How Walking 10,000 Steps a Day Jump-started My Reset (and Why That Emergency Cuppa Was Key)

Before I started this whole personal reset — the moisturising, the mindfulness, the “looking after myself properly” business — I had a very different relationship with movement.

To put it bluntly: I avoided it.

Walking, for me, was something you did out of necessity — to get from the car park to the shop, or from the sofa to the fridge. I considered it exercise if I made two trips to the wheelie bin in one day.

I’d see people marching around in their Lycra, arms swinging purposefully, counting steps on fancy watches, and I’d think, What’s the point? Why make life harder than it already is? I was perfectly content to stroll occasionally, shuffle when necessary, and sit down whenever possible.

Then came the great “10,000 steps a day” craze. It was everywhere. Magazines, apps, smug friends who suddenly turned into fitness evangelists. “It’s not about exercise,” they’d say, “it’s about wellbeing!” I wasn’t convinced. At the time, wellbeing sounded like something other people did — people who drank kale smoothies and owned foam rollers.

But curiosity got the better of me.  and really, How hard can it be?

The answer: harder than I expected.

That first day, I barely managed 3,000 steps — and that included a trip to the shops, where I rewarded myself with a sausage roll for effort. I couldn’t understand it. I felt like I’d walked all day. The next morning, determined to do better, I set out early. I strode purposefully down the street, feeling faintly heroic, like a man reclaiming his vitality. By step 4,000, the feeling had worn off. By step 6,000, I was questioning every decision I’d ever made.

I discovered that 10,000 steps — roughly five miles — isn’t a casual stroll. It’s commitment. It’s finding out that your new “comfortable” trainers were designed by someone with a grudge against feet. It’s getting caught in the rain halfway home and deciding, for the first time in your life, that a soggy cardigan counts as gym wear.

But there were moments of unexpected joy too. Once, walking along a quiet lane, I saw the first daffodils of spring pushing through the grass. Another morning, I found myself stopping just to listen — birdsong, wind through the hedges, the distant hum of life carrying on. I hadn’t noticed those things in years.

Of course, I didn’t tell anyone I was enjoying it. I kept up the act — the grumbling, the mock complaints, the jokes about needing a pint after all that effort. But something was changing. Somewhere between the sighs and the sore feet,

 I realised I felt better. Calmer. Lighter, not just in body but in mind.

Still, back then, it was all stop-start. I’d walk for a week, then slip back into old habits — the sofa, the telly, the “I’ll start again on Monday” routine. The step counter eventually ended up in a drawer, along with other good intentions and a half-finished crossword.

Looking back now, I can see it was the start of something — the first spark of awareness that maybe I was capable of more than I thought.

These days, walking isn’t a chore or a challenge. It’s part of who I am. My “reset” turned what was once a guilty effort into a daily pleasure. I no longer need an app to tell me to move — my body does it for me.

And the numbers? Well, I checked recently, just for curiosity’s sake. I now average well over 10,000 steps a day.

Not because I have to — but because I finally want to.