I'm back in London finally, and fresh in from my first city walk. The convenient 4 mile circuit round the Isle Of Dogs was marked out for me by my housemate Harriet, who although Welsh knows and loves E14 better than any East End wide boy/rude boy/whatever sort of boys they have down here (except that of course she's a girl) I had decided that my walking boots would not be neccessary for pavement pounding, and so set out clad in my pink trainers with leggings and a hoody, perfect city excersize clothng, dull and dark to blend in with the crowds I thought. How wrong I was, as soon as I stepped out of the end of our street a pair of flourescent lycra-clad lovelies streaked past me. More than once I was out-stripped by brightly clothed beauties, who seemed perturbed to have a squat sweaty northerner stomping around in their midst. I was heckled by workmen "Whats your hurry love!" So at least I was recognised to be travelling at speed. With no mile markers I navigated by pubs and DLR stations, which are plentifull, and bus stops, which there are many. I happened upon a fair few bus stops with busses pulling into them at the same time as I was huffing and puffing up to them, but I resisted the urge to jump on and pretend that I had completed the walk in record time. I had been determined to set myself an admirable time, and my time in Kings Lynn taught me that walking on pavement is easier than in open country, and either my fitness is improving dramatically, or the walk was not quite 4 miles, because even walking faster than I ever have before I did not expect to finish in the genuine record time (without cheating on a bus) in 50 minutes. Maybe its city air not country air that will do me good.
In other news in efforts to begin afresh himself on his solo training Dad chose a new route through our local fields back home today too. I hear that he got himself lost, ended up carrying the dog, but completed 3.6 miles in an hour, so well done Dad.
The South Shields division is yet to clock in a time today, so technically me and Dad are ahead, in your face Ed.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Day 13
Due to my inability to participate in life as a whole yesterday, my return to London was put off. This was taken as a cue to squeeze in an extra walk today before I go, to start my endevours in our nations capital tomorrow. We decided (although in my state of semi-conciousness all day I don't exactly remember agreeing to anything) to make it a good one, and thus it was settled that we'd pop up Roseberry Topping. The Topping is half an hours drive from us, and we estimated that to the top and down again should take an hour, so to have this done before lunch (everything is worked out around meals in this family I'm sure you've worked out) we aimed to set off at 8.30. The alarms went off this morning and with only standard minor problems (Eddie didn't want to get out of bed, Dad didn't want to get out of bed, I didn't want to get out of bed etc) we set off at 8.33, and were at the foot of the hill ready to go at 9.07. Avid readers of this blog will recall a smug text I recieved from Dad and Ed while I was away, saying that they had conquered the Topping in 1 hour and 10 minutes, so as the experts I let them lead the way. We elected to take the "Storm Assault" route up, and would meander down the "Contour Path" on our way back. The Storm Assault seemed like quite an eay option; it had steps. My scoffing soon subsided as I mounted the first one and discovered that the height of each step was proportioned for giants! Again I cursed my tiny legs and hauled myself upwards. At the top of the steps was a last scramble to the summit, at which point Dad dropped to his knees and said he couldn't go on. It was at this juncture that Ed had to admit (owing to Dads lacking capacity to breathe never mind explain anything) that last time they had tried this Dad had had several "rest rocks" which he had not dared make use of this time in my prescence. We paused briefly then to mock and photograph Dad until he was back on his feet and we made it to the top. This was a place where Dad had previously been allowed a 10 minute rest, but I soon put a stop to that and urged him on back downwards. Soon enough the familiar whine "I'm 51 years old you know!" started up, but was nipped in the bud (for today at least) by a passing pair of walkers who retorted "51, your'e just a young lad!" The pair turned out to be 80 years old, and they tackled Roseberry Topping 6 days a week. They didn't even look out of breath and Dad was shamed into silence. Once he stopped complaining we found that he could keep up much better, as I light hearted from the revalations of the elderly gentlemen skipped down light footed as a mountain goat. Eddie too was striding out, until my second highlight of the day hit - he fell over. A kinder set of family members woyld have helped him up, or at least expressed concern, but following what had already happened with Dad, of course he and I just laughed until Eddie struggled up again. So despite the pair of them being the resident Roseberry Topping experts, I was the only one to remain upright for the whole climb, and as we returned to the car muddy and knackered (some more so than others) we clocked in a time of 55 minutes. I'm thinking of adding an 80 year old to the challenge to keep Dad moving, Granddad would have been perfect for it had he been here, but then again if he had been none of this would have been happening.
