OK. Well, I think I might be. At least well enough to attempt tackling this damned thing again.
Since we last talked about feet and inches I've recovered from the Christmas Lurgey enough to start preparing properly for a change. By the way, I have to send my thoughts to everyone reading who had a similar case of the Lurgey, or Swine Flu as it seems to be popularly known - I know loads of people who were walloped by it this winter and hope the rest of you/us don't have another bout any time soon. T'was horrible. Back to the present and my preparations... Yes, I've actually started some informal training - Seems I should get more than a few miles in each week before I head off, so as of two weeks ago I've been doing 10 miles every second day and two consecutive days of the same at the weekend - making a rough weekly total of 40ish miles. I'll be walking from Glasgow to Edinburgh next week, hoping it doesn't rain, much, and may well repeat the same a couple more times before the grand departure on the 15th April (a return walk might even be on the cards)... In addition to that I've been hitting the gym. Shouting at it a lot because it's too expensive to join and then going home to lift dumbells and perform lots and lots of leg stretching because I'm about as flexible as Gordon Brown in a crisis. Not soon enough..? Pah!
Which leads me to a quick info session (Eh..?)... I don't know if you remember but during the whole initial process that made me want to do this stupid thing I read about Janet Street Porter's thinly veiled attacks on Mental Illness last year..? And the walk that she completed in 1999 (?) from Calton Hill Observatory in Edinburgh to the Greenwich Observatory in Greenwich, London..? Well, I'm informing you now that they are my start and finish destinations this time, for purely antagonistic and equally legend forming reasons. OK, if I end up in Greenwich I do know a couple of decent pubs within a stone's throw and there are some luvverly friend type people I could ask to accompany me on that leg of the journey... to the pub. If I stop for a pint at every pub on the way ti'd be the longest pub crawl in history... Now THAT would be an achievement!
So, to sum up, I've been burning shoe rubber in preparation to walk 400 odd miles in order to stick two metaphorical fingers up at an ageing bovine hack and then enjoy a pint at one of my old watering holes. That's pretty much it, yeah...
Bye for now and look forward to wearing out my prints keeping you advised of my imminent progress :0)
Wednesday 9 March 2011
Wednesday 12 January 2011
Long Ways from Home...
In order to fully answer the question, "Why in hell would you want to walk half the length of the country..?????", I think it's quite pertinent to examine a personal history of fascination and admiration for explorers and endurance athletes. No I haven't run any marathons recently, but I did walk a couple with 'Swine Flu' a fortnight ago. Which was fun until I started drowning in my own fluids. And why haven't I run any Marathons..? I've spent a lot of time training for rugby over the years and I don't deal very well with jogging on tarmac and concrete. Sprinting on it, no problem (although these days it's quite a brief affair!), but jogging, in a word -No! My brother's done a few and he seems to enjoy it but as nature intended, we're slightly different fish and what seems to suit him doesn't work for me and vice-versa... for example he drinks red wine and I drink white. Makes it easy if we go to a bar too... er... lol.
Would you remember back to the mid 80's..? Just before I started studying for my 'O' levels there was a cricketer who's now a broadcaster, by the name of Ian Botham, who walked from John O' Groats to Lands End in around 30 days, back in '85 I think. Aside form the fact that he raised a squillion pounds for Leukemia charities I was in awe of that achievement. I'd been previously fascinated by the efforts and achievements of Scott, Amundsen and the simply unstoppable Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who I'd seen on Blue Peter talking about the first polar circumnavigation of the earth... that's all the way around the planet, via the geographic north and south poles, FYI. And among other extraordinary things, he recently chopped the frostbitten tips of left hand fingers off with a Black & Decker. I was going to say 'Wow!', but now I don't think I can find the words to illustrate my admiration for the old warhorse, hoofless, double bypassed or otherwise.
So. The seeds of possibility had been sown in my fertile little mind a long time ago. Over the incidental years between then and now I've cycled 150 miles for fun, walked a marathon (I got caught in London after the last train had left and decided walking back was a good idea. It wasn't actually that bad an idea after 6 hours walking)When I was at university they held the Olympics in Athens, in the home of the ancient games. Being at a bit of a loose end during the summer I kinda thought it might be a good idea to raise some money for charity and the Olympics seemed to be a good angle to aim for, in a literal sense... Thus I spent the next month looking at self propelled ways to take me from Cambridge, England to Athens, Greece. After a lot of deliberation I kinda settled on cycling about 100 or so miles a day, but the real dilemmas were going to be logistical, rather than physiological. How was I going to raise enough money to even get on the road, how much food would I have to carry, what about medical supplies, what kind of insurance is going to cover me on this kind of journey outside of the U.K., what spares will I need for the bike, what spec would the bike have to have, what gearing ratios, frame size etc. etc. etc... There are so many things to consider when planning an adventure such as this, many of which don't enter your head until it's nearly time to go! Eventually the sums made sense and it would cost about £6000 just to get on the road. That's before raising any pennies for a good cause. After discussing the trip with the Student's Union we concluded that there probably wasn't enough time left to raise the capital needed to get on the road, even by approaching some of the very cash rich companies based in or around the city. And it was shame that the ride never took place - although maybe there's an opportunity to do something similar in the future I thought...
