Moved Journal │ Spring 2024

Emerging into spring, something feels different. I’m not talking about the usual sense of optimism that the turning of the year brings, but a deeper, more energised kind of excitement that is notably new. I wonder whether ‘wintering’, proper, really did help me to recuperate more fully?

Like many people, spring is my favourite season because of that reliably positive sentiment it brings. It’s impossible not to experience little jolts of joy when your eyes find the first flowers and their accompanying bumblebees, butterflies and other winged things. And, having slowed life down to a more restorative pace through winter, I’m feeling much livelier and more enthusiastic to wake up and go about my day, with a few concessions.

Morning walks are still lunchtime walks. I still can’t get up before 7:30 am, even if I’m awake. But I’m finding more of a routine — soft little rituals that, as someone who feels a bit lost without structure, are helping me to feel more motivated.

Springtime walks are real mood-lifters. The colours, the light and the scented air are a balm after the muted tones of winter. And the comfort of seven months of lighter days stretching out ahead is enough to make us feel more cheery. What’s your favourite season? Are you a spring bird, like me, eager to get out and make the most of the lengthening days — to soak up all that colour and fragrance and life?

I hope you managed to rest enough these past months to feel a little surge of vitality as we move into March and beyond. Now is the season to unfurl and find a more dynamic rhythm. We can welcome movement in again like the lighter mornings.

Sophie x

Why walk in the spring?

Springtime walks need no explanation, really. Who wouldn’t find joy in soaking up the sunlight and vibrancy of this season? But there are a few fact-based reasons for why walking in spring is particularly powerful.

The changing of the clocks at the end of March means we’re bathed in an abundance of light — which also means that we can be exposed to more of that precious vitamin D we’ve been missing through the winter months. What’s more, the sun’s rays start to get stronger from March onwards, doubling the possibility of getting what we need from this potent immunity and mental health-boosting compound.

After holing up inside through deepest winter, getting outdoors in the spring also gives us a much-needed breath of fresh air, which has a wealth of benefits for our wellbeing. Fresh air — better if you’re not in the city — cleans the lungs, improves energy and can even aid digestion.

But, perhaps most important is the chance to surround ourselves with green again. Spending time in green spaces is scientifically proven to lower the stress hormone cortisol, bolster the immune system and improve energy, reduce symptoms of depression and anxiety and generally give us a little lift after the cold months. And spring’s green is the greenest there is.  

What to look forward to right now

March

March is the gateway to abundant times and a beautiful month to head outside and absorb some of nature’s new energy. The longer days and warmer sun bring flowers to life in their billions. The birds even ramp up their song, and you may spot some early migratory visitors. If you can, try to catch the last of the awe-inspiring starling murmurations this month.  

April

April thrums with life, from the billions of migrating birds that come to make the UK their summer home to the budbursts of trees soaking up the longer days and the bluebells turning the forest floors that deepest violet-blue. And it’s one of the best months to get outside and see the incredible blossom trees putting on their display.  

May

May is the month of wildflower bloom, covering vast swathes of countryside in a blanket of purples, yellows, whites, blues and reds. With this dazzling display of colour comes an abundance of butterflies and other flying insects, turning the land into a truly enchanted place. Head out and make the most of it before the heat of summer arrives. You can find a list of some of the UK’s best wildflower meadows here.

Reflections from the trail

When I did my first ultra, I needed to do it alone. It was proof of resilience at a time when it felt like the rug had been pulled from underneath, and it was deeply affirming. But since then, I’ve discovered that the real joy lies in sharing the experience.

In October 2022, I set out for Gatwick airport alone, ready to board a flight to Marrakech and take on my first international ultramarathon — in the Sahara Desert. I’d done four of these events before, each time seeking solitude and a chance to prove that my own willpower could get me over the line, and this time was no different. But the minute I got to the airport and spotted the rep in the bright orange T-shirt, everything I’d imagined this trip would be changed.

There stood two other women, whom I’d assumed were together but quickly learned were also solo participants, and we formed an instant bond. And as more women arrived one by one, our little group grew. It was quite amazing to see how many of us had chosen to go it alone, only to find that within minutes of meeting we were kin.

We landed in Morocco and boarded mini buses into the desert for a stifling, seven-hour-long journey that turned out to be more gruelling than the ultra itself. And as we made our way up and over the Atlas Mountains, we shared our stories, learned of the histories and deep traumas that had led each of us there and understood that, though life had dealt many of us sometimes unimaginable blows, our collective response had been to really embrace living. Some of the men were talking, too, but not about how their lives had planted them on this sweaty little bus into the Sahara. They were strategising — working out how to win.

By the time we boarded the bus again before sunrise the next morning, driving out to the start line in pitch-black darkness, we were allies, and we knew we’d have each other until we crossed the finish line. Solidarity and sisterhood came so easily in that setting. And so off we trekked into the half light, sun still dipped low behind the line of the Atlas, until it rose along with the heat.

The first day was a mix of rock-strewn landscapes, dusty roads through desert villages, cracked earth and date palm plantations with a few wayward local kids thrown in for good measure. Day two offered up some tougher landscapes. The first couple of hours were Martian — a terrain of jagged boulders that, along with slips and sprains, brought blisters. For one of our group, they were the kind of blisters that stop you in your tracks. So I waited with her.

We stopped, we assessed and we inched on, little by little. How long it took to get to the end was irrelevant, just so long as we did. And as we hiked into the late afternoon, eventually reaching a 5 km flat with the heat-shimmered mirage of the finish line ever in sight, we laughed and joked and I said, “Hey, remember this morning when you said you didn’t think you could do this? Well, here we are!.” We arrived in the shade of our final stop to cold beers and warm embraces, and after desperately sleep-deprived days in the dust and heat, that night we finally succumbed.

Before I’d left for Morocco, I’d dreamed of the desert landscape and the awe-struck feeling I’d have looking out across its lunar-like expanse. I’d spent hours, on those balmy summer training days in London, trying to imagine how I’d feel being swallowed up by its emptiness. The heat bearing down and the sweat saturating my clothes — sand rubbing my feet raw inside my socks — and, then, how I’d overcome it all by myself. But by the time I shuffled into basecamp, I’d learned that the most awe-inspiring thing about that and any other challenge of this nature is the people who do them. These miraculous women who, for their own uniquely different and difficult reasons, had chosen the path of endurance so that they could know their own strength. Learning about their lives changed mine.