Months before I had discovered, in one fail UCAS letter swoop, that I’d been rejected from every single university I applied for. Every. Single. One. I’d only applied to 5 out of a possible 6. Because, of course, I really only needed to apply to one, didn’t I? Idiot.

My life plan was in tatters. I would have to have a year out and the tiny writing inside that envelope would tell me if I had any chance of reapplying to my first choice.

Before I left school, envelope in hand, there were screeches of delight and hugs all round, the odd sniffle, one lone wail of disappointment and me, wandering off to have my possible meltdown in private.

Sat on the top of the hill, on the bench, palms sweaty, heart racing (mostly due to the short hike up and over the hill) I took several deep breaths and opened the letter.

I smiled. Shoulders relaxed. I’d got what I needed. And somehow, without the dilution of other teenage moments happening around me, that success was even sweeter. I still had the challenge of an enforced gap year to muddle through, and the little matter of actually now getting a place, but I’d got the grades.

Years later, a degree done, wondering what to do with my life a little bit (I think the mid-life crisis happens earlier these days, and multiple times actually) I managed to sign up some university friends to trek the Great Wall of China in aid of Breast Cancer Care. Brilliant idea! I love a challenge. I was also blissfully naive.

Did I mention I drove to the top of hills to enjoy the view? Or that I was (and still am) just a touch (alot) overweight? You see I do like a challenge. But usually that challenge is can I finish that entire packet of jaffa cakes? Or, how long can I sit in one place? So something that inspired me to get outside and walk, to actually physically move, was a very good thing. I would get healthy too! I would get a dog! Splendid.

I wanted to DO something. And I wanted to SEE things. It was also a fantastic excuse to get my first digital SLR.

Sign on the dotted line.

We fundraise furiously and the year passes. On the day I pack my bag and lace up my walking boots for the flight to China, I am actually heavier then the day I signed up for the trek. That alone is an achievement. Or the boots. Because they are quite heavy.

Finally in China, standing on the Great Wall, the scenery (well, and the walking itself) is breathtaking. I am slow. Very slow. There is an amazing 65 year old woman, survivor of breast cancer, who strides past me, up the steps, chatting all the way, whilst I wheeze, heave, and sweat my way along. Slowly.

But here’s the thing. Even though there are so many ahead of me (everyone in fact) I am actually facing my own challenge. This was not a race. This was a challenge to myself, to complete, to actually survive. Because even when the pack are way ahead, you will always get the benefit of the view.

Who knew that going down the wall would actually be more treacherous than going up it? Every step of that trek was hard work for me. Every single step. Balancing, heaving myself up, lowering myself down, the rest of the group striding off in the distance, tiny specks of pink-shirted wonder.

But my challenge wasn’t against the others, it wasn’t about catching up, and getting to the lunch stop first (although that would have been nice). My fight was against myself – of wanting to give up, to sit down, to roll ungracefully over the edge, down the hill.

So, even though my journey was slow, painfully at time, I kept going. One strangely pristine looking walking boot in front of the other. They should have been well worn in by now.

I scrabbled, slipped and spiderman-crawled my way to the top of that first hill. And what did I see when I got to the top? A series of hills still to come, each looking more extreme than the last. More ups and downs. More pain, more of a challenge because now it had finally dawned on me what I had signed myself up for. I knew what every one of those little forts in the distance represented.

That day I was out for just under 9 hours. None of that time was spent on a flat surface.

Heartbreakingly, because I am such a stubborn fool, I had to miss one of the days of trekking. It was through a forest, up a mountain. Apparently, given my average speed, there literally weren’t enough daylight hours for me to make it. When my friends and the other trekkers got back, even the fittest amongst them said it was incredibly tough. It was the right decision for me not to go, but it still frustrates me. Like the B I got for History A Level. Arrgh. Even now. Annoying.

One day, I’ll go back to that mountain in China and I will climb it. It will hurt like hell, I will cry like a baby, but I will do it.

And then the other challenges, like the grades I got at A Level. Well I won’t be retaking my History exam any time soon. You have to pick your battles, don’t you?

Why this ramble, across walls and mountains and nostalgically through memories? Well, it is a reminder that we will always face our own challenges and disappointments. Always. But sometimes, those low moments are when we start to look up and ahead and begin to imagine what might be possible for us.

If you got your results today, and they weren’t what you want or need, you will be ok. You are disappointed now, you may even be distraught. But you will be ok. Sometimes you just go on a different path, walk up another hill, or sometimes the mountain is just too much.

We don’t all have to succeed at the same things. We can face our own challenges and beat them. You will be ok.

Take it from someone rejected by all, then a year later studying exactly where I wanted. Someone who drives to the top of the Surrey Hills, but trekked the Great Wall of China. You will be ok.

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