Sitting at home watching T.V. isn't supposed to be an inspirational experience, but since then I've chosen to sit and watch Ben Fogle and James Cracknell row across the Atlantic, Steve Blackshall exploring the unknown interior of Papua New Guinea, Eddie Izzard completing John O Groats to Lands End via three capital cities, having not trained or run any distance before and yet more Ben and James as one hit the Marathon des Sables and both (+1) raced to the South Pole. Furthermore, pretty much every one of my university peers went off travelling or more importantly living in or near jungles while I was stuck working my nuts to the grindstone living in London. I don't think I moved there for the right reasons, although I didn't have any reason to do anything else, so no regrets. Anyway, this kinda culminated in me having an overwhelming urge to get pout and do some endurance exploring of my own. Yoda might say 'Itchy feet you have... a challenge I foresee...'. Yes Yoda, you don't need an PhJed to work that one out but I'm sure it helped.
And that brings us neatly to October 2010. Idly searching the internet I came across a late 19th century archive article from the New York Times (http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F60A10FC345C15738DDDA10894D1405B8884F0D3). It gave a brief account of a man and his collie dog, who walked from Edinburgh to London in eight days. Eight days! Before roads existed!!! O.K., not before roads existed, but they weren't what they are now; all tarmaced, signposted and relatively level... Now, I do love a challenge but seeing as I can't make my body strong enough to play Rugby the way I want to, (hard and fast until the 80th minute), any more I've been looking for something to occupy my time, thoughts and keep me relatively fit. And this would fulfil those requirements AND help me achieve one of those long distance exploring type goals. Sweet. SO armed with that simple piece of information I started researching the journey - what routes could you take, are there many footpaths along the way, can you go directly or do you have to go around the coast, how many old style pubs with guest rooms are there... the results of equipment and nutritional research are in one of my earlier blogs as is the final route - but importantly I worked out that it wasn't only possible, I could probably do it in less than a week! As long as I bought plenty of plasters and socks...
While doing my research I came across an article about Janet Street Porter. She'd also walked from Edinburgh to London a few years ago when she was president of the Rambler's Association. The route she'd taken was from the Observatory on Calton Hill, Edinburgh, to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park, London. This struck a chord as I'd lived not far from the Observatory in Greenwich over the previous three years or so and the park was one of my favourite places. Furthermore I'd also stumbled across an aticle from March 2010 where she'd concocted an ill advised attack on people with depression which she largely climbed down from not too long afterwards. Slightly incensed at her flippant remarks I concluded that if she could do it then I could do it better!. Getting back to Greenwich Park, I'd watched the start of the London Marathon a couple of years earlier and despite my aversion to jogging, got a little itch to do some distance fundraising while watching 30,000 or so people jogging past and raising a huge amount of good money in the process. My imagination was beginning to peak, inspiration was about to go critical and the more serious work of planning would be made all the more easy because of it. Then the epiphany struck, the penny dropped and my moment of true inspiration arrived. Time to Change.
It was only very recently that I'd learnt to understand my own psychological demons and this was partly due to advice I'd found through the 'Time to Change', website. And I'd also experienced discrimination from two separate public employers on the grounds of a breakdown that I suffered some years ago and depression and anxiety I;ve since lived with. This presented me with justification, it was like the 'Bat Light' beaming across Gotham City calling me to fight the good fight. Although I'm probably more Del Boy as Batman than the DC hero himself... But from that moment the only obstacles were logistical - well within reach financially - and time. The possibility that I could fall deathly ill undertaking the task itself never entered my mind for a second, being still relatively fit and especially having not had a real cold or flu for years and years...
