Wow. Holy shit! We did it. 35km The Bloody Long Walk.

Two mums, one mission: keep going, no matter what.

In April, when a friend casually flipped out a “Do you like walking? Want to do the Bloody Long Walk in June?” I was mildly interested. I’d seen it online and was curious about doing it, but I thought I was a bit out of shape for it.

After working so hard these last 12 months on getting my health and wellbeing back on track after several years of struggle, I wasn’t sure I was quite ready.

I had a chat with my dad, a PT who had done the walk himself in his 60s and realistically knows my abilities. He told me I’d manage it no problem. He even offered to do it with us, as a nice father-daughter trip we would all look forward to. “Take it easy and enjoy the sights,” he said.

Unfortunately, his participation was not to be. He recently underwent eye surgery and was advised to limit his walking distances while recovering.

With Bali derailing my compressed training schedule, I still wasn’t sure if it would go ahead, but another friend, Jacqui, was keen to do it. And again with my dad’s encouragement, telling us, “What’s the worst that could happen? You might just call up your husband, Pat halfway and ask him to pick you up.”

We committed.

With limited time to train, we did what we could and sought advice from others who had done it before. And yesterday, we set out on our own Bloody Long Walk.

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Jacqui suspected she had plantar fasciitis going in. She was worried about the pain from the start.

The original mindset was: let’s just see how we go. If you get sore, we’ll pull out; This is supposed to be fun.

We aimed to get to 17km, about halfway.

But then:

• At 17km, she said, “Let’s keep going.”

• At 20km: “Let’s go to 25.”

• At 25km: “We’ve only got two more lots of five to get to 35.”

She really wanted her kids to see her doing something difficult and brave. A single mum proving to herself and to them that she could do hard things and not quit when the going gets tough. I agreed and wanted to show my kids that before them, I was a person, and I am still.

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Heading into the walk, we were at the back of the pack but took it at a comfortable pace. We didn’t want to go too fast, too soon. Plenty of people overtook us. We made sure we prioritised toilet stops and checkpoints.

I was quietly worried we’d be last. My competitive side reared up and encouraged us to overtake the ones we’d see taking a break at checkpoints. The volunteers and staff were so friendly and supportive, some even suggested pastry joints or lunch stops along the way.

Around 10km, we stopped for Nurofen for Jacqui’s poor feet. She had strapped them in anticipation, but she was really feeling it. I reminded her again that if she wanted out, we could call Pat. She wanted to keep going.

We found ourselves at the back with the bike-riding marshal behind us. She reassured us that although we were near the end, lots of people had already pulled off and were having breakfast at cafés along the way. She told us we were keeping pace and not to worry.

Our first big goal was to hit 20km and reassess.

When we got to that checkpoint and saw many bodies lying around enjoying fruit, water and a toilet break, Jacqui came back from the loo, looked around and said, “Let’s make a break for it.” We powered on, knowing we had another 5km to get to the next checkpoint.

We hit 25km and decided to take a break.

We saw multiple people wearing our Bloody Long Walk white hats on the side of the path through Cotton Tree, stretching, eating lunch, catching their breath. We high-fived each other, knowing we were overtaking a few.

We reminded ourselves of the tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race. Ha, what race!

But there wasn’t a checkpoint at 25km, no fruit, no toilets, no water in sight. So we found a tree, took a breather, raised our feet and shared a bread roll. We decided to push another 5km to hit 30km and reassess. With discussions of those less fortunate than us being able to achieve more, we pushed on.

But if we could do five more, we could do ten.

That’s when Jacqui told me, despite her sore feet, she wanted to prove to her kids that she could do hard things and not quit.

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After hours of chats (and still more to come), we decided to switch to pump-up music in our headphones to push through. It probably looked like a fun little silent disco, walking along Cotton Tree, passing families BBQing and fishing on a beautiful day. Us in our own little world of music, getting in the zone.

We hit 30km and the marshal was back behind us, still encouraging. She told us many had dropped out and reminded us not to worry about being last. We were still in the event. Still going.

At 32km, the hills came. We’d been told the last five were the hardest, and they were not wrong.

Pat and the kids were on their way to the finish line, so we pushed through the pain and just kept going.

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We arrived at the finish line in Mooloolaba at 3:32 pm. 8.5 hours of walking and minimal stops.

We were third-last (I think!) And it felt amazing.

We went out for an early celebratory dinner, then headed home. I only started limping once I’d stopped in the event, straight into a magnesium bath and a good night’s sleep.

This morning, I woke up with a slightly sore right knee, but it was less stiff than it was last night. I actually feel great.

I’m already thinking about the next one.

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Not only was this an achievement in determination and resilience for both of us mums, it was a personal milestone. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered doing something like this.

I literally cannot believe the difference between then and now. The night and day of it.

I’ve worked so hard to get myself out of that hole, and I’m not going back.

I’m proud of Jacqui for mentally pushing through and doing what it took to hit a personal goal for her.
I’m proud of myself for pushing right through to the end and seeing what I’m made of.

And I’m proud of us for doing it together.

What an amazing training and event partner.
Let’s do it again.

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