One does not simply WALK into Brighton

Day 8 of London to Brighton Training

So, after the epic challenge of the stairs at Covent Garden tube, Sunday was scheduled for a proper training walk, although this was complicated by a birthday lunch with my family.  Despite lunch being set in the heart of scenic Epping Forest, a decision was made however to walk in North London once more, with a mixture of walking through a local park, followed by walking along the road, as we have yet to invest in some good head torches.

One may consider that a head torch is a head torch, but even a cursory examination shows that the range is huge, ranging from cheap, normal bulb versions costing a couple of Pounds, to LED, rechargeable, multi-bulb, multi-colour ones costing several hundred pounds.  These seem to offer the sort of lighting capacity normally reserved for Police helicopters, Lighthouses and Anti-Aircraft defences and, whilst I am sure they have a time and place, our route to Brighton passes within a few miles of Gatwick airport and I’m sure the Civil Aviation Authority would look dimly (pun intended) on us destroying the night vision of airline pilots.  Furthermore, I have a feeling that if I am anything to go by, other walkers on the challenge may be struggling by nightfall and the last thing we need is walkers “coming towards the light”, only to be depressed to find my face, rather than the expected paradise. 

So for now, we will stick to street-lit roads for the hours of darkness, until such time as a compromise can be struck on the head-lamp, although I find myself tempted by one of the old-style Dr’s ones, like Groucho wore as Dr Hackenbush in ‘a Day at the Races’.

 

 

One thing I was looking forward to trying were my newly-acquired Nordic Walking/Trekking poles.  I had bought these the day before and, having graduated Johnny-Cum-Lately from the University of YouTube, was an acknowledged expert in their use.  The first lesson in this is adjusting the poles to the correct length.  Sounds simple, although different videos all suggest a slightly different technique – arms at 90 degrees (although to what varied from video to video), arms slightly bent, arms straight when parallel. There was even one video devoted to how to put your hand through the hand strap.

I found I’d forgotten this bit.

There were also a number of helpful pieces of advice about lengthening the poles for going down hill and shortening them for going up.

Or the other way around.  Seems I’ve forgotten this bit too.

Either way, I have visions of spending almost half the time on any walk adjusting the poles as you scale and descend even the smallest of hills – of which there will be many on the challenge.

However, the technique is relatively simple: The poles are constructed in three sections, each one sliding into the one above it. One grasps the upper part of the pole in one hand and the lower section in the other, twisting in opposite directions to release the lock.  One then pulls the pole out to the required length before, being careful not to over extend them, in which case one ends up with two shorter poles and a new vocabulary of swear words.  You then repeat this for the lower section, until the poles are of the correct length, helpfully aided by graduated markings on the middle section.

All well and good.  Several minutes of twisting, pulling, twisting, posturing, referring to YouTube, re-twisting, re-pulling and far more extravagant posturing finally resulted in one pole being adjusted to the correct length.

Or at least to A length.

Time to repeat on the second pole which, thanks to the aforementioned graduated markings, should be far more straightforward, which indeed it was.  Initially at least.  If you read my previous post, you may remember my observation that there is no real difference between the cheaper and more expensive poles?  Well I may have been wrong.  Having adjusted both poles, I manipulated my hands through the straps, as per my intensive training course, and struck a suitably heroic pose, with an expression that said “I’m just going outside. I may be some time”.

Except I wasn’t going outside.  What I was doing was falling over.

My heroic pose involved raising one pole in a salute to comrades, whilst taking my weight on the other pole, the second one I’d adjusted to match the first.

The one I hadn’t actually checked it as carefully as the first.

The one with the faulty locking mechanism which meant that as soon as you put the slightest pressure on it, would telescope back into itself like one of those marine worms disappearing down its hole at the first sign of danger.  Falling over is never nice, but falling over at a rate dictated by the sliding of one tube of metal into another, a slower, yet just as inevitable speed, is a strange experience, as you have marginally more time to ponder what the heck is happening – and to muse that this is still going to result in a severely bruised ego.   So down I went, like a Californian Redwood finally succumbing to the lumberjack’s saw, although the tree doesn’t tend to do the ‘jump-to-its-feet-and-act-like-nothing-happened-or-what-did-was-completely-expected’ thing. 

However, you will be pleased to hear that my resumed Judo lessons paid massive dividends, allowing me recognise with cat-like reflexes what was happening.  I am hopeful that, with several years more training, I may be able to do something about it next time.

So, the poles reside in the bag, awaiting the opportunity to be returned to the store, where I have yet to decide if they will be replaced by the same again, although thoroughly checked this time, by a more expensive option, or by something rather less controversial.

A man can never have too many socks.