Would you remember back to the mid 80's..? Just before I started studying for my 'O' levels there was a cricketer who's now a broadcaster, by the name of Ian Botham, who walked from John O' Groats to Lands End in around 30 days, back in '85 I think. Aside form the fact that he raised a squillion pounds for Leukemia charities I was in awe of that achievement. I'd been previously fascinated by the efforts and achievements of Scott, Amundsen and the simply unstoppable Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who I'd seen on Blue Peter talking about the first polar circumnavigation of the earth... that's all the way around the planet, via the geographic north and south poles, FYI. And among other extraordinary things, he recently chopped the frostbitten tips of left hand fingers off with a Black & Decker. I was going to say 'Wow!', but now I don't think I can find the words to illustrate my admiration for the old warhorse, hoofless, double bypassed or otherwise.
So. The seeds of possibility had been sown in my fertile little mind a long time ago. Over the incidental years between then and now I've cycled 150 miles for fun, walked a marathon (I got caught in London after the last train had left and decided walking back was a good idea. It wasn't actually that bad an idea after 6 hours walking)When I was at university they held the Olympics in Athens, in the home of the ancient games. Being at a bit of a loose end during the summer I kinda thought it might be a good idea to raise some money for charity and the Olympics seemed to be a good angle to aim for, in a literal sense... Thus I spent the next month looking at self propelled ways to take me from Cambridge, England to Athens, Greece. After a lot of deliberation I kinda settled on cycling about 100 or so miles a day, but the real dilemmas were going to be logistical, rather than physiological. How was I going to raise enough money to even get on the road, how much food would I have to carry, what about medical supplies, what kind of insurance is going to cover me on this kind of journey outside of the U.K., what spares will I need for the bike, what spec would the bike have to have, what gearing ratios, frame size etc. etc. etc... There are so many things to consider when planning an adventure such as this, many of which don't enter your head until it's nearly time to go! Eventually the sums made sense and it would cost about £6000 just to get on the road. That's before raising any pennies for a good cause. After discussing the trip with the Student's Union we concluded that there probably wasn't enough time left to raise the capital needed to get on the road, even by approaching some of the very cash rich companies based in or around the city. And it was shame that the ride never took place - although maybe there's an opportunity to do something similar in the future I thought...
Sitting at home watching T.V. isn't supposed to be an inspirational experience, but since then I've chosen to sit and watch Ben Fogle and James Cracknell row across the Atlantic, Steve Blackshall exploring the unknown interior of Papua New Guinea, Eddie Izzard completing John O Groats to Lands End via three capital cities, having not trained or run any distance before and yet more Ben and James as one hit the Marathon des Sables and both (+1) raced to the South Pole. Furthermore, pretty much every one of my university peers went off travelling or more importantly living in or near jungles while I was stuck working my nuts to the grindstone living in London. I don't think I moved there for the right reasons, although I didn't have any reason to do anything else, so no regrets. Anyway, this kinda culminated in me having an overwhelming urge to get pout and do some endurance exploring of my own. Yoda might say 'Itchy feet you have... a challenge I foresee...'. Yes Yoda, you don't need an PhJed to work that one out but I'm sure it helped.
And that brings us neatly to October 2010. Idly searching the internet I came across a late 19th century archive article from the New York Times (http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F60A10FC345C15738DDDA10894D1405B8884F0D3). It gave a brief account of a man and his collie dog, who walked from Edinburgh to London in eight days. Eight days! Before roads existed!!! O.K., not before roads existed, but they weren't what they are now; all tarmaced, signposted and relatively level... Now, I do love a challenge but seeing as I can't make my body strong enough to play Rugby the way I want to, (hard and fast until the 80th minute), any more I've been looking for something to occupy my time, thoughts and keep me relatively fit. And this would fulfil those requirements AND help me achieve one of those long distance exploring type goals. Sweet. SO armed with that simple piece of information I started researching the journey - what routes could you take, are there many footpaths along the way, can you go directly or do you have to go around the coast, how many old style pubs with guest rooms are there... the results of equipment and nutritional research are in one of my earlier blogs as is the final route - but importantly I worked out that it wasn't only possible, I could probably do it in less than a week! As long as I bought plenty of plasters and socks...
While doing my research I came across an article about Janet Street Porter. She'd also walked from Edinburgh to London a few years ago when she was president of the Rambler's Association. The route she'd taken was from the Observatory on Calton Hill, Edinburgh, to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park, London. This struck a chord as I'd lived not far from the Observatory in Greenwich over the previous three years or so and the park was one of my favourite places. Furthermore I'd also stumbled across an aticle from March 2010 where she'd concocted an ill advised attack on people with depression which she largely climbed down from not too long afterwards. Slightly incensed at her flippant remarks I concluded that if she could do it then I could do it better!. Getting back to Greenwich Park, I'd watched the start of the London Marathon a couple of years earlier and despite my aversion to jogging, got a little itch to do some distance fundraising while watching 30,000 or so people jogging past and raising a huge amount of good money in the process. My imagination was beginning to peak, inspiration was about to go critical and the more serious work of planning would be made all the more easy because of it. Then the epiphany struck, the penny dropped and my moment of true inspiration arrived. Time to Change.
