May was an interesting month. We celebrated Mother’s Day in New Zealand, my eldest daughter in Otago, studying medicine, gleefully explained she now understood Mr D’s fatigue as she’d learned about beta blockers. My eldest son learned the frustration of teamwork. My only children now, fast becoming young adults themselves, the twins, also did well. He won a local chess tournament, she won a place in the National Barbershop Finals.

I meanwhile, am feeling the sting of failure. I proudly set out at the start of the month, full of determination and hope. I had spotted an advert from Parkinson’s UK about their ‘Walk 100 Miles in May’ challenge. I’m finding walking difficult, but I know I cannot stop, so I signed up. Finding the time to walk has been difficult. Between exercise in general, work and family is been hard to time everything right so I could walk. Yet these are excuses, I tell myself, and try my best regardless.

It’s late Autumn here in New Zealand. The weather has certainly turned. Which means walking in the dark in the cold, driving rain isn’t much fun. Add in some aches, pain and stiffness it all adds up to some pretty miserable walks. Yet I persevered. I pushed myself so hard to reach that goal. I think I was already cheating, as I counted all my walking about the house too. I figured what the heck, it’s almost my nine year anniversary of diagnosis, surely I can cut some slack?!

Then the weather turned against me. This last week saw awful rain, extra curricular ‘stuff’, additional parent things and long hours at work. Despite my best efforts, the very achievable target was slipping away from me. I realised with dismay I was not going to do it. I completed 97 of the 100 target, meaning I fell short by just three miles.

Three miles.

I was, am – really unhappy. I don’t fail things, not me. I never fall short, just miss, drop the ball. Yet this time, I had.

I have lots of very good, real reasons (excuses) as to why it has been quite so difficult, but I still looked at the final tally and felt a crushing sense of failure. My his band asked me what was wrong, and I said “I didn’t try hard enough, I failed by such a small margin.”

Mr D looked surprised, and sat down next to me. “How is 97 miles a failure?”
“Because I’m supposed to do 100.”
“It’s nearly 100.” he said.
“But not quite.”
“Well maybe. But bloody hell you’ve got so much to keep track of. There’s the children, supporting them in everything, there’s your job that has been incredibly hard of late, and there’s just Parkinson’s in general. Bloody hell woman, this time last year you thought you couldn’t walk much at all, and now you’ve smashed out nearly 100 miles. That’s something to celebrate, not cry about.”

I have thought about his words a lot. I struggle with the knowledge that I came so painfully close, but then I recall his words about me walking at all. It’s almost nine years to the day that I heard those fateful words “Parkinson’s Disease.” I knew nothing of it, and now of course, I know so much.

The 100 Miles Challenge was a challenge too. I find walking only possible when I’m firing on all cylinders. It’s hard, sometimes painful and time consuming. I miss walking along with an easy gait. I used to walk like normal people, I gave no thought to the distance and each step. It’s just putting one foot in front of the other, right? Wrong. It’s arduous, it’s hard, it’s sometimes really painful, very often slow.

But I get there. I keep trying. I push forward.
I got close. Oh so close. I couldn’t do it this time. Did I fail?
Theres’ still a small tiny part of me that wails as I was very close indeed. But the other, more sensible side of me hails every step as a victory. I walked 97 miles in 31 days. That’s a bit over three miles every single day. Not bad for a 9 year diagnosed Parkie.
So I shall instead be happy. I shall announce my success to the world and be proud that I tried. I tried hard. And while it’s also true that not one person sponsored me, I did it regardless, because Parkinson’s is shit, and we must eradicate this filthy thing from our bodies and consign it to the annals of history.

So if like me, you didn’t quite get the 100, be happy that you tried. Be proud. Without the attempt and the determination to even try, where would we be? Feint heart never won fair lady. We don’t know what we can (or can’t) do if first we don’t at first give it a go. I’m going to keep walking. and one day I will smash the 100 miles in 31 days. Because I won’t give in to Parkinson’s.

Until next time. Kitty.