortisol and the body’s response to physical stress.

Cortisol is one of the hormones that helps the body respond to stress and exertion. When your adrenal glands aren’t producing enough of it, your body can struggle to respond normally when you exercise, become unwell or are under significant physical stress.

That’s where the “sick day rules” come in.

They are essentially a safety plan for people with adrenal insufficiency. When the body is under increased stress — for example because of illness, injury or significant physical exertion — you may need to increase your prescribed hydrocortisone according to the plan given to you by your endocrinology team.

It sounds straightforward.

In reality, it can make something as simple as going for a walk surprisingly complicated.

• How hard am I going to push myself?
• How far am I going?
• What happens if I feel exhausted halfway around?
• Is this normal tiredness or is my body telling me something more important?

And perhaps the biggest question of all:

Am I being sensible — or am I letting fear stop me doing something I love?

The anxiety nobody sees

That last question is probably the hardest.

As mentioned before I’ve spent years pushing myself climbing Kilimanjaro not once but twice and also walked in near vertical landscapes in High Atlas whilst trying to summit Mt Toubkal – all of this to raise awareness of Skin Cancer and funds for much needed equipment for early diagnosis.

Those experiences taught me that the human body is capable of extraordinary things.

But they also created a benchmark in my head – I know what I used to be able to do.

HERE LIES THE PROBLEM!

Because when you have spent years telling yourself to keep going, to push through the pain, to get to the top, it is difficult to suddenly accept that there are times when pushing through isn’t necessarily the right thing to do.

There is an anxiety that comes with that.

• You start wondering whether the next hill is going to be too much.
• Whether you will have enough energy.
• Whether you have taken enough medication according to your personal sick-day plan.
• Whether that feeling of exhaustion is simply because you’ve walked uphill — or whether your adrenal insufficiency is beginning to catch up with you.

And there is something strangely emotional about realising that your body isn’t quite the body it used to be.

Especially when your mind still thinks it is.

Hardraw Force — the reward is still there

Then there are days when you just get out there.

Hardraw Force in Wensleydale was one of those days – again, planning with Sick Day Rules was essential.

The walk to the waterfall isn’t about conquering some enormous mountain. It is about being outside, putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying where you are with views around you that are just jaw droopingly beautiful.

And that’s something I am trying to relearn.

Adventure doesn’t always have to mean exhaustion.

Achievement doesn’t always have to mean reaching the summit.

Sometimes achievement is simply getting yourself out of the door.

Sometimes it’s knowing when to turn around.

And sometimes the biggest victory is accepting that stopping isn’t failing.

Ribblehead — sometimes you don’t need to climb anything

A quick trip to see Ribblehead Viaduct on the way home was another reminder of that.

Standing beneath those enormous arches, looking up at a structure built in the 19th century, you realise just how much effort went into creating something that has survived for generations.

The Ribblehead Viaduct in North Yorkshire did not feature in the Harry Potter films. People often confuse it with the famous bridge from the movies, but the actual bridge used for the Hogwarts Express scenes is the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland.

Perspective

All these things help to put my own problems into perspective – it also reminds me how much I love seeing other places and indeed people.

You don’t necessarily need to climb a mountain to feel that sense of adventure – sometimes you just need to go somewhere you’ve never been before.

Look around. Take a breath – appreciate the fact that you’re there.

The mountain inside your head

Living with cancer has taught me a lot about uncertainty.

I’ve lived with melanoma for years. I’ve been through surgery, immunotherapy, recurrence, side effects and scans that can make your stomach turn before you’ve even heard the results.

And I’ve learned that there are different kinds of battles.

Some are visible.

Some aren’t.

The physical challenge of climbing Kilimanjaro is obvious. The steepness of the High Atlas is obvious. You can see the mountain in front of you.

Adrenal insufficiency is different.

The mountain isn’t always visible.

Sometimes it is the uncertainty in your own head.

• Can I do this?
• Should I do this?
• What happens if I push too hard?

And that can be incredibly frustrating when you’ve spent so much of your life believing that you can simply grit your teeth and get on with it.