It was only very recently that I'd learnt to understand my own psychological demons and this was partly due to advice I'd found through the 'Time to Change', website. And I'd also experienced discrimination from two separate public employers on the grounds of a breakdown that I suffered some years ago and depression and anxiety I;ve since lived with. This presented me with justification, it was like the 'Bat Light' beaming across Gotham City calling me to fight the good fight. Although I'm probably more Del Boy as Batman than the DC hero himself... But from that moment the only obstacles were logistical - well within reach financially - and time. The possibility that I could fall deathly ill undertaking the task itself never entered my mind for a second, being still relatively fit and especially having not had a real cold or flu for years and years...
Sunday 2 January 2011
So far, So good, So NOW what..???
A week has passed since I wrote that note,
I should have known this right from the start.
Only hope can keep me together...
...No more Police lyrics, I promise!
Hope. It's a good thing right..? It can help you steer a path when all around you madness and brimstone are the norm. The only thing some people have, thankfully only a few of us have none. And for others there's faith. But that's another story, best explained without reference to magic and superstitions.
Hope. Did you have any to accompany your dreams in youth..? Does it stay with you to feather your dreams and keep you safe at night from the demons of disaster. That wasn't meant to be lyrical, it was meant to illustrate the fact that like some of my peers, for years I had none and nothing saved me from the ever present terrors of sleep. Not that I saw actual monsters when I closed my eyes or worse when they were open - Jeez, to be stuck in a 24hr Technicolor Disney Dream with a Billy Crystal voiced furry freak in my face would be heaven. Almost. But better than it was, at any road... And it wasn't sleep as such, just that when it came to bed came inactivity, time to think, and think, and think and think and ... GRAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!! How to describe psychological pain as it manifests into physical pain..? Do you know the metal grabber things at the fairground that you can use to win a teddy or other toy with, the one that always stops working just as you're about to drop the prize into the chute so you can give it to your girlfriend. So, imagine 100 of those things all grabbing at your head at the same time... and they hurt dammit, they hurt as the tear into your skull and pull pieces of your brain and optical nerves out in chunks, over and over again. I think that pretty much covers it. That was the pain - worse and more intangible than any migraine or neckborn headache I've ever had before or since. I wanted to rip my head off and tear my eyes out with a spoon many a time... It happened during the day on a couple of occasions too, which was nice. And completely debilitating.
So I had no hope and my dreams as they were, were of escape and I couldn't be sure what from for a long time. So what changed..? Why is there hope when all hope had gone..? Well it's taken a hell of a long time I can assure you. I went through Uni not really knowing what I wanted. I left Uni and didn't know what I wanted. Me, for me, not for anyone else. I thought I wanted what was expected of me but now with hindsight I don't think that was really the case, was it..? My dream is twofold and simple. I want to contribute to the wellbeing and development of the next generation. And I'd like a roof over my head that I can call my own, even if someone else does actually own it.
How I actually achieve these goals is another story, and in the meantime I still have a task to complete on behalf of my peers and myself. Call it a purgeing - therapy - millstone... Call it what you want but don't call it done until it is just that. And we have big plans in my tiny little mind for it this time... :0p
Peas and Lava xXx
I should have known this right from the start.
Only hope can keep me together...
...No more Police lyrics, I promise!
Hope. It's a good thing right..? It can help you steer a path when all around you madness and brimstone are the norm. The only thing some people have, thankfully only a few of us have none. And for others there's faith. But that's another story, best explained without reference to magic and superstitions.
Hope. Did you have any to accompany your dreams in youth..? Does it stay with you to feather your dreams and keep you safe at night from the demons of disaster. That wasn't meant to be lyrical, it was meant to illustrate the fact that like some of my peers, for years I had none and nothing saved me from the ever present terrors of sleep. Not that I saw actual monsters when I closed my eyes or worse when they were open - Jeez, to be stuck in a 24hr Technicolor Disney Dream with a Billy Crystal voiced furry freak in my face would be heaven. Almost. But better than it was, at any road... And it wasn't sleep as such, just that when it came to bed came inactivity, time to think, and think, and think and think and ... GRAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!! How to describe psychological pain as it manifests into physical pain..? Do you know the metal grabber things at the fairground that you can use to win a teddy or other toy with, the one that always stops working just as you're about to drop the prize into the chute so you can give it to your girlfriend. So, imagine 100 of those things all grabbing at your head at the same time... and they hurt dammit, they hurt as the tear into your skull and pull pieces of your brain and optical nerves out in chunks, over and over again. I think that pretty much covers it. That was the pain - worse and more intangible than any migraine or neckborn headache I've ever had before or since. I wanted to rip my head off and tear my eyes out with a spoon many a time... It happened during the day on a couple of occasions too, which was nice. And completely debilitating.
