Susan Mcneil-Preston

Every step was worth it!

Holding on, Together

Poem

Blessed

Learning not to be lost!

Today Clark and a mate were heading through to Edinburgh to visit a guitar shop, so I decided I’d give them a lift and then head off for a walk nearby while they browsed. I found myself wandering just off the main roads, and as I walked, I realised how comfortable I am with exploring unfamiliar places, and how much of that comes from my dad.

Dad was a cattle float driver and later a livestock buyer, and growing up we travelled to loads of farms, wee country lanes, and places far off the beaten track. Sundays were often spent driving somewhere with a picnic or a wee bite to eat. There were no phones back then, you sat, you looked out the window, and you took the world in. You paid attention to where you were going, and I think that’s where my confidence came from, that sense that getting a bit lost isn’t something to fear.

I walked 4.6 miles today. Walking in the city felt surprisingly fine. The main roads were busy and hectic, but just a turn or two away, it was quiet and peaceful, with hardly anyone about. What really struck me was looking out across Edinburgh and seeing the Pentlands in the distance, a reminder of how lucky we are in Scotland to have green space and a green belt never too far away.

It was one of those walks where you feel connected, to place, to memory, and to the people who quietly shaped who you are.

Dreech Day!

Today my husband decided to join me on my walk. We headed up to Loch Leven Larder to start, setting off on a properly dreech day, cauld, rainy, and overcast. Clark doesn’t like the cold, so he was dressed for Antarctica 🥶. I was just glad he was with me.

We walked four miles together. We blethered, and at times we just walked in silence, taking in our surroundings. There was something comforting about sharing the walk, no pressure to talk, just being alongside one another.

Afterwards, we headed down to Lochgelly to see Mum. I knew she had been restless and awake over the last couple of days and had then fallen into a deep sleep, so I wasn’t sure what we would find. It was a lovely surprise to find her awake. We watched Michael McIntyre together. I brushed her hair, put on her moisturiser, and we shared a cuppa tea and a pancake.

Weirdly, Mum started talking about Scotlandwell, somewhere we had been close to earlier on our walk. Mum worked as a bus conductress for years before she married and started her family. Her route ran from Cowdenbeath, up through Kinross. She often spoke about playing cards with patients at Glen Lomond Hospital before travelling through Kinnesswood and on to Scotlandwell. It was a very rural route.

Moments like that remind me how memory works with dementia. Some things slip away, yet others return so clearly, sparked by place, routine, or simply the right moment. Today felt like one of those moments, quiet, connected, and gently full of meaning.

Walking with Love

Over the last couple of days, I’ve been walking in the dark, gradually accumulating another 4.2 miles. I’ve been sore and tired, the colder weather has made itself felt, and the wind was bracing last night. Those quieter walks give you time to think, and this week my thoughts have often drifted to food and memory. Dementia takes so much, but memories have a way of resurfacing when you least expect them. 

I’ve been thinking about my mum and dad and the way food in our house was always about care and welcome. Mum used to make braised beef in the oven, with tatties, vegetables and gravy. I can still remember the excitement of coming home from school or work and spotting it in the oven, that instant feeling of comfort. When Dad retired, he became the soup maker of the family, carefully chopping his vegetables into neat, identical cubes, sometimes taking nearly an hour just to prepare them. Mum and Dad were feeders. Their food was love, and it was memory. These are the things dementia cannot completely take, the feelings that stay, even when words and faces begin to fade.

Today’s walk

Managed two shorter walks today, just when I had the time.  These adding up to around three miles in total. It was a busy day in between, work, taking my son to lessons, a last minute appointment, and a much-needed cuppa with a friend.

I’m feeling especially grateful today. Throughout everything with my mum and before that with my dad, I’ve been supported without question. When I needed to be elsewhere, someone else quietly stepped up and took care of home, family, and me. That kind of love doesn’t shout, it just shows up.

Gratitude feels like an important part of today’s walk 💙

When the World Keeps Moving

I walked a different route today, completing five miles. 

As I walked, especially near the roads, I became really aware of how busy everything was. Cars rushing past, people flying about, life moving at full speed. It all felt loud and fast, almost impatient. And yet, for some people, the world has slowed right down, or stopped altogether.

I’ve felt that pause deeply through my dad, my mum, and my aunties with dementia. When illness and sadness arrive, time changes. Days become quieter. Moments stretch. Life doesn’t move in straight lines anymore, it waits, it hesitates, it holds its breath.

Today my steps felt heavy. Not because the walk was long, but because of everything that’s been sitting in my heart recently. There’s been a lot of sadness around, and it seeps into you even when you try to keep going.

