In my twenties, work and more work made me fat, unfit and unhealthy. Weekends were ground hog days. I needed an outdoor hobby and fast. Parachuting and paragliding were tried but they were too weather orientated. If it was windy we didn't fly. But it was the wind funnily enough that got me in to walking.
Signs and stiles
When it was unsafe to take to the sky, I passed the time by going for a walk. Old trainers and cagoule were derigueur and I soon discovered how to get wet, very wet. No country lane was safe until I discovered footpath signs and stiles. Decades of exploring had begun. Shelves soon became busy with a plethora of maps and guide books. Boots and jackets crowded the hallway and a camera was purchased. I was a walker.
Partner to share
Trousers became loose and the afternoon nap replaced with a few miles across country or down quiet lanes. I discovered lovely old cottages, paths that dissect stately grounds, atmospheric ruins, stunning shorelines, even old bottle dumps. You don't need fancy gear or be athletic to go for a walk. Some old shoes will do and if possible, a partner to share your new discoveries and a flask of something hot.
You never know where you might end up. I didn't.