So I had no hope and my dreams as they were, were of escape and I couldn't be sure what from for a long time. So what changed..? Why is there hope when all hope had gone..? Well it's taken a hell of a long time I can assure you. I went through Uni not really knowing what I wanted. I left Uni and didn't know what I wanted. Me, for me, not for anyone else. I thought I wanted what was expected of me but now with hindsight I don't think that was really the case, was it..? My dream is twofold and simple. I want to contribute to the wellbeing and development of the next generation. And I'd like a roof over my head that I can call my own, even if someone else does actually own it.
How I actually achieve these goals is another story, and in the meantime I still have a task to complete on behalf of my peers and myself. Call it a purgeing - therapy - millstone... Call it what you want but don't call it done until it is just that. And we have big plans in my tiny little mind for it this time... :0p
Peas and Lava xXx
... Bed..?????????
Meanwhile, sometime in the past, three days remain to Christmas...
Having started work unexpectedly early I managed to finish in a similar fashion (for a change), but as I travelled home I felt my chest tighten and as a result the depth and my taste perception of each breath had altered... and I knew I had a cold coming on. As usual my timing rocked! So when I arrived home I did what I could to prepare for an early night to try and sweat it out and be able to crack on and earn a few more pennies before JC's birthday.
So after a few hours of planning, prepping and plotting for my own impending journey I turned in and tried to get my sweat on. With no luck. I think I got about an hour's sleep - and yes, I got some sweat on but unfortunately it was all the virus' doing, not mine! And with the full symptoms of what turned out to be Flu raging through my body for the first time in several years, I had to go to work. Which was nice. I did manage to finish in good time AND got away after letting the boss know I wouldn't be in for Christmas Eve, and I also managed to grab a couple of important bits and bobs on the route home, so it wasn't a totally horrific day on all fronts, just the ones that involved my joints, organs, glands and skin in any way shape or form...
Christmas Eve. Still feeling like Death warmed up, chewed a bit then spat on the floor, but not quite as bad as the previous day, I figured I was getting better, so set about the standard things like walking the dog, eating and prepping bits and bobs for the next few days use. And seeing as it was Christmas eve after all, I thought about doing a bit of wrapping...
I slept like a baby. Literally, in my cool as f*** sleeping bag. I woke around 8am and felt better than I had fr the last couple of days - a little bit of a cough but I'd managed to stave it off and not succumb. My thoughts were becoming ever focussed on Boxing Day morning but I had to get through the day ahead of me first. Breakfast, Lunch, go to sisters' house for a bit of present giving and then Dinner. I can;t complain because I didn't cook it or pay for it, but I'm used to eating pretty fresh food and don't go for processed meats for starters. So Christmas dinner didn't go down as well as it may but I'm thankful for what was put in front of me (although I'd quite like to do it again, on my terms so to speak... ). Managed to speak to my brother on the phone from NJ, lots of support coming from that direction, and others too :0)
The meal done, the evening came and I got on with finishing off bits of packing for the following day. Christmas day ended on an unexpected high and I went to bed feeling pretty good all things considered. Yes I was still feeling a bit chesty but I wasn't sneezing, coughing or otherwise distressed at all.
Boxing Day. 6am. The alarm can go and do something unpleasant to itself for an hour, can't it..? It did, and so I dragged myself out of bed, and as I did I heard the bathroom door lock. Great timing, good start to the day... So - got dressed, finished doing my packing of little things, got a cuppa in me and then managed to get into the bathroom, only to find that all was not as it should be. My intestines had decided that they weren't going to play ball today, a state that didn't alter for the next 14 hours much to my discomfort - lucky I was going for a walk and not a drive! Got my bum downstairs and found 2 Bacon Rolls waiting for me but I wasn't really hungry. I was preoccupied with getting on the road, getting the first few miles down and through the borders before sunrise tomorrow. I stepped out of the back door after some amount of faffing about trying to get my rucksack on and chest pack clipped onto that. Wouldn't be the last time it cost me time instead of the convenience I'd had planned for it. Went round the front and collected my Sticks from behind the front door. Pulled them out to the right length, clipped them into place and then waited. To my surprise Ma & Pa had decoded to walk down the road a while with me and brought Dexy Dog too, I could've cried, and nearly did. Yes I was only going for a few days (about 2 weeks including getting my arse back) but I was so going to miss that gnarly little barker with every ounce of my bleeding heart. If I haven't told you yet - he's my lovechild from a previous relationship and probably saved my life as well as sanity. We walked about 800yds down the road together - Ma taking photos and me trying to do the same as we went, until we parted, hopefully not for too long.
