I embarked on one of the ‘world’s most beautiful hikes’ right here in East Sussex and it certainly took my breath away — not in the way you would think.
A hiker I am not. But when my husband told me the only thing he wants for his birthday this year is to be outdoors and go for a hike – a hiker I became. Begrudgingly.
The location for my (destined to be comical) exploits? The Seven Sisters Cliff Walk in East Sussex. ‘Walk’ being an under exaggeration.
Fair disclaimer before you read on – this story is basically a 900-word ode to my unsurpassable levels of fitness. *Cue Rocky theme song*
Whether I would be a picture of grace or not, at least the destination we picked was sure to be stunning, having recently been named one of the most beautiful and ‘eye-catching’ hiking trails in the world.
The new study by online running shoe retailer SportsShoes.com assigned each hiking trail an ‘eye-catching’ score using eye-tracking technology, ultimately giving us the world’s top 10 most beautiful hikes. The Seven Sisters Cliff Walk ranked ninth on the list.
We set off for the hike on what somehow turned itself into a glorious day amidst an endlessly rainy week and fervently thanked our stars for big little mercies. Then we missed our train and the order of the universe was restored.
We eventually made it to our seaside destination of Seaford – an hour and a half after the initial expected arrival – and set off on our hike. The wind was knocked out of my lungs the second my eyes gazed upon Britain’s most famous chalk cliffs. They were eye-catching alright.
Having done my due diligence much in advance, I had already been informed by countless reviews online that the ‘cliff walk’ was easy to moderate difficulty. Each and every one of the reviews was a lie. The difficulty level was hard, high, expert, nightmare.
The very first hill ascent left me winded, and when I reached the top of the ‘first’ sister of the Seven, I looked at my husband and called an emergency meeting. I loved him and happy birthday, but we would be taking shortcuts.
One look at my red, panting face and he quickly agreed, lest our outdoorsy hike turn into an emergency room visit. Good call on his part.
While I’m on this self-flagellating shame-spiral, it’s probably a good time to mention that I danced at an almost professional level for over a decade of my life. That girl was nowhere to be seen on this hike.
After taking a few embarrassing pauses while fit-as-hell pensioners passed me by, we finally descended the first hill, made our way to Cuckmere Haven, and braced ourselves for our next adventure (read: obstacle), The River Crossing.
With an unspoken agreement passing between us not to take the detour, my husband and I made our way to the flowing stretch we had to cross, and silently began taking off our shoes and socks. Nothing would stop me from undertaking this adventure (except for a very strong current, or really high water, or too much of a crowd – you get the gist).
Jokes aside, it was the part of the hike I was most excited about, so I was crossing this river come hell or high water. Pun intended and all that.
Holding onto each other for dear life, we made our way across the (extremely sharp and pointy) rocky river crossing and finally collapsed on the other side. It may well have been the most memorable, and fun, part of the hike. Would I do it again? Probably. Would I moan and whine doubly throughout? Definitely.
At that point it was time for a well-deserved pint, so off we headed towards the Cuckmere Inn for a scrumptious birthday lunch. After devouring my first ever Sunday Roast and finishing it off with a banoffee cheesecake, the greatest hiker in the world, aka me, got ready for the second leg of our ‘cliff walk’.
A short bus ride to Birling Gap later, we were back at the foot of a daunting cliff, and I, once again, questioned my commitment to our vows as I begrudgingly made my way up another hill that was not ‘easy’ or ‘moderate’ to climb.
Like the Big Bad Wolf in Three Little Pigs, I huffed and puffed my way up towards the Belle Tout Lighthouse, which, spoiler alert, was not pretty enough to be the reward for this monster mountain I had just climbed.
Another descent and one more seemingly endless and exhausting ascent later, we got our first glimpse of the Beachy Head Lighthouse and clifftop and all was forgiven.
After spending an adequate amount of time ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the stunning, drop-dead gorgeous beauty we were surrounded by, we made our way towards The Beachy Head pub for our final pint (Pimms for me) of the day.
As the sun finally began to set on the day, we started walking towards the bus stop that would take us to Eastbourne Station so we could catch our train back to London.
It was on this walk that I began to realise something was horribly, terribly wrong. My entire right foot began feeling taut and stiff, and the shooting pain behind my kneecap rendered me limp.
What started as a slight wobble in East Sussex turned into a full blown limp by the time we reached London. Holding on for dear life, I made my way back to my apartment, each step more painful than the last, as I cursed my pro-athlete levels of fitness.