I’m learning that strength isn’t always about pushing harder.

Sometimes strength is listening – to your own body, to your medical teams (oncology or endocrinology).

Sometimes it is simply slowing down.

Sometimes it is taking the medication you’ve been prescribed and following your sick-day plan when your body needs extra support.

And sometimes it is accepting that today’s walk might be shorter than yesterday’s.

Still moving forward

I’m not prepared to stop exploring.

I’m not prepared to stop walking.

And I’m certainly not prepared to let melanoma, immunotherapy or adrenal insufficiency define everything that comes next.

But I am learning to do things differently.

The goal now isn’t necessarily to prove how far I can push myself.

It’s to find out how much I can still enjoy.

There will hopefully be more hills.

More mountains.

More waterfalls.

More incredible views.

Maybe even another big adventure somewhere in the world.

But I don’t need to prove anything by destroying myself to get there.

I’ve climbed Kilimanjaro twice.

I’ve battled my way up the insane slopes of the High Atlas.

I’ve been through things I never imagined I would have to face.

So perhaps the next challenge is a different one:

Learning to listen to my body without being afraid of it.

Because the reality is that my body has changed.

• But I’m still here.
• I’m still walking.
• I’m still exploring.

And, most importantly…

I’m still living.

One Life…… LOVE IT…… LIVE IT.

There’s something about walking in the hills that gets under your skin.

It isn’t just the views. It isn’t simply the sense of achievement when you reach the top. For me, walking has always represented something much bigger — freedom, challenge, adventure and, perhaps more than anything, a reminder that I’m still here.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been out exploring some beautiful parts of the north of England, including Loughrigg Terrace in the Lake District, Hardraw Force in Wensleydale and the magnificent Ribblehead Viaduct.

None of these adventures involved climbing a 19,000-foot mountain like Kilimanjaro, not once but twice or the incredible gradients of the High Atlas and Mt Toubkal.

But, strangely, some of them have been every bit as challenging mentally.

And that’s because these days I don’t just have to think about where the path is going.

I have to think about what my body is capable of.

Loughrigg Terrace — learning to listen

Loughrigg Terrace is one of those places that reminds me why the Lake District is so special. It’s a gentle walk that, for me, starts at Skelwith Bridge – the entrance to the Langdale Valley, Cumbria

The views open out across the landscape as you exit Deer Bolt Wood and, for a while, it’s easy to forget everything else. The views of Grasmere and Rydal Water never fail to just stop you in your tracks.

But walking with adrenal insufficiency means I can’t quite forget.

Since the effects of my immunotherapy (IpiNivo combination) left me with adrenal insufficiency, I have had to learn about something I had never really thought about before — cortisol and the body’s response to physical stress.

Cortisol is one of the hormones that helps the body respond to stress and exertion. When your adrenal glands aren’t producing enough of it, your body can struggle to respond normally when you exercise, become unwell or are under significant physical stress.

That’s where the “sick day rules” come in.

They are essentially a safety plan for people with adrenal insufficiency. When the body is under increased stress — for example because of illness, injury or significant physical exertion — you may need to increase your prescribed hydrocortisone according to the plan given to you by your endocrinology team.

It sounds straightforward.

In reality, it can make something as simple as going for a walk surprisingly complicated.

• How hard am I going to push myself?
• How far am I going?
• What happens if I feel exhausted halfway around?
• Is this normal tiredness or is my body telling me something more important?

And perhaps the biggest question of all:

Am I being sensible — or am I letting fear stop me doing something I love?

The anxiety nobody sees

That last question is probably the hardest.

As mentioned before I’ve spent years pushing myself climbing Kilimanjaro not once but twice and also walked in near vertical landscapes in High Atlas whilst trying to summit Mt Toubkal – all of this to raise awareness of Skin Cancer and funds for much needed equipment for early diagnosis.

Those experiences taught me that the human body is capable of extraordinary things.

But they also created a benchmark in my head – I know what I used to be able to do.

HERE LIES THE PROBLEM!

