By Amy Glover
I鈥檝e tried Japanese walking, mindful walking, and 鈥渉ot girl鈥 walking (read: normal walking, given a catchy name for chronically online women like me).
But it wasn鈥檛 until I read a recent article in The Conversation that I realised what I really need is an Austen heroine walk.
On the 250th anniversary of the author鈥檚 death, I鈥檓 working my way through every title she鈥檚 written. And as researcher Nada Saadaoui wrote, walks transform the characters in Austen鈥檚 books.
They can be healing (Anne Elliot鈥檚 bloom-restoring seaside strolls in Persuasion), ruminatory and obsessive (Catherine Morland鈥檚 deluded solo missions in Northanger Abbey), and skin-tinglingly romantic (Emma Woodhouse鈥檚 fateful turn around the garden with Mr Knightley).
What they are not, however, is the health-focused, results-driven, step-counting form of exercise I鈥檝e come to see my walks as.
It wasn鈥檛 always this way. Growing up in rural Ireland, long walks were forms of meditation, socialising, and even dating.
So, I tried to bring some Austen magic back into my favourite activity 鈥 and learned three of her unspoken rules that make walking not only fun, but addictive.
Rule 1: Add social stakes
To be left out of an Austen walk is tantamount to social blacklisting.
鈥淚 cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a long walk!鈥 Mary Elliot exclaimed when gently discouraged from joining a stroll.
鈥淓verybody is always supposing that I am not a good walker,鈥 she wailed, as though the imagined accusation were existentially damning.
That is because many great walks, I knew as a teen (but had since forgotten), come with gossip. A bad walking companion, then, is an unworthy recipient of off-the-record rants; possibly, a bad friend or an unreliable holder of secrets.
I have started either calling friends for a long chat, meeting up with them for a lengthy riverside catch-up (walking has the same confession-inducing properties as a drive, I find) or listening to a gossip podcast on my strolls. It鈥檚 improved them a hundredfold.
Rule 2: Don鈥檛 just walk on your walk
It is a truth universally acknowledged that an Austen heroine in possession of almost any mission must be in want of a walk.
You might, like Elizabeth Bennet, want to visit your sister (an enchanting brightening of the eyes, a more incidental side-effect than Caroline Bingley鈥檚 figure-flattering 鈥渢urn about the room鈥).
You might want to uncover your crush鈥檚 suspected dark family secret, as in Northanger Abbey.
You might ruminate, obsess, despair, judge, see, be unseen, or even chase a weasel (all done on the long walk in Persuasion).
The point is that the walk is secondary to the aim of the walk, which is always far more interesting.
I鈥檝e walked farther and more happily since getting back into the elderflower picking of childhood, rage-walking, and walking to see my friends 鈥 the steps seem to disappear.
Rule 3: Go somewhere beautiful
Ugly walks are like poor, untitled love interests; they can hold no serious appeal to Austen鈥檚 heroines.
So, I鈥檝e been taking walks in beautiful and/or grand locations (Sense And Sensibility鈥檚 Kensington Gardens and the more verdant parts of my local park so far; Emma鈥檚 Brunswick Square is on my list).
There is no profound point to be made here. It鈥檚 just nicer, and a great motivator to head outdoors 鈥 it鈥檚 taught me just how important picking a beautiful spot is to actually dragging my weary bones on a walk when I don鈥檛 feel like it.
I鈥檝e fallen back in love with walking since applying my favourite heroines鈥 unspoken walking rules, my step count rocketing as my appreciation of the activity grows.
If I鈥檓 no longer doing 鈥渉ot girl walks,鈥 Austen鈥檚 taught me to stick to another Gen Z principle: do it to 鈥渢ake the edge off.鈥 Walk, most of all, 鈥渇or the plot.鈥