Goodbyes said I was on my own from here on in. Another 800 yds to the road that led to Whitehill. I turned the corner and headed up the hill. Another right and through the village, then the hill proper loomed in front of me. This was to be my first challenge. I watched the Kriss Akkabusi Challenge guys working their nuts off trying to get up this hill on racing bikes in the summer and didn't fancy it much on foot. Using the sticks it wasn't as hard as it could have been, but having never actually used them before it wasn't long before I started to sweat up a storm on my ascent! After getting onto the flat I started to adjust my jacket zips, rucksack lines, chestpack... A couple of miles down the road it started to get right on my tits, so I dropped it down a few inches off of them, which helped me get to my zips n'bits so I could cool down. I walked down the other side of the hill, through Edgehead and into Ford. Just before I got into Ford the temperature dropped around me as the mist thickened into freezing fog. A Mercedes passed me and 100 yds down the road I spotted a large bird in the road under the cover of the trees. It was a Buzzard - might even have been one of the ones I'd been watching all summer, from egg to chick to soaring predator. One of this cold, snowy winters' winners thus far, but now it lay on the ground in front of me, its' neck broken and twisted through 180 degrees as it took its' final breaths. We shared a look and it passed before my eyes. I said a few words in my heart before I moved off.
I climbed out of the fog and onto the A68 at Pathead. The paths were frozen solid with lumps of icy snow so I had to stick to the road as far as I could. It took a while but in spite of the traffic I got through the town and into the back of beyond... Still hot, sweating like I hadn't done in a long time but not managing to find a balance, and my breathing was starting to get excessively heavy. Was it the sticks or me..? Didn't have time to work that one out. I took a couple of photos after leaving the town, which were the last I was to take. The miles lay on front of me and my job was pretty simple. Eat them and keep them coming - morning, noon and night. So I had a few with a Bacon Roll, chased down by some good Scottish Water. The water did cool me down a little but not enough, and the Rucksack was starting to bite into my shoulders. First few miles were always going to be nasty, my body needed to become accustomed to the task and used to being treated like an Indian's Donkey. The unforgiving reality of blisters had just started to nip me after about 10 miles, but it didn't take that long for the pain to build and pass. Not like the pain in my shoulders from the Rucksack. Perhaps in spite of the adjustments I was making to the straps, it seemed to bite deeper and deeper into my left trapezius, taking the lump of meat and turning it into painful solid stone right under my skin.
As I walked I kept checking the roadsigns. Despite what had seemed to be hours and hours I'd still only walked 2 miles further towards Jedburgh each time I checked. Really..??? That can't be true I thought, I've walked bleeding MILES! Turns out that there are a few signs that seem to show the road distance to Jedburgh as the same despite the fact that you'll have walked/driven about 10 miles between them. Stupid signs. Anyways... I was making some distance. I walked up Soutra - last time I'd been here the car I was in had died and I sat on the side of the hill watching traffic for a couple of hours while I waited for the RAC man to come. Which was actually nice :0) And I got to walk down the other side...
The miles from here were long and seemed to take ages. It was head down, deal with the heat, remember to drink your water. I wasn't listening to any music just in case something large and potentially life ending drove around the corner. And it was like this forever. I passed through a couple of villages and towns, giving them as much thought as they gave me. I passed the windmills and sheep, giving them as much thought as they gave me. Baaaaah! I almost passed out. Twice. This didn't go unnoticed and not by the damned sheep either. Luckily. It was the pigs. Or rather, and to be much nicer about it, it was one of the Police officers who'd taken an interest in my little jaunt. Having walked a distance roughly equivalent to two Marathons, 'Steve'; I'll call him Steve as I didn't catch his name; 'Steve', asked me what the heck I thought I was up to. I explained my mission, my reasons and my hopes for the next few days. He explained that if I didn't voluntarily stop, he'd arrest me for my own good and drag me to the hospital. And he'd rather not do the paperwork. He went on to explain that he'd been a Paramedic before he was a copper and seen the signs enough times to know that if I didn't stop he, or one of his colleagues, would be be chipping me out of a block of ice and trying to explain to my parents why they hadn't done anything about me when he saw me in obvious trouble.