Because when you have spent years telling yourself to keep going, to push through the pain, to get to the top, it is difficult to suddenly accept that there are times when pushing through isn’t necessarily the right thing to do.

There is an anxiety that comes with that.

• You start wondering whether the next hill is going to be too much.
• Whether you will have enough energy.
• Whether you have taken enough medication according to your personal sick-day plan.
• Whether that feeling of exhaustion is simply because you’ve walked uphill — or whether your adrenal insufficiency is beginning to catch up with you.

And there is something strangely emotional about realising that your body isn’t quite the body it used to be.

Especially when your mind still thinks it is.

Hardraw Force — the reward is still there

Then there are days when you just get out there.

Hardraw Force in Wensleydale was one of those days – again, planning with Sick Day Rules was essential.

The walk to the waterfall isn’t about conquering some enormous mountain. It is about being outside, putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying where you are with views around you that are just jaw droopingly beautiful.

And that’s something I am trying to relearn.

Adventure doesn’t always have to mean exhaustion.

Achievement doesn’t always have to mean reaching the summit.

Sometimes achievement is simply getting yourself out of the door.

Sometimes it’s knowing when to turn around.

And sometimes the biggest victory is accepting that stopping isn’t failing.

Ribblehead — sometimes you don’t need to climb anything

A quick trip to see Ribblehead Viaduct on the way home was another reminder of that.

Standing beneath those enormous arches, looking up at a structure built in the 19th century, you realise just how much effort went into creating something that has survived for generations.

The Ribblehead Viaduct in North Yorkshire did not feature in the Harry Potter films. People often confuse it with the famous bridge from the movies, but the actual bridge used for the Hogwarts Express scenes is the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland.

Perspective

All these things help to put my own problems into perspective – it also reminds me how much I love seeing other places and indeed people.

You don’t necessarily need to climb a mountain to feel that sense of adventure – sometimes you just need to go somewhere you’ve never been before.

Look around. Take a breath – appreciate the fact that you’re there.

The mountain inside your head

Living with cancer has taught me a lot about uncertainty.

I’ve lived with melanoma for years. I’ve been through surgery, immunotherapy, recurrence, side effects and scans that can make your stomach turn before you’ve even heard the results.

And I’ve learned that there are different kinds of battles.

Some are visible.

Some aren’t.

The physical challenge of climbing Kilimanjaro is obvious. The steepness of the High Atlas is obvious. You can see the mountain in front of you.

Adrenal insufficiency is different.

The mountain isn’t always visible.

Sometimes it is the uncertainty in your own head.

• Can I do this?
• Should I do this?
• What happens if I push too hard?

And that can be incredibly frustrating when you’ve spent so much of your life believing that you can simply grit your teeth and get on with it.

I’m learning that strength isn’t always about pushing harder.

Sometimes strength is listening – to your own body, to your medical teams (oncology or endocrinology).

Sometimes it is simply slowing down.

Sometimes it is taking the medication you’ve been prescribed and following your sick-day plan when your body needs extra support.

And sometimes it is accepting that today’s walk might be shorter than yesterday’s.

Still moving forward

I’m not prepared to stop exploring.

I’m not prepared to stop walking.

And I’m certainly not prepared to let melanoma, immunotherapy or adrenal insufficiency define everything that comes next.

But I am learning to do things differently.

The goal now isn’t necessarily to prove how far I can push myself.

It’s to find out how much I can still enjoy.

There will hopefully be more hills.

More mountains.

More waterfalls.

More incredible views.

Maybe even another big adventure somewhere in the world.

But I don’t need to prove anything by destroying myself to get there.

I’ve climbed Kilimanjaro twice.

I’ve battled my way up the insane slopes of the High Atlas.

I’ve been through things I never imagined I would have to face.

So perhaps the next challenge is a different one:

Learning to listen to my body without being afraid of it.

Because the reality is that my body has changed.

• But I’m still here.
• I’m still walking.
• I’m still exploring.

And, most importantly…

I’m still living.

One Life…… LOVE IT…… LIVE IT.