Half the South Downs Way… with a toddler
We hiked 87.5km with a toddler (and survived)
Easter weekend, me, my partner and our baby, hiked half the South Downs Way, from Winchester to Amberley.
A total of 87.5km logged on Strava, 2010m of elevation, a pub stay, an Airbnb in someone’s converted garage and a cold cabin on a working farm, three rough nights of sleep with a restless toddler, one overpriced train journey to the start, 500+ photos and videos to sort through, multiple tears over cute lambs, two minor disagreements due to exhaustion and 78.75% mummy carrying Atlas on her back because he was in a mummy phase (I did the maths).
Here are the reasons it meant so much to me.
Because life continues as a parent. Adventure is still accessible.
It was so important to us that Atlas slotted in to our hopes, dreams and daily activities and since he’s been born he’s been to nine different countries, one adventure festival, countless race finish lines, testing hikes and long days outdoors. He’s lived more life in under two years than I had in my early twenties. He’s seen so much, slept in different beds all over Europe, been in freezing cold and boiling hot conditions.
And it hasn’t been easy. It’s actually been really hard at times. He hates sleeping anywhere but his own bed, travel cots are basically decoration, and I’m pretty sure he runs on pure chaos energy when we travel. Flights are hard, transitions are hard, getting him in and out of the carrier is hard.
But it’s all worth it for his joy and wonder, to see his love of nature growing, his appreciation for insects and leaves and trees unfurl. Having a one and half, almost two, year old on your back perhaps isn’t the best way to experience the South Downs landscape for many, but I’d have never wanted to do it without him. It was 98% joy and only 2% sleep deprivation and frustration. And that 98%? It’s everything I dreamed parenting a little one would be.
It strengthens our bond
You don’t really know your relationship until you’ve been pushed a bit, properly tired, slightly cold, mildly feral versions of yourselves. Until you’ve had to take off every layer to put on coats and build a carrier cover in the pouring English rain and sideways gusts with no trees for shelter. Or until you’re 5km away from your first caffeine of the day and you both want to cry. Or when one of you needs a poo so badly it becomes the main storyline of the day.
There’s nowhere to hide out there. No distractions, no separate rooms, no easy outs. Just the three of you figuring it out together, over and over again.
And yes, there were a couple of moments where exhaustion got the better of us. Bickering late in the hotel room, when the adrenaline and calm had passed. But mostly, it was teamwork. Quiet understanding. Passing snacks, adjusting straps, checking in without saying much.
It reminds you that you actually really like each other there.
I didn’t grow up thinking this was something I could do
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be someone who hikes nearly 90km carrying a toddler on her back. I didn’t think I’d be this strong, physically or mentally. There was a version of me who would’ve looked at this and thought “that’s not for me”, or “my body couldn’t handle that” or “I wouldn’t cope.” I was never particularly outdoorsy. And yet, I’ve grown to love it.
There I was. Doing it! Less than a week after a half marathon, climbing hills, carrying weight, moving for hours each day, and actually feeling… good. Strong. Capable. Grounded in my body in a way I never used to be. And that feels really significant. Like I’ve rewritten something.
Four days away from civilisation, shops and high streets is a special way of living
There’s something about stepping away from normal life that resets you in the simplest way. No rushing, no constant noise, no endless options. Just walking, eating, resting, repeating. Watching the weather, noticing the light, planning your next snack like it’s the highlight of the day. Life continuing far away in the distance, villages and towns just a dent in the horizon.
You start to appreciate things in a really basic, almost childlike way, warmth, dry socks, a hot meal, a bed (even if it’s a questionable one in a cold cabin). It slows everything down. It reminds you how little you actually need to feel content. Coming out of that felt heady, rejoining traffic, finding all our stuff at home where we’d left it (multiple fleeces were available!). But coming back, you carry a bit of that with you. Even if it fades, even if life gets busy again, you know it’s there. A simpler way of being that you can return to.
And we will return, in July!
Amberley to Eastbourne, our home half of the downs. In the heat of British summer. With a wedding I should probably be focusing on just
a month away. With an even heavier even closer to two year old.
Wish us luck.
