Day 1, Friday, 3 July: Grateful for every step
For our first adventure, my family and I joined the Troost family to hike part of the Tsitsikamma Hiking Trail. Between us, our children range in age from 10 to 15 years.
This wasn’t my first time on the trail. I walked it over New Year’s about 20 years ago, before children, and with my now brother- and sister-in-law and Julia Kupka, who was Farmer’s Weekly’s features editor at the time.
Of that trip, I remember my in-laws packing enough food to feed a small village and insisting we eat some of it at every stop. Each of us carried two cans of sparkling wine to drink on New Year’s Eve at the last hut. After carrying them all that way, they were warm and tasted terrible. We couldn’t even finish one.
I remember freezing just centimetres away from a massive spider that had spun its web right across the path, and I remember baboons taking over the toilets at our last hut.
Mostly, though, I remember a hillside covered in proteas that sloped gently into one of the most beautiful forests I’d ever seen. I also remember us singing at the top of our lungs as we walked. I couldn’t tell you what we sang, but I remember the feeling – that carefree confidence that comes with being in your twenties and thirties and believing every adventure will last forever.
This hike feels very different, though. Twenty years later, I’m carrying more than just a backpack.
Over the years, I’ve broken a leg, torn a meniscus, had an ACL reconstruction, and picked up more aches and niggles than I care to count. The problems actually started in childhood and led to several operations.
After one of my childhood knee injuries, I had to do swimming as part of my rehabilitation.
One day, the coach looked at me and said that if I carried on the way I was, I’d probably end up in a wheelchair by the time I turned 40.
Back then, I didn’t really know what to make of it. Today, I’m just incredibly grateful that prediction never became my reality.
A few years ago, though, I was slowly picking my way down Table Mountain on the Nursery Ravine, which leads into Kirstenbosch. It was a painful descent, every step a negotiation with my knees, with a group of pensioners who swept past me as though they were out for a leisurely Sunday stroll, making me feel even more frustrated.
As two of these women passed me, I overheard one saying to the other: “You know, if you don’t use them, you lose them.”
Those words have stayed with me ever since. I know she was talking about our legs, but I’ve come to realise the same principle applies to almost everything. If we don’t use our hands, our eyes, our minds, or our bodies, we gradually lose what they’re capable of. It’s a bit like farming: neglect almost anything for long enough, and it begins to deteriorate.
I’ve realised that while I can’t change the body I have, I can choose how I use it. Sometimes that means working with a physiotherapist, biokineticist, or GP, and sometimes it means slowing down. But it doesn’t mean you should stop moving.
Today, we walked about 7km from Bloukrans Forest Station to Bloukrans Hut.
And you know what?
It was easier than I expected.
The trail was gentle, the forest spectacular, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like all those hours spent strengthening my legs and ankles were starting to pay off.
But that doesn’t mean the rest of the hike will be easy – I have a feeling the Tsitsikamma still has a few surprises waiting for me – but today reminded me why it’s worth putting in the work.
Farmer’s Weekly gave me the opportunity to be here. My family has supported me through years of surgeries, injuries, and rehabilitation. And my body, despite everything we’ve been through together, still carried me 7km through one of the most beautiful forests in South Africa.
For someone who was once told she would probably end up in a wheelchair by the time she turned 40, reaching Bloukrans Hut felt like more than just the end of Day 1. It felt like a reminder that our bodies are often capable of far more than we imagine, provided we’re willing to keep showing up, putting in the work, and taking that next step.
