Day 7 and 8 of London to Brighton Training:
This weekend was my birthday, so I was feeling reasonably vindicated in not really training. I was also feeling reasonably vindicated about treating myself in what I ate, relaxing my diet a little. I’m getting far too vindication.
Saturday was spent procrastinating, studying and trying to catch up on the myriad of little, and not so little, jobs that need to be done around the place, before heading off to a large outdoor/sports superstore to buy some socks (every man needs socks for his birthday, even if he buys them himself; it’s the law) and whilst there, I also hummed and hawed over some trekking/Nordic walking poles.
As I mentioned, I’ve been looking into this as one of my forms of training, as well as a possible aid in completing the walk. So, there I was, examining their selection of poles using all the authority of my newly-acquired YouTube expertise to impress (unsuccessfully) the small child in charge of this section of the store. The range of these things seems larger than the environment in which they’re designed to be used, with prices ranging in a similar fashion, from Takeout burger meal to small family car. And yes, it occurred to me too that if you could afford the latter, why not buy the car and forget about walking? I’m sure there are significant differences in them; materials, quality, adjustability of the hand strap, err…..
OK, they all looked pretty much the same to me. Thanks a lot YouTube, that’s 2 hours I won’t get back. As always in such situations, I fell back on the tried-and-tested mechanism employed by men throughout the ages to ensure the correct decision - I bought the ones on special offer. To be fair, there were two sets on special offer, but until I know whether I’m going to like it, I went with the cheap ones. After all, no point in having expensive equipment sitting there, not being used. Nobody would EVER buy any kind of exercise equipment and then not use it, would they? Hanging laundry on it still counts as ‘use’ after all. So, the cheap ones it is. After all, doesn’t seem any real difference, so what could go wrong?
I did go as far as narrowing my selection down to the point where I could try them, striding purposefully around the store with an expression that said “Which way is Basecamp, I need to make the summit of Everest before they realise I’m asthmatic and try to make me use oxygen the wusses”.
It’s not as easy as it looks on YouTube. The video says to start with the poles dragging behind you and it seems that I am a natural at this, to the extent that I find myself wondering if Nordic Walking is going to be at the next Olympics. However, you then have to progress to swinging the stick forward, planting the tip in an authoritative manner between the rear of your leading foot and the toes of your trailing foot.
The trick, it seems, is not to take that instruction literally, and to keep the pole OUTSIDE your feet, rather than literally between them, which has far more comedic than athletic effect. Introducing the second pole, and the coordination required to manage two feet, two arms and two poles merely served to reduce me to some sort of organic Jenga.
They didn’t show this on YouTube.
However, I bit the bullet and left the store the proud owner of two collapsible, rubber tips, cork-handled trekking poles. And no, that wasn’t me standing in the corner, wearing a rain-cape with the hood up, holding one pole in both hands, waving it in arcs and making whooshing, buzzing noises against an imaginary opponent.
Could have been anyone. Literally anyone.
This weekend was my birthday, so I was feeling reasonably vindicated in not really training. I was also feeling reasonably vindicated about treating myself in what I ate, relaxing my diet a little. I’m getting far too vindication.
Saturday was spent procrastinating, studying and trying to catch up on the myriad of little, and not so little, jobs that need to be done around the place, before heading off to a large outdoor/sports superstore to buy some socks (every man needs socks for his birthday, even if he buys them himself; it’s the law) and whilst there, I also hummed and hawed over some trekking/Nordic walking poles.
As I mentioned, I’ve been looking into this as one of my forms of training, as well as a possible aid in completing the walk. So, there I was, examining their selection of poles using all the authority of my newly-acquired YouTube expertise to impress (unsuccessfully) the small child in charge of this section of the store. The range of these things seems larger than the environment in which they’re designed to be used, with prices ranging in a similar fashion, from Takeout burger meal to small family car. And yes, it occurred to me too that if you could afford the latter, why not buy the car and forget about walking? I’m sure there are significant differences in them; materials, quality, adjustability of the hand strap, err…..
OK, they all looked pretty much the same to me. Thanks a lot YouTube, that’s 2 hours I won’t get back. As always in such situations, I fell back on the tried-and-tested mechanism employed by men throughout the ages to ensure the correct decision - I bought the ones on special offer. To be fair, there were two sets on special offer, but until I know whether I’m going to like it, I went with the cheap ones. After all, no point in having expensive equipment sitting there, not being used. Nobody would EVER buy any kind of exercise equipment and then not use it, would they? Hanging laundry on it still counts as ‘use’ after all. So, the cheap ones it is. After all, doesn’t seem any real difference, so what could go wrong?
I did go as far as narrowing my selection down to the point where I could try them, striding purposefully around the store with an expression that said “Which way is Basecamp, I need to make the summit of Everest before they realise I’m asthmatic and try to make me use oxygen the wusses”.