Saturday, 7 January 2012
Day 12
Today I am hungover. This is not just any hangover, never in the history of hangovers has anyone been so hungover as I am today. Except Eddie, he's quite hungover too. We were at a Wheres Wally themed 21st last night, and (I hope you'll forgive the obvious and feeble pun, with my brain feeling like its about to implode I'm doing my best) I made something of a wally of myself after a couple of pints of cosmopolitan (up north everything comes in a pint glass) amongst other things. This morning (it was 12.30) when I woke up, with no real recollection of getting home, the very last thing I wanted to do was walk; it took me approximately 10 minutes to gather the strength to reach for my phone to check the time. However in my first entry on this blog I recall brazenly declaring that I wouldn't let alcohol abuse hold me back, so with extreme effort, like the AA poster girl I am (or definitely should be) I got up and rallied Ed. As Dads chronic shin sprains (laziness) haven't cleared up yet he took 1 more day off to recouperate, while I - feeling as though death should come and relieve my pain at any moment - stuck to my guns. Having passed out in my Wheres Wally outfit last night and lacking physical and mental ability to find fresh clothes I pulled on my walking boots (it took several minutes and I came close to tears struggling with the laces) and the pair of mountain Wallys stomped off miserabley over the horizon. Even the dog seemed to have sympathy for us, for once walking obediently and not getting under anyones feet. Madam tomato was more of a green pepper today judging from my complexion, greenish grey tinged even under last nights smudged makeup, and my hip swinging was not so vigorous as it has been, as with every step I could feel and almost hear last nights drinks sloshing in my stomach. It was a gloomy walk today, with few words spoken besides the occasional "Oh God my head," and "Do you have to walk SO loudly?!"
When we reached the first mile marker and I had to stop to wretch we knew the only thing we could do was go home, we staggered back, pasty and sweaty and flopped through the door having completed 2 miles in 28 minutes, so although we couldn't go the distance our timing was good, probably due to our urgent need to return home to our beds. At least we tried I suppose.
I'm now going back to bed, if I don't post tomorrow, its probably because I haven't survived the night (in which case I would like McFly to perform at my funeral) So we can at least take a moral from today; never mind driving - don't drink and walk.
When we reached the first mile marker and I had to stop to wretch we knew the only thing we could do was go home, we staggered back, pasty and sweaty and flopped through the door having completed 2 miles in 28 minutes, so although we couldn't go the distance our timing was good, probably due to our urgent need to return home to our beds. At least we tried I suppose.
I'm now going back to bed, if I don't post tomorrow, its probably because I haven't survived the night (in which case I would like McFly to perform at my funeral) So we can at least take a moral from today; never mind driving - don't drink and walk.
Friday, 6 January 2012
Day 11
With Eddie being South Sheilds already, and my departure back to London imminent, and Dad getting worse rather than better under the current training regime, my reign of terror as Training Captain seems to be over before it really had chance to begin.We have decided that we will all persue our own training methods for a while, until the first 6 weeks is done (which happily co-incides with my reading week) at which point we are supposed to up our walks to 6 miles a day. I'm happy for my brother (by which I mean seething with jealousy of course) who seems to be doing well, comfortably clocking in times on and around the hour mark, so I'm sure he'll continue to progress well. Without my motivational "Come ON Dad!"s however I can only hope I'm wrong in my prediction that the method Dad follows (gradually building up speed and stamina he calls it) will most likely drop back to the Allison family traditional journey between sofa and fridge. I myself already have a convenient 4 mile circuit basically on my doorstep at my London home on the Isle Of Dogs, so will be fine, nay brilliant I'm sure. The decision to trust Dad with his own training is a big one, as at the 6 week marker we move from 4 miles in an hour per walk to 6 miles in an hour and a half, and if Dad hasn't kept up, or made up the pace (crippled as he is by shin sprinkles) we may have to adjust all out prospective times and the big day (3 mountains in 24 hours) may have to change to a big weekend; which could still be considered an admirable challenge for people so lazy that if there was an Olympic event for eating and sleeping we could represent England and fill the podium. (Dad as the best all rounder would take gold I think, then between my eating and Eddies sleeping there could be an exciting jostle for silver, maybe I'll get in touch with the Olympics people, I'll already be in London afterall...) However we can all cross our fingers and toes that Dads shin springs clear up and he'll be OK, sturdy old mule that he is.