And he was right to do what he did.over the next couple of hours my body temperature plummeted, I couldn't feel my left hand at all and I was so cold to my core that it took a hot bath and several hours before I could thermoregulate without serious assistance. Worse still my lungs were filling with a clear/pinkish fluid pretty quickly, which had to be dealt with before anything else... Turned out that my 'Cold' was in fact 'Flu', of a piggy variety and hadn't gone away at all. My efforts had raised my body temperature sufficiently for it to take a hold of me and do what it does best. Give me Viral Pneumonia. Luckily it was caught before it could do any large scale damage and very luckily I'm not one of the 39 flu death statistics to date this winter.
Happy Boxing Day :0)
Having started work unexpectedly early I managed to finish in a similar fashion (for a change), but as I travelled home I felt my chest tighten and as a result the depth and my taste perception of each breath had altered... and I knew I had a cold coming on. As usual my timing rocked! So when I arrived home I did what I could to prepare for an early night to try and sweat it out and be able to crack on and earn a few more pennies before JC's birthday.
So after a few hours of planning, prepping and plotting for my own impending journey I turned in and tried to get my sweat on. With no luck. I think I got about an hour's sleep - and yes, I got some sweat on but unfortunately it was all the virus' doing, not mine! And with the full symptoms of what turned out to be Flu raging through my body for the first time in several years, I had to go to work. Which was nice. I did manage to finish in good time AND got away after letting the boss know I wouldn't be in for Christmas Eve, and I also managed to grab a couple of important bits and bobs on the route home, so it wasn't a totally horrific day on all fronts, just the ones that involved my joints, organs, glands and skin in any way shape or form...
Christmas Eve. Still feeling like Death warmed up, chewed a bit then spat on the floor, but not quite as bad as the previous day, I figured I was getting better, so set about the standard things like walking the dog, eating and prepping bits and bobs for the next few days use. And seeing as it was Christmas eve after all, I thought about doing a bit of wrapping...
I slept like a baby. Literally, in my cool as f*** sleeping bag. I woke around 8am and felt better than I had fr the last couple of days - a little bit of a cough but I'd managed to stave it off and not succumb. My thoughts were becoming ever focussed on Boxing Day morning but I had to get through the day ahead of me first. Breakfast, Lunch, go to sisters' house for a bit of present giving and then Dinner. I can;t complain because I didn't cook it or pay for it, but I'm used to eating pretty fresh food and don't go for processed meats for starters. So Christmas dinner didn't go down as well as it may but I'm thankful for what was put in front of me (although I'd quite like to do it again, on my terms so to speak... ). Managed to speak to my brother on the phone from NJ, lots of support coming from that direction, and others too :0)
The meal done, the evening came and I got on with finishing off bits of packing for the following day. Christmas day ended on an unexpected high and I went to bed feeling pretty good all things considered. Yes I was still feeling a bit chesty but I wasn't sneezing, coughing or otherwise distressed at all.
Boxing Day. 6am. The alarm can go and do something unpleasant to itself for an hour, can't it..? It did, and so I dragged myself out of bed, and as I did I heard the bathroom door lock. Great timing, good start to the day... So - got dressed, finished doing my packing of little things, got a cuppa in me and then managed to get into the bathroom, only to find that all was not as it should be. My intestines had decided that they weren't going to play ball today, a state that didn't alter for the next 14 hours much to my discomfort - lucky I was going for a walk and not a drive! Got my bum downstairs and found 2 Bacon Rolls waiting for me but I wasn't really hungry. I was preoccupied with getting on the road, getting the first few miles down and through the borders before sunrise tomorrow. I stepped out of the back door after some amount of faffing about trying to get my rucksack on and chest pack clipped onto that. Wouldn't be the last time it cost me time instead of the convenience I'd had planned for it. Went round the front and collected my Sticks from behind the front door. Pulled them out to the right length, clipped them into place and then waited. To my surprise Ma & Pa had decoded to walk down the road a while with me and brought Dexy Dog too, I could've cried, and nearly did. Yes I was only going for a few days (about 2 weeks including getting my arse back) but I was so going to miss that gnarly little barker with every ounce of my bleeding heart. If I haven't told you yet - he's my lovechild from a previous relationship and probably saved my life as well as sanity. We walked about 800yds down the road together - Ma taking photos and me trying to do the same as we went, until we parted, hopefully not for too long.
