Notes to self: Stride closer to self

I'm always going on about how meditation helps you reconnect with who you really are. I have some of my most clear thoughts when I am sitting still, with no distractions — so I thought I knew my true self. Now I know better. I don't think you know your true self until you do a marathon or put yourself through intense pain for no apparent reason.

Before I start, I will tell you that I did a walking marathon. Before you roll your eyes, this isn't cheating — the event was a walking event. It is also not an easy option. If you think walking 42 kilometres is easy, you have obviously never done it. I'm not saying it is harder than a running one but it is another way to punish your body. I would like to show you a photo of my hideously swollen, blistered feet to prove my point but, unfortunately, they are too embarrassing to show. Take my word for it, though, eight hours of non-stop walking is not easy.

Now that we have established that, I will tell you why I believe this kind of torture is a way of learning about your soul. Unfortunately it appears my soul is whiney, needy, has mood swings and is easily bored. I can't say I am wholly surprised.

It all started well. At the starting line, I was in good spirits and optimistic that I would be one of the first ones to finish. I'm fit and young, after all. I'm not sure entirely where it all went wrong. I remember being depressed when I took a wrong turn and got lost and then feeling horrified when I reached the halfway point because I thought I was further on — like ten kilometres further on. I remember working out that I had another four hours of walking left. I remember getting muscle pains in my gluteus maximus while I still had 12 kilometres to go. These were all factors in my mental decline. At one point, I had to stop myself from bursting into tears in the middle of a field. I can't remember why I was in such despair.

Towards the end, I latched on to a motley crew because I don't think I would have made it alone. So I walked with an overweight guy squeezed into very short shorts; a young, healthy thirtysomething guy; and an older guy with all the pro-walking gear, who obviously spent his weekends rambling through the countryside for fun. They were sweet and for the last seven kilometres, I let them carry me — mentally, not physically. I spent the best part of two hours alternating between complaining to them about my blisters, swearing never to walk a marathon again and then enjoying the challenge, the views and the feeling of well-worked muscles.

It wasn't until one of the men said to me "Walking a marathon brings up a lot of emotions, doesn't it?" that I realised how annoying a walking partner I had been. But it was true. At times, I was at peace with the world and then the next minute, I would be on the verge of slumping into a ditch.

The worst point was when my sister texted me a photo of my family (who were all at a barbecue). I was so upset to have missed out on the barbecue and instead opting for the acute pain of walking that the photo very nearly made me sob into the shoulder of my tattooed pal. Usually, a photo of my family wouldn't have this effect on me.

Now I am really worried. If that is the emotional effect walking a marathon had on me, I'm not sure how my sanity or my soul will manage the half marathon I have in four weeks' time.