Today I set off late-ish, having taken Grandma to asda and the hairdressers. Once her ladyship was suitably coiffed I was dismissed to my own devices. Knowing I would be without Dad and Ed, and sure in the knowledge that I couldn't complete the walk without having someone with me I could use to get throught the extreme physical labour by wishing to kill, I reluctantly picked up the dogs lead as I left the house. First Newbie was excited by the sight of the lead; there was leaping around, tail wagging and barking, then at the sight of the person attached to it things got serious, the leaping stoppped, and the barking stilled (the only thing he couldnt control was his tail) as we squared up, cowboy and indian movie style, except hes a dog not a cowboy, and neither of us had guns, but you sense the atmosphere. Mam has a rather ridiculous check chain-collar-lead system for harnessing the dog, which may look simple to your average Joe, but to me it was something of a technical nightmare. I squatted down beside him, and the idiot animal began trying to lick my face, having batted him away, then managing to call him back, I wrapped the collar around his neck. It promptly fell off, and the dog sat down, obviously realising that this may take a while. 3 attempts later (thats as many as I'll admit to anyway) following much yelping and whining (from me you understand, not from the dog) I mastered it. Proud of myself I made to stand up, and Newbie, who had sat quietly and patiently waiting for me to manage, with mischeif in his little doggy eyes, as if he knew I owed him one for waiting like a good boy, sprung up before I was properly upright and pushed me over. Little monster.
So already muddy (thankyou Newbie) we set off, I kept Dads little warm up loop in the walk, as although its not at speed every little helps doesnt it, and today I'm amazed to tell you all that I almost enjoyed myself, if I hadnt been toiling along swinging my legs crazily to keep up the speed, sweating like something very sweaty and generally looking ridiculously unattractive, but these things one just has to bear. One thing churning inside me however was my pie. On a Friday, Grandma goes to the hairdressers, I think the comings and goings of Grandma are fairly well documented. Anyway near the hairdressers is the local butchers, where they do a cracking range of pies (being from the north I think I'm allowed to consider myself something of a pie connoisseur) and the custom has developed to have a pie after the hairdressers on a Friday. Luckily I havent been letting this walking malarky affect my eating (I'm the sort of girl who spells diet C-A-K-E) so I am still able to chomp down a hearty pie. I tell you this because I consider my time today of FIFTY NINE MINUTES to be pie powered, so I may just go have another one!
Today I set off late-ish, having taken Grandma to asda and the hairdressers. Once her ladyship was suitably coiffed I was dismissed to my own devices. Knowing I would be without Dad and Ed, and sure in the knowledge that I couldn't complete the walk without having someone with me I could use to get throught the extreme physical labour by wishing to kill, I reluctantly picked up the dogs lead as I left the house. First Newbie was excited by the sight of the lead; there was leaping around, tail wagging and barking, then at the sight of the person attached to it things got serious, the leaping stoppped, and the barking stilled (the only thing he couldnt control was his tail) as we squared up, cowboy and indian movie style, except hes a dog not a cowboy, and neither of us had guns, but you sense the atmosphere. Mam has a rather ridiculous check chain-collar-lead system for harnessing the dog, which may look simple to your average Joe, but to me it was something of a technical nightmare. I squatted down beside him, and the idiot animal began trying to lick my face, having batted him away, then managing to call him back, I wrapped the collar around his neck. It promptly fell off, and the dog sat down, obviously realising that this may take a while. 3 attempts later (thats as many as I'll admit to anyway) following much yelping and whining (from me you understand, not from the dog) I mastered it. Proud of myself I made to stand up, and Newbie, who had sat quietly and patiently waiting for me to manage, with mischeif in his little doggy eyes, as if he knew I owed him one for waiting like a good boy, sprung up before I was properly upright and pushed me over. Little monster.