Goodbyes said I was on my own from here on in. Another 800 yds to the road that led to Whitehill. I turned the corner and headed up the hill. Another right and through the village, then the hill proper loomed in front of me. This was to be my first challenge. I watched the Kriss Akkabusi Challenge guys working their nuts off trying to get up this hill on racing bikes in the summer and didn't fancy it much on foot. Using the sticks it wasn't as hard as it could have been, but having never actually used them before it wasn't long before I started to sweat up a storm on my ascent! After getting onto the flat I started to adjust my jacket zips, rucksack lines, chestpack... A couple of miles down the road it started to get right on my tits, so I dropped it down a few inches off of them, which helped me get to my zips n'bits so I could cool down. I walked down the other side of the hill, through Edgehead and into Ford. Just before I got into Ford the temperature dropped around me as the mist thickened into freezing fog. A Mercedes passed me and 100 yds down the road I spotted a large bird in the road under the cover of the trees. It was a Buzzard - might even have been one of the ones I'd been watching all summer, from egg to chick to soaring predator. One of this cold, snowy winters' winners thus far, but now it lay on the ground in front of me, its' neck broken and twisted through 180 degrees as it took its' final breaths. We shared a look and it passed before my eyes. I said a few words in my heart before I moved off.
I climbed out of the fog and onto the A68 at Pathead. The paths were frozen solid with lumps of icy snow so I had to stick to the road as far as I could. It took a while but in spite of the traffic I got through the town and into the back of beyond... Still hot, sweating like I hadn't done in a long time but not managing to find a balance, and my breathing was starting to get excessively heavy. Was it the sticks or me..? Didn't have time to work that one out. I took a couple of photos after leaving the town, which were the last I was to take. The miles lay on front of me and my job was pretty simple. Eat them and keep them coming - morning, noon and night. So I had a few with a Bacon Roll, chased down by some good Scottish Water. The water did cool me down a little but not enough, and the Rucksack was starting to bite into my shoulders. First few miles were always going to be nasty, my body needed to become accustomed to the task and used to being treated like an Indian's Donkey. The unforgiving reality of blisters had just started to nip me after about 10 miles, but it didn't take that long for the pain to build and pass. Not like the pain in my shoulders from the Rucksack. Perhaps in spite of the adjustments I was making to the straps, it seemed to bite deeper and deeper into my left trapezius, taking the lump of meat and turning it into painful solid stone right under my skin.
As I walked I kept checking the roadsigns. Despite what had seemed to be hours and hours I'd still only walked 2 miles further towards Jedburgh each time I checked. Really..??? That can't be true I thought, I've walked bleeding MILES! Turns out that there are a few signs that seem to show the road distance to Jedburgh as the same despite the fact that you'll have walked/driven about 10 miles between them. Stupid signs. Anyways... I was making some distance. I walked up Soutra - last time I'd been here the car I was in had died and I sat on the side of the hill watching traffic for a couple of hours while I waited for the RAC man to come. Which was actually nice :0) And I got to walk down the other side...
The miles from here were long and seemed to take ages. It was head down, deal with the heat, remember to drink your water. I wasn't listening to any music just in case something large and potentially life ending drove around the corner. And it was like this forever. I passed through a couple of villages and towns, giving them as much thought as they gave me. I passed the windmills and sheep, giving them as much thought as they gave me. Baaaaah! I almost passed out. Twice. This didn't go unnoticed and not by the damned sheep either. Luckily. It was the pigs. Or rather, and to be much nicer about it, it was one of the Police officers who'd taken an interest in my little jaunt. Having walked a distance roughly equivalent to two Marathons, 'Steve'; I'll call him Steve as I didn't catch his name; 'Steve', asked me what the heck I thought I was up to. I explained my mission, my reasons and my hopes for the next few days. He explained that if I didn't voluntarily stop, he'd arrest me for my own good and drag me to the hospital. And he'd rather not do the paperwork. He went on to explain that he'd been a Paramedic before he was a copper and seen the signs enough times to know that if I didn't stop he, or one of his colleagues, would be be chipping me out of a block of ice and trying to explain to my parents why they hadn't done anything about me when he saw me in obvious trouble.
And he was right to do what he did.over the next couple of hours my body temperature plummeted, I couldn't feel my left hand at all and I was so cold to my core that it took a hot bath and several hours before I could thermoregulate without serious assistance. Worse still my lungs were filling with a clear/pinkish fluid pretty quickly, which had to be dealt with before anything else... Turned out that my 'Cold' was in fact 'Flu', of a piggy variety and hadn't gone away at all. My efforts had raised my body temperature sufficiently for it to take a hold of me and do what it does best. Give me Viral Pneumonia. Luckily it was caught before it could do any large scale damage and very luckily I'm not one of the 39 flu death statistics to date this winter.
Happy Boxing Day :0)
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