One does not simply WALK into Brighton

Day 1 of London to Brighton training:

We have designed a training plan.

Or rather, A has designed her training plan, whilst I still struggle to come to terms with the need to prepare and be structured and organised, itself a major lifestyle and personality adjustment.  The organisers of the challenge have created a website for the event, which includes details of the route, training suggestions and informs me that there are currently over 1,400 people taking part.

It seems insanity is rife, but there are degrees of insanity.

Some have signed up to do a 56km walk, which I believe is the second half.  These are the mildly delusional.

Some, like me, have signed up to do the full 100km.  We are the certifiably insane.

Some have signed up to RUN the distance, as what the website tells me is called an 'Ultra-Marathon'.

Not being a Psychiatrist, I looked these ones up.

They're barking mad.

So, according to the training plan, it's not enough to just walk, building up my distance over the coming weeks, although that is certainly a part of it.  I have to do other things like strength training to "build my core" and something called "Cross Training". 

Insert Puns Here (I'm sure you don't need me).

However, for now, A's schedule says a longish walk on Sundays, building up the distance and so a walk it is.  The sun is, rather unusually for the UK at the moment, shining on Sunday morning, but it seems the procrastination is still something that needs to be worked on, so it's early afternoon before we get out the door.

I am not yet prepared to wear 'sports' clothing, particularly for walking, as I don't yet feel comfortable enough with being identified with 'them'. Besides, sports clothing looks good if you have the sports body to go with it.  Otherwise you just look like a shrink-wrapped sausage or, if you go for the baggy look, like someone who's just woken up from a binge to find nothing short of a kaftan fits.

Besides, I have, for now, decided to walk in walking boots, and these seem incongruous when teamed with anything with a logo, be it swoosh, slash, leaping animal or whatever.

I bought these boots some time ago, with the intention of, well, walking.  They are big, brown, clumpy and have a sole that I'm sure would, given sufficient incentive, allow me to walk up a wall.

What they are not is forgiving.

When younger I wore boots when hiking, so I'm not unfamiliar with them, although I do seem to remember that they used to be easier to tie up.  Or rather, it was easier to bend DOWN to tie them up.  However, after some struggling, I managed to get them on and we set off.

75 yards later I stopped to re-tie them, as they hurt.
400 yards later, I stopped to re-tie them as they were slipping.
300 yards later, I stopped to re-tie them as they were rubbing.

However, finally they were, if not comfortable, at least not something would expect to find being used in Guantanamo Bay to elicit a confession and off we went.

For those familiar with North London, the plan was to walk from Finchley to Hampstead Heath and back, going via the Bishop's Avenue.  This is very famous road in the area, as it consists of some of the most expensive properties in one of the most expensive cities in the world.  The houses are large and elegant and cost many millions of pounds, but in recent years there has been a trend to buy them, knock them down and replace them with new, even larger houses, many of which look like office blocks or prisons, not solely because of the huge amount of security, whilst others look like the architect's 7 year old child has had access to the plans whilst they were away from their desk and have been clicking on the palette of 'Architectural features', adding everything they could find.  This ensures that Greek columns are twinned with a deep-south veranda and a gothic bell-tower topped by an English village weather-cock.

Not so much a design as a collage.

What is interesting is the number of houses that are empty, for sale, sometimes by the official receiver.  It would seem that the recession has hit the mega-rich too, which I am embarrassed to say leads to an expression on my face that could well be used to illustrate 'Schadenfreude' on Wikipedia.

(Incidentally, I still wince every time I don't spell it 'Wikipaedia').

The Challenge website informs me that the walk will be approximately 40% on roads, and 60% on footpaths and bridleways and, therefore, I should train by walking off-road too.  This opportunity presents itself as we reach the Heath, and a diversion is taken down a small footpath.

Now, consider that the last 3 months in the UK have been the wettest since Noah first picked up a hammer, and you may begin to see the issue here.  The path was, all things considered, not that bad.  By which I mean that you neither needed to swim, nor did you find yourself emulating the scene in many a movie where someone sinks to a horrible death in quicksand.

However, for those of you who understand Star Trek analogies, I was very glad I wasn't wearing a red Starfleet uniform.

To maintain the movie theme however, it WAS slippery and slimy enough underfoot for me to do a passable imitation of Bambi during his foray onto the ice.  Now, I have no idea whether windmilling your arms and saying "whoooah" actually has any real benefit in maintaining balance - they don't do it in Cirque du Soleil - but it provides some emotional comfort, as if you're actually doing something to prevent a face-first pratfall into the ooze, rather than relying on fate.  I'm not sure that I can sustain windmill arms for 100km however, as it doesn't seem to feature in any training plans, so if you can find it in your hearts to put in a prayer for dry weather in the run up to the challenge, I would be grateful.

I was feeling fine on the walk and actually feeling quite pleased with myself, until we passed a small shop where, not having had lunch, I decided to stop and buy some soup.  A couple of minutes browsing before resuming the walk seemed to confuse my legs somewhat.

Whether they considered that I had finished and that they had therefore done their part I don't know, but trying to resume what had been, to my mind at least a purposeful and even quite impressive stride proved problematic.  Neither leg seemed particularly keen on resuming their activity and what's worse; they had given up any pretence of team-work, refusing to work in concert with each other or me. Efficient progress does rather depend on your legs either being willing to move alternately or, indeed, at all.  Through force of character (plus the promise of a hot bath) I coaxed them back into motion, but they were as happy as a Teenager being asked to visit an elderly aunt with halitosis and cats on Prom Night.

Given that there are a number of scheduled stops for drinks and food on the walk, this is worrying and I truly believe that if I sit down on this walk, I may never move again.

Now I read that back, it doesn't sound such a bad thing.

On getting back, I struggled out of my boots which, I have to confess, made tying them seem trivial and was informed that I needed to stretch.  Apparently this doesn't mean raising your arms above your head and yawning, but rather lying on your back on the floor and using one leg to push the other up your nostril.  I am a novice, so am allowed to push left leg up left nostril, but aspire to the sort of flexibility that will  allow opposite-nostricular insertion.  Who knows, in time I may become flexible enough to stand up afterwards.

A feeling of self-satisfaction ensued, not merely for completing an 8 mile walk, but for having made a start.  Who knows whether this journey (rather than this challenge) will instil in me a love of exercise for its own sake, but as they say, the journey of 100km starts with the first step.

Footnote (no pun intended)

My left thigh feels tighter than an Politicians alibi, to the extent that I'm limping everywhere.

I blame the stretches.  I'm going online to see if I can get an operation to bring my nostrils closer to my knees.  And yes, I know, nature did that for me.