It’s not as easy as it looks on YouTube. The video says to start with the poles dragging behind you and it seems that I am a natural at this, to the extent that I find myself wondering if Nordic Walking is going to be at the next Olympics. However, you then have to progress to swinging the stick forward, planting the tip in an authoritative manner between the rear of your leading foot and the toes of your trailing foot.
The trick, it seems, is not to take that instruction literally, and to keep the pole OUTSIDE your feet, rather than literally between them, which has far more comedic than athletic effect. Introducing the second pole, and the coordination required to manage two feet, two arms and two poles merely served to reduce me to some sort of organic Jenga.
They didn’t show this on YouTube.
However, I bit the bullet and left the store the proud owner of two collapsible, rubber tips, cork-handled trekking poles. And no, that wasn’t me standing in the corner, wearing a rain-cape with the hood up, holding one pole in both hands, waving it in arcs and making whooshing, buzzing noises against an imaginary opponent.
Could have been anyone. Literally anyone.
It was then time to head off to London for my birthday treat
to see the ‘Jersey Boys’ at the theatre. The West End in general and Covent
Garden tube in particular were absolutely rammed and it was difficult to move,
let alone walk. For those of you
unfamiliar with London, Covent Garden is an unusual tube station, in that there
are no escalators taking you to the surface – the option is queue, push,
squeeze,
screw-your-face-up-at-the-smell-of-the-person-whose-armpit-is-cradling-your-face,
get heaved out of the elevator, or walk, up a single narrow spiral
staircase. 193 steps which, according to
the sign, is the equivalent of 15 floors.
I have never been able to master the technique of spiral staircases. Is the key to walk on the inside, so that each step is closer to the last, but where you have to pay more attention to where you put your feet unless you end up falling like a novice Nordic Walker in a superstore? Or is it to walk on the outside, where each step is perforce longer and therefore in theory more energetic, but where you can be more relaxed about foot placement and perhaps even look up occasionally (at least for the first few score, before you begin to doubt you will ever look up again) and hopefully avoid some of the inevitable dizziness?
In the end of course, the question answers itself. You start on the inside, as there is a hand-rail (health and safety naturally and nothing to do with being able to haul yourself upwards), before realising this is like the outside lane on an autobahn, where everyone else is in a Porsche and you’re in an electric town car. So you slowly ease yourself towards the outside, also graced by a handrail and hoping the extended paces won’t make you burn out too soon. Here however, you encounter two new challenges.
The first is those who really SHOULD have taken the elevator. The ones who started their challenge, laughing about what an adventure they were having in London, how quaint it is, how this will make a funny story to tell those at home and rapidly graduate to swearing, praying and blaming each other. To a soon-to-be trained athlete such as myself, these people are an irritation as, every few steps, the stop, blocking my path and destroying my rhythm, forcing me to let go of the psychological comfort of the handrail and venture into the uncharted and dangerous waters of the middle of the stairs.
I have never been able to master the technique of spiral staircases. Is the key to walk on the inside, so that each step is closer to the last, but where you have to pay more attention to where you put your feet unless you end up falling like a novice Nordic Walker in a superstore? Or is it to walk on the outside, where each step is perforce longer and therefore in theory more energetic, but where you can be more relaxed about foot placement and perhaps even look up occasionally (at least for the first few score, before you begin to doubt you will ever look up again) and hopefully avoid some of the inevitable dizziness?
In the end of course, the question answers itself. You start on the inside, as there is a hand-rail (health and safety naturally and nothing to do with being able to haul yourself upwards), before realising this is like the outside lane on an autobahn, where everyone else is in a Porsche and you’re in an electric town car. So you slowly ease yourself towards the outside, also graced by a handrail and hoping the extended paces won’t make you burn out too soon. Here however, you encounter two new challenges.
The first is those who really SHOULD have taken the elevator. The ones who started their challenge, laughing about what an adventure they were having in London, how quaint it is, how this will make a funny story to tell those at home and rapidly graduate to swearing, praying and blaming each other. To a soon-to-be trained athlete such as myself, these people are an irritation as, every few steps, the stop, blocking my path and destroying my rhythm, forcing me to let go of the psychological comfort of the handrail and venture into the uncharted and dangerous waters of the middle of the stairs.
These people also have no consideration for the other issue
of the outside of the staircase – the ‘Descenders’. Just as there is a huge queue and crush to
leave the station via the elevators, there is similarly one on the surface to
descend, leading some brave souls to use the staircase.
The same staircase, for there is but one.
So those paused, panting, wheezing, sobbing individuals going
up on the outside of the stairs form a barrier to those who are trying to come
down, something that seems to annoy them greatly. I don’t know why this should be, as coming
down is obviously much easier, requires virtually no energy, is much safer and
as such, they should simply move around the poor souls doubting they will ever
breathe the outside air or, in the case of some, ANY air ever again.
So one gravitates to the middle of stair, hoping that one’s
head-down stance implies thoughtful determination or a concentration on higher
matters, rather than a terrified 1000-yard-stare on where one’s feet are going,
combined with a conviction that what little air exists down there makes its way
into the lungs more freely in that position.