Walking beside busy roads made the contrast even sharper, the rush of the outside world against the stillness that grief brings. Two very different realities existing side by side.

I kept walking because sometimes walking isn’t about clearing your head. Sometimes it’s about carrying what’s there, step by step, and letting the weight be acknowledged rather than ignored.

Today wasn’t light. Today was slow. Today was honest, and that was enough 💙

Today’s walk was different!

Today didn’t go to plan and that’s okay. I didn’t manage my outdoor walk today because my time was spent where it mattered most: beside my mum. She’s been very dozy today and fell into a deep, deep sleep. I stayed close, listening to her breathing, being present in the quiet moments that dementia so often brings. When she was resting, I still felt the need to move – not to tick a box, but to look after myself too. So I did something familiar and comforting. I put on Rick and walked indoors, building up 5,000 steps around the house. It’s something I used to do during lockdown, or on days when getting outside just wasn’t possible.

Those 5,000 steps added up to just over two miles, not on pavements or paths, but within the walls of home. It reminded me that movement doesn’t always look the same, and neither does care. Some days are about fresh air and long walks; other days are about adapting, adjusting, and doing what you can. Today was one of those days.

Every step still counted. Every mile still mattered. And most of all, being there for my mum mattered most of all 💙

Hills and Memories

I was up visiting Mum today. She was tired and confused, but she enjoyed getting her face cream on and having a wee snooze. Those quiet, tender moments still matter so much.

I walked 4 miles today. I had only just begun when I bumped into my dad’s cousin. We stopped to chat, and he shared how his wife is now struggling with dementia and needs constant care. It feels like everywhere I turn, there are wonderful people whose lives have been touched by this illness. Dementia truly does not discriminate.

Lochgelly is the highest town in Fife, so there were plenty of hills, up and down throughout my walk today. I didn’t mind. I love Scotland. You are never far from beautiful landscapes, and I really enjoy the weather at this time of year, a wee nip in the air and a fresh breeze on your face.

Parts of today’s route brought back memories. I remember walking some of this way when I was young with my own Di and cousins. I can still picture myself running across a farmer’s field to catch a red balloon for my little cousin. Those memories felt very close today.

The cemetery was on my route, so I popped in and spent a few quiet minutes remembering my dad and his sister by their gravesides. I miss hearing their voices.

Back to Work

I am not going to lie, it has been a bit of a shock to the system this week being back at work. I’ve done plenty of steps each day, but I didn’t manage a walk with purpose until Saturday.

On Saturday, I walked with two dear friends. One of them had lost her mum just on Tuesday. Her mum had dementia too. There was something quietly powerful about walking together, no pressure, no expectations, just putting one foot in front of the other and talking as we went.

Between conversation, shared memories, and gentle support, they helped me complete 4.2 miles. It wasn’t about pace or distance. It was about being together, understanding without needing to explain, and letting the walk carry us.

I didn’t manage to take any photos, my phone was left at home, but in a way, that feels fitting. Some moments don’t need captured. They just need lived.

Hame Toon

Day 2 walking

Let’s go! Mission salami!

Walking with Love: 50 miles for Dementia

This January, I’m walking 50 miles for dementia, not for medals, not for praise, but for love.

Dementia has quietly woven itself through my family life. In 2023, after my dad passed, I walked a short distance with my family. I wore a photo on my shirt, my mum, dad, and my aunts.  It was a way of carrying them with me, step by step.

Since then, my Aunt Bett passed away, and my mum is now in her 98th year. The past few months have been especially hard. Dementia is beginning to take parts of her, slowly and unfairly. Yet she is still here. She is listened to, pampered, cared for, and deeply loved.

I care for my mum in the present moment. We sing. We dance. I hold her hand. I soothe her. And recently, she asked me to pray with her, and of course I did. These moments matter. They are everything.

What many people don’t know is that I live with osteoarthritis,  in my feet, hands, and spine. Cold weather and fatigue make each step harder, and right now, I am sore and tired before I’ve even begun. But this walk isn’t about pushing through pain blindly. It’s about moving with purpose, kindness, and honesty.

Some days will be slow. Some miles will hurt. But every step is a quiet act of love for my mum, for those we’ve lost, and for everyone living with dementia and caring for someone they love.

I’ll take this walk one step at a time. Just like we take dementia. With patience. With compassion. With heart.

I am raising funds to help ensure no family faces dementia alone. I'm taking on the challenge for Dementia UK, and would be grateful for your support.