Helen Lederer: I was a bit of a sloth before my 300km hike

Growing up as a plump, asthmatic child who hated sport, I never thought one day I’d be doing a 300km pilgrimage for 12 days, through the Austrian and Swiss Alps. In front of the cameras!

Before the BBC invited me to take part in The Pilgrimage. I was what is known as a “sitter”. In fact my motto would always be: “Why walk when you can walk to the car from here?”

When I went to Austria on holidays with my parents, I would dread the family walks up hill and down dale, or even around a lake on the flat, and loiter at the back. Only the promise of an Apfelsaft (apple juice) and Sacher-Torte (chocolate cake) got me moving.

At drama school, I became more limber. And doing stand-up with Rik Mayall, John Hegley, Tony Slattery and Ben Elton burned off the calories.

But then in 1992 I was cast as Catriona in Absolutely Fabulous with Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley. I had no idea the series would be part of my life for the next 20 years.

Jane Horrocks and I still joke about filming our own TV wine show. But then I’ve long been known as someone who can pack away the booze. I won’t lie, I’m a party person. And my unwavering belief there will always be a taxi somewhere meant I didn’t even walk to the bus stop.

So when the BBC invited me to hike 10-16km a day, often at high altitude, from Innsbruck on the Austrian Camino and finishing near Lake Zurich in Switzerland, with no smartphone and all my worldly possessions in a rucksack, it was terrifying.

What persuaded me? Apart from the money! Well, I was intrigued by the idea of investigating my own attitude to faith on a pilgrimage with six strangers. I believe in God but I’m not sure what God is. I’m from a culturally Jewish background and fervently didn’t believe in anything remotely religious, but my Protestant mother came from the Isle of Wight and I’m told I was christened.

Would this pared-back existence give me greater clarity about my own beliefs? The idea of switching off in nature to check in with myself also appealed after the madness of a six-month-long book tour. My memoir Not That I’m Bitter was published last year (lots more dangerous sitting). So an adventure that might prove life-changing, particularly for my body, appealed.

But I couldn’t just throw myself at the mercy of the Alps. I needed to train. So three months before the trip, I invested in a home Pilates teacher, did workouts at the gym, built up my steps.

Increasing my steps gradually

I bought a Fitbit which was life-changing (I now understand why people feel the need to announce how many steps they’ve done that day, even before saying “hello”) and started doing 1,000 steps a day, walking from my house to the Horniman Museum, south London (the gardens have the perfect upward gradient, where you ascend a hill, then walk back down).

At first I only did a sedate 30 minutes – I didn’t want to put myself off. But I walked most days, including up a hill in Spain when my husband Chris and I went away for five days. I plugged my headphones in and listened to YouTube history programmes about the Second World War (for a comedy drama I’m writing) then sweated it out in the midday sun. I knew I had to do this, or I’d be the last one up the mountain. Also a friend looked extremely doubtful when I told her I was doing it which made me more determined. By the time I flew to Innsbruck, I was averaging 10,000 steps a day.

Chris, a semi-retired GP, recommended trekking poles. They reduce the strain on your hip, knee and ankle joints, propel you up hill and keep you upright in mud. You have to walk, then drag your sticks (not easy) before placing them on the ground and “pushing off”. Quite a lot for someone who’d only just managed the art of remaining upright on a pogo stick aged 10 before giving up. But after a few goes I started to get in my flow. And my God, where would we have been without those sticks?

I had no idea who my fellow pilgrims would be – there’s always great secrecy surrounding the first meet-and-greet scene on camera. I fretted I’d be the oldest. But then I talked to Lesley Joseph, who did the series in 2019 aged 73; she said she’d “do it again in a heartbeat” and that was reassuring. My fellow pilgrims included Jay McGuiness, 34, singer from boy band The Wanted (I had no idea who they were, but now I love them of course!), and Harry Clark, 24, winner of The Traitors; and a former Paralympian sprinter, the brilliant Stef Reid, 40.

I was scared of being slower than the young people, or being unable to finish. But I found a good technique to get me up a steep gradient was to grunt – the exhalation seemed to propel the rest of me upwards. Even though the guttural sounds amused the lovely boys, I kept at it. It was grunt or risk being last!

Bunk beds and a fridge full of chickens

On the show you sleep in shared dormitories or bunk beds in convent and pilgrim hostels (a potential nightmare at my age). It’s a good idea to buy simple soft earplugs and mouldable silicone ones. But I was usually so knackered from walking and, after a glass of wine, I slept like a pilgrim. You switch off from caring about privacy. You just locate your bed, and think: “That’s where I’ve got to put all my equipment.” People carry strange luggage however. One night, I discovered a domestic fridge full of dead chickens near my sleeping section in the pilgrim hostel.

It’s not all chocolate box-y views and blue skies. One day it was pissing down and getting my waterproof trousers on was hellish. But you have to say: “OK, we’re going to a special place at the top. And we’ve got to get to the top, both metaphorically and physically. I can’t go back. And stopping is unthinkable.” And when we got to the top of this very big hill, there was a little Hansel and Gretel-style shrine, and we were given apple cake and a hot drink. And you just feel so good about yourself and each other.

I worried I’d be cancelled

I was apprehensive about airing my family background, particularly in the climate of pain we see on a daily basis – I can’t avoid the reason my grandfather brought his family to England from Austria in the late 1930s was because they were Jews. I worried I’d be cancelled but thought it might be helpful for other people from a “mixed heritage” background to talk about it. I hadn’t banked on crying. But being reminded of a past I hadn’t got in touch with was surprisingly affecting. On the one hand, I’m confused about the shame of not talking about my background more, but on the other, I don’t want to over-claim falsely. I’m conscious not to be a spokesperson for anyone. But after the pilgrimage I felt strangely at peace with it.

Walking without a smartphone proved a revelation (the butterfly brain is arrested). It’s a really profound thing to do for your mental health. You forget about any discomfort because you’re in nature, and the rhythm of walking releases feel-good endorphins in the brain. Total strangers become close companions. And because people are on their own individual journeys, you’re more open. When Jay invited me to talk with him about his bandmate Tom [Parker] dying of cancer, it was a moment of real trust. I thought: “Woah, got to get this right and be there for him.” We cried and it felt like a layer had been peeled off. Jay said it was the most poignant conversation of the trip for him.

When I got back, people commented: “You’re moving faster and look completely different.” To my amazement, I only had to use my inhaler on the hike once and the new walking regimen and the picnic lunches led to me losing half a stone. Obviously I was a bit of a sloth before, but I still walk for sanity post-pilgrimage. I’ve realised I desperately need to be outside to see the trees and the sky. But I’ve had to divert to nearby Dulwich Park which is very flat because the gardens at the Horniman Museum are being renovated. And when I’m talking at book festivals, I’m determined to do an author’s walk.

Last night I walked down to the new wine bar which would have been unthinkable in the past.

As told to Liz Hoggard

Pilgrimage: The Road Through the Alps airs at 9pm on BBC Two on Sunday 20, Monday 21 and Tuesday 22 April