Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it was this hard. – Coldplay
This is a lyric that has been floating around my head with great indignation for the past three days. The most tumultuous three days in which I have considered at least 784 different outcome of this crazy stupid adventure. Here is an update from day one.
Day one was harder than I ever could have imagined or expected. After the realisation I’d booked the wrong train to Chester and that I wouldn’t start walking till 11:30 I whizzes through the welsh countryside passing snow on the ground a most unwelcome sight. Once finally completing my maiden voyage I arrived to rain and tarmac. Tarmac from this point onwards has become my mortal enemy. Funnily enough after 26 km and rain all day I was an emotional wreck and my feet were broken. If you were wondering you, probably aren’t. Don’t bother with the first day of the costal path. Chester to Fflint is a post industrial graveyard populated by teenagers who will intimidatingly surround you and ask for directions to Everest. The river Dee is straight flat and uninteresting. The highlight of my day was the Dee tidal bore, which I saw before I’d even left England. Fortunately when I failed miserably to find a spot to camp whilst being followed by the local youths. A bed was arranged in Ffynnongroew and I was officially saved. Main success of the day? I didn’t cry. I have no idea how, I wanted to a lot.
At a point of almost sacking it all in and going home I realised I couldn’t afford to live if I returned to normal life and that if this was as bad as it got I could probably manage a little bit longer. A pep talk from a few important people and I set to bed with a 5:15 alarm and a plan.