However, gravity is a strange force, little understood by physicists or
stair-climbers. Maybe one day, some
brilliant mind like Stephen Hawking will be able to explain why, having chosen
one’s orbit of the middle of the staircase and stuck to it, one finds oneself
inexorably drawn to the outside of the staircase. There is no conscious decision. You’re not
aware of it happening. One minute you’re
head down, quietly matching your prayers to the rhythm of your steps, and the
next, your arm brushes the outer handrail and your progress is baulked by a
tourist having a coronary, whilst being tutted by some inconsiderate descender
who cannot pass without letting go of their lifeline.
It is at this stage, with the air having been replaced by
napalm and your mind wondering if there is a shop selling deodorant between the
station and theatre, that you employ ‘the technique’.
This is simple in theory, although like all arts, takes many years of diligent practice to perfect. When applied correctly however, it is imperceptible and sublime.
The aim of ‘the technique’ is simple. It is to show concern for someone else in the same predicament or situation as you, in such a way as to disguise your own condition.
Therefore, in this situation, the aim would be to stop, and considerately check that someone stopped, fighting going towards the white light is in fact ok. One expresses concern. One reassures them that the end (no not THAT end) is not far off. One encourages them that they can do it. One may apply a little humour, taking their mind off their ordeal and reminding them that this will be something to talk about with their friends (or blog!).
And all the time one is doing this, one is stopped, recovering, regrouping, yet without anyone realising that this concern is for YOUR benefit, rather than anyone else’s. When mastered, the technique leaves an impression of a good Samaritan, possibly even a candidate for sainthood, selflessly stepping out of their own challenge – which the technique makes appear far less of a challenge because of one’s supreme ability – for the good of others.
I have practiced it for years. I truly hope to encounter many ill-prepared people on the London to Brighton challenge, so that I can pause to encourage and support them.
This is simple in theory, although like all arts, takes many years of diligent practice to perfect. When applied correctly however, it is imperceptible and sublime.
The aim of ‘the technique’ is simple. It is to show concern for someone else in the same predicament or situation as you, in such a way as to disguise your own condition.
Therefore, in this situation, the aim would be to stop, and considerately check that someone stopped, fighting going towards the white light is in fact ok. One expresses concern. One reassures them that the end (no not THAT end) is not far off. One encourages them that they can do it. One may apply a little humour, taking their mind off their ordeal and reminding them that this will be something to talk about with their friends (or blog!).
And all the time one is doing this, one is stopped, recovering, regrouping, yet without anyone realising that this concern is for YOUR benefit, rather than anyone else’s. When mastered, the technique leaves an impression of a good Samaritan, possibly even a candidate for sainthood, selflessly stepping out of their own challenge – which the technique makes appear far less of a challenge because of one’s supreme ability – for the good of others.
I have practiced it for years. I truly hope to encounter many ill-prepared people on the London to Brighton challenge, so that I can pause to encourage and support them.
For dinner, I was very well-behaved, declining the onion
rings and fries with the meal and resisting the tiny tubs of ice-cream on sale
for only the price of a kidney transplant in the theatre, before we headed back
to the station where, yet again, we were confronted by huge crowds. However,
now a veteran of the climb-to-freedom, the descent held no terrors for me and
elbows akimbo (which will be my name should I ever take up Jazz), we pushed our
way through to the stairs.
Now, walking down the stairs is a lot more difficult than coming up and takes a lot more energy. For a start the risk of falling is undoubtedly higher, so it is imperative that you be able to hug the outside of the staircase, holding onto the rail, which is inconsiderately hogged by people, head down, wheezing their way up or even worse, by people who have simply stopped, some pretending to be assisting others, although it’s clear from their red faces and laboured breathing that this is simply an excuse to take a break themselves. Encountering such barriers no amount of tutting seems to get through to them, and one has no option but to wait, or let go of one’s lifeline brave the spinning vortex of the middle of the staircase.
It’s very annoying.
Now, walking down the stairs is a lot more difficult than coming up and takes a lot more energy. For a start the risk of falling is undoubtedly higher, so it is imperative that you be able to hug the outside of the staircase, holding onto the rail, which is inconsiderately hogged by people, head down, wheezing their way up or even worse, by people who have simply stopped, some pretending to be assisting others, although it’s clear from their red faces and laboured breathing that this is simply an excuse to take a break themselves. Encountering such barriers no amount of tutting seems to get through to them, and one has no option but to wait, or let go of one’s lifeline brave the spinning vortex of the middle of the staircase.
It’s very annoying.
So although there was no formal training done, some progress
was still made, a warm up for the training walk the following day.
Of which more later…
Of which more later…
P.S. If you’re enjoying
my journey, I’d be really grateful for any sponsorship of any size you can
spare for the charity I’m doing this for.
Details of how to donate can be found on my just-giving page below. It doesn’t matter how much for, as my Grandma
used to say “every penny makes the water warmer”.
http://www.justgiving.com/Richard-Stanton2
http://www.justgiving.com/Richard-Stanton2
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