Walking for everyone?
Too many of us face barriers to walking.
Of all the things we might do to improve our emotional wellbeing or physical health, walking is arguably the most accessible. Going for a walk for inspiration or pleasure requires no special equipment, long-term contract or special skill. It’s hardly surprising that walking is seen as foundational in moving beyond the confinement of a sedentary life.
But, as in every area of life, what’s easy for some can be challenging for others. Shockingly, the World Health Organisation’s guidelines on physical activity did not specifically address the needs of people with disabilities and chronic health conditions until as recently as 2020. The world of walking is rife with ableist assumptions that are only just starting to be acknowledged and challenged.
And it is not just health disparities and physical limitations that restrict access to walking. Inaccessible trails and uneven surfaces can be difficult to navigate for those with sensory disabilities. Social walking groups can exclude younger people, people from global majority backgrounds, and individuals with limited incomes. Unwalkable cities and poorly lit roads can be hostile environments for women and those with visible differences. Even the language of “walking” carries the ableist assumption that physical activity is only for people with full use of their lower limbs.
Rather than being an activity that anyone can engage in, walking can too easily become another domain of unexamined privilege. And those of us who are not stereotypical walkers can struggle to find our way.
Facing up to the challenge of walking
I am profoundly fortunate, as a white man, in being able to move through the world largely unnoticed. I say largely unnoticed - depending on how I dress and carry myself, my queerness can be visible. But I also wrestle with physical limitations that hold me back from walking.
Last spring, I visited the beautiful Ingleton Waterfalls Trail on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It’s a four-and-a-half-mile trail that follows a river up an oak woodland valley, turns across open moorland, and then follows another stream as it tumbles downhill over countless waterfalls. Walking the trail is a rich sensory experience as rivers roar over rocky outcrops, dappled light illuminates the path, and the damp scent of earth and water fills the air.
It was a warm day, and I made steady progress climbing the steps and slopes that marked the first section of the trail. I stopped often to catch my breath, take photographs, stare at trees, and lie in soft grass. There was a welcome rest stop before the final descent, where I treated myself to a bacon barm and a cup of coffee. All good so far.
But walking down the second valley, my knee gave way beneath me. Seemingly endless steps stretched out before me, and every time I landed on my right foot, jolts of pain electrified my body. I shifted to taking one step at a time but found that my injured leg grew stiffer through swelling. By the trail’s end, I limped along, crying, barely taking a few steps before stopping to rest.
Recovering from a knee injury took many months, and I’m still uncertain that it is quite the same as before. I already walked through the pain of severe bunions. Now, I also walk with an uncertain knee that might give way on downward slopes. As a result, I am more cautious in my walking choices.
Physical decline is not inevitable with age, and many people will have ability throughout their lives. So, if we want to create a world of walking that’s more accessible to everyone, we can’t rely on personal insight as a driver of change. But as Laurie Toby Edison and Debbie Notkin write, the phrase “temporarily able-bodied” reminds us that “disability can come to any person at any time, that you can wake up able-bodied and go to sleep disabled, just as you can wake up alive and never go to bed again.”
Making walking accessible for everyone
Many of the changes needed to make walking accessible for everyone are beyond our reach as individuals. But we can all argue and lobby for better infrastructure that addresses systemic barriers to participation in physical activity. The Ramblers’ Outdoors Unlocked campaign calls on the UK government to increase access to nature for the 21 million people who don’t have green or blue spaces within easy reach of their homes.
If we lead walking groups, we can design inclusive programmes that foster social connections and accommodate people’s diverse needs. Including others starts with recognising the bias and privilege inherent in our unique experience and not imagining that other people are starting from the same place.
On a personal level, there are steps you can take to become more physically active and embrace the benefits of walking:
Start where you are. Some physical activity is better than none, and even a short walk can be beneficial. If you are a wheelchair user, the upper body strength you develop can be hugely helpful in day-to-day living. Walking is generally safe for everyone, regardless of your health when you start, but talk to your doctor if you have concerns about the impact of exercise on your condition.
Consider the safety of your environment. If you are attracted to walking alone but worried about personal safety, stick to well-lit routes or daytime walking. Walking silently with a friend can also increase your confidence to explore while giving you a taste of solitude.
Walk when it works for you. Walking doesn’t have to take a lot of time, and you may be able to fit it around other activities in your day. You could walk to work, during lunch breaks, or in the evening. Integrating walking into daily activities, such as shopping or commuting, can help make it a regular habit.
Find social support. Increasingly, there are walking groups that attract people from diverse backgrounds. For example, The Wanderlust Women, founded by the inspirational Amira Patel, is an amazing initiative normalising the visibility of muslim women in outdoor environments, encouraging them to explore, grow in confidence and connect with the natural environment.
And most importantly, be in the world as you are. Walk however you walk, even if it looks different to others. I’m inspired by poet and activist Eli Clare’s experience:
When I face a craggy trail, a lip of rock, or a narrow bridge without handrails—my balance more precarious than usual—I often drop down onto my hands and knees. Neither a protest against ableism nor a performance of disability, moving close to the ground offers me so much possibility and connection.