“Going for my stupid lil walk for my stupid mental health”, Ben (@benkielesinski) walks towards the Vancouver Bay in his bathrobes, undresses at the beach and dips below the Pacific waters. I, lying as usual under my duvet in Surrey, exhaled quickly and rolled over with great effort. The phone buffered for a split second; the black mirror in my hand gave a grim view and, having been thoroughly horrified, like some sort of anti-Narcissus, I put my phone away, pulled myself together and took the little man in my phone’s advice. It was the last week of the holidays, in that limbo between the celebrations of Christmas and New Year and the hard work of when term starts. My slothfulness was like an unwelcome guest the morning after a party, much like I had been just days prior — it was time I let myself out.

Two weeks later I found myself back at the university I had worked so hard to get into and discovered that this fashionable lifestyle was one which required a high level of maintenance. Example sheets and lecture notes and mock exam revision made living, laughing and loving quite impossible, despite the constant rotation of soundtracks and scenery. One night, in a maths-induced state of feebleness and restlessness, I decided I was going to follow a route the Cambridge University Hare & Hounds described as a “weekday run” the next morning; literally running away from my problems .

“The refreshing absence of college puffers and Gothic architecture gave way to something more familiar”

As much as I would like to imagine myself as Forrest Gump, running with the speed and mind of a tractor, I could only carry myself as far as Grantchester before I had to walk. The refreshing absence of college puffers and Gothic architecture gave way to something more familiar and closer to home. I explored the dank woody paths until my socks became wet, seeing my village in every tree and fence and grass and house, with the sounds of The Vaccines in my ear. The domesticated and structured London planes became wild oaks, birches and Scots pines.

Walking further still to Trumpington reminded me how much of a bubble Cambridge truly can be, when common and banal sites like schools and small pubs seemed more alien than the view on King’s Parade. I lost myself in the village that day, both figuratively and literally. Coming back exhausted but improved, I went grocery shopping in the afternoon and made dinner for the first time since coming back.

“A slow, winding stroll is the very antithesis of what this institution seems to stand for”

It’s fair to say that Cambridge students are known for their "work hard play hard" attitude towards life. A typical day might be planned to the second, from sports, music, societies, drama, nights out and maybe even watching the odd lecture in between all the chaos — after all it is what we willingly signed up for. A slow, winding stroll is the very antithesis of what this institution seems to stand for. But for those who could do with a break from this institution every once in a while, a walk in the surrounding areas can be a reminder that no university is an island entire of itself.

Home still exists somewhere, along with my cosy desire to doom scroll in my bed, as does the college library and all the work that ought to be done. Yet being outside by myself grounds my stupid 21st century brain in a happy medium. The lack of physical contextual clues temporarily tricks me into remembering my holistic self, a strange quantum object unable to withstand observation. It’s a sense of true liberation from all worldly attachment.

In summary: gorgeous gorgeous girls run away from their problems, gorgeous gorgeous girls take breaks for their mental health, gorgeous gorgeous girls practise non-attachment to gain inner peace.

P.S. Walking in the winter gives you a chance to show off your winter outfits, which are objectively the best.