Stories
We're sole mates
I trekked more than 6,000 miles looking for love...
It’s funny the things people do for love – cards, flowers, gifts and extreme gestures. Nothing’s off limits, I mean, look at me…
Having finished uni, I was still living with students and had got a bar job. It was a laugh but, with the long hours and only having my mates to go home to, I got bored.
‘I’m ready for a change,’ I said to my colleague Samantha one day.
‘Tell me about it,’ she tutted.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if there were some decent blokes around here,’ I groaned. ‘At least then I’d have something to do rather than work or watch Corrie.’
‘I know,’ Sam replied. ‘But I’ve met every fella in town.’
I knew what she meant. I’d dated some of the locals, but it had never worked out. And my chances of meeting someone new working behind a bar were slim. ‘I’m never going to meet anyone here,’ I said.
‘I’m going travelling in a couple of months. Come with me,’ she said. New sights, new sounds, new blokes… ‘Why not?’ I grinned.
We put our plan into action. I’d always wanted to go to America, while Sam wanted to go to New Zealand. So we agreed to visit both, then go our separate ways – when I planned to return to America.
It’d cost about £1,200 in flights, but I had savings that would cover accommodation, food and bus journeys between cities and towns. But it’d mean living on a fiver a day. ‘How are you going to manage?’ my Grandma Jean fretted.
‘I’ll walk everywhere,’ I said.
‘Those cities in America are huge,’ she worried. ‘You’ll end up walking thousands of miles.’
‘Then that’s what I’ll do,’ I said. ‘Besides, once I’ve met the man of my dreams, he can rub my feet better… or, better yet, chauffeur me everywhere I want to go!’
From the moment we got to Los Angeles, I pounded the streets. I saw Hollywood, Santa Monica, and Beverley Hills, all on foot.
And I did the same in Miami, Washington DC, Chicago, Las Vegas and San Francisco. And all in flip-flops! By the time we left for New Zealand, the soles were as thin as a supermodel. Well, I often walked up to 20 miles a day for seven hours or more!
Other travellers I met in hostels were horrified. ‘I wanted to see the world, so I’m doing it on foot!’ I said. Which was true, but I’d hoped to walk my way into love. That had been the point of my globe-trotting. So far, though, I’d met a couple of men, but nothing serious. It was a bit of a flippin’ flop if you asked me!
Still, whenever I was tired or fed up, the thought of meeting a sexy bloke was what pushed me forwards. But time, and money,
was running out.
When I visited New Zealand, my visa allowed me to get a bar job to make money. But by the time I returned to America, I had to beg my family for enough money for the basics.
My last stop was New York, and I was determined my worn-out flip-flops weren’t going to stop me. So I paced every sidewalk of Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn and Harlem – keeping my eyes peeled for a hot bloke.
Just a few days before I was due to go home, disaster struck. On my way to a shopping centre, burning pains shot through my feet. It felt like an axe was splitting my foot in two! In agony, I sank to the floor.
When I tried to stand, waves of pain rippled through my feet and ankles. Tears streamed down my face as I shuffled back to the hostel.
The pain was so bad, I spent my last days stuck in my room before flying home. As I landed in the UK, I couldn’t help feeling down.
My adventure was over. And now, not only was I single, I was skint and in agony, too! ‘Welcome home,’ Grandma smiled.
‘Look at me, I can’t walk,’ I said. ‘And look at the weather! Cold, miserable December.’
My foot was giving me so much pain, I went to my GP, who sent me to a specialist. ‘What have you been doing?’ they asked. I admitted I’d walked more than 6,000 miles. She told me I’d got plantar fasciitis, a disease normally seen in athletes.
It was possible my feet would never recover. The specialist fitted me with orthopedic insoles to wear in flat, sensible shoes.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d wasted money and ruined my feet looking for a bloke. At home, I moped about.
One night, my mate Adam, 26, took me out.
Limping into the pub, I flung myself into a seat while he went to the bar. As he got the drinks, I spotted him chatting to a gorgeous bloke!
My tummy lurched as Adam returned with drinks, followed by the fit bloke I’d been ogling. ‘This is my brother Ryan,’ Adam smiled.
Brother?! ‘I’ve known you more than 20 years,’ I said. ‘You never mentioned your brother.’
‘Slipped my mind,’ he shrugged. I could have killed him!
Tall, dark and sexy, Ryan was just my type. He even ran a pub!
Luckily, he liked me as much as I liked him. Next day, he asked me out by text. Great – but you’ll have to pick me up! I replied. He did, and we spent the day chatting, laughing and having fun!
Now, 18 months on, me and Ryan are living together, although my feet still hurt. I can’t believe I walked over 6,000 miles to find the man of my dreams, when it turned out my ‘sole’ mate was just feet away!
Rachel Purdy, 26, Bridlington, East Yorks
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