So already muddy (thankyou Newbie) we set off, I kept Dads little warm up loop in the walk, as although its not at speed every little helps doesnt it, and today I'm amazed to tell you all that I almost enjoyed myself, if I hadnt been toiling along swinging my legs crazily to keep up the speed, sweating like something very sweaty and generally looking ridiculously unattractive, but these things one just has to bear. One thing churning inside me however was my pie. On a Friday, Grandma goes to the hairdressers, I think the comings and goings of Grandma are fairly well documented. Anyway near the hairdressers is the local butchers, where they do a cracking range of pies (being from the north I think I'm allowed to consider myself something of a pie connoisseur) and the custom has developed to have a pie after the hairdressers on a Friday. Luckily I havent been letting this walking malarky affect my eating (I'm the sort of girl who spells diet C-A-K-E) so I am still able to chomp down a hearty pie. I tell you this because I consider my time today of FIFTY NINE MINUTES to be pie powered, so I may just go have another one!
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Day 10
Beginning to think I was too harsh on Dad yesterday, either that or he is really committed to getting out of training! We incorporated a warm up loop at the start of the walk today for him to ease himself into the pace, which he was fine with, but almost as soon as we increased speed and started the clock the limping began. After a couple of minutes of this slow progress we decided he should just go home and google shin shingles or whatever was wrong and find out how to fix them so that he could start doing things properly. As he hobbled home I realised that my first thoughts were not concern for my dear aged father (have you heard he is 51 years old you know) but ones of relief that he dropped out today early enough to not greatly affect the time in which I could still complete todays session. Maybe I'm taking this all too seriously, I pondered, ready to launch into some serious soul searching (whilst making sure that philosophical thought did not affect the speed which my legs were moving of course) or maybe Dad just needs to man up. So loving daughter to the end that I am I took off without him. On seeing that Dad was turning round Newbie tucked his tail between his legs and attempted to run after him, probably because last time he was left alone with me I dragged him through sleet and snow, maybe he needs to man up too.
On a more positive note, I have figured out how to cover more ground per step with these useless midget legs of mine (surely it's not politically incorrect for me to use midget and useless together in a sentence when I am the useless midget in question, I'm short so I can say what I like about the short right?) anyway, my method involves dramatic hip swinging, thus shooting my leg further out in front of me than I would on the average step. In the childrens TV show based on walking (it could be called Rosie's Round Routes) which will doubtless be the follow up to the movie starring Scarlett Johansson/Jo Brand as me, the presenter could demonstrate the exaggerated movement then there'd be a "Go on kids, you try now, how big can you make YOUR steps?" then there'd be a pause for the kids to try followed by a "Wow, amazing!" So redaers using you as my pilot audience laets give this a go:
Go on readers, you try it now, how big can you make YOUR steps?"
...
...
...
Wow, amazing!
However, I'm not entirely certain that the content would make a good kids TV show, as complete with my shiny red face I'm now mincing and shimmying along like some sort of madam tomato of the fruit and veg brothel, so perhaps of fitness DVD? Or "specailist adult website", the possibilities are endless...
In this fashion then I hit the first 2 mile markers in exactly the right time! Then I got a bit too cocky though and lost 1 minute during mile 3, which then lead to a superhuman effort in making up that minute and finishing mile 4 exactly on time, yes I've hit the hour mark on the dot! I was so happy that I even managed a good boy to the dog, although there was no energy left in my reserves for a pat on the head. The fact that I have done this today should mean that I can now do it every day, but I can't promise anything, except that the madam tomato technique will remain.
On a more positive note, I have figured out how to cover more ground per step with these useless midget legs of mine (surely it's not politically incorrect for me to use midget and useless together in a sentence when I am the useless midget in question, I'm short so I can say what I like about the short right?) anyway, my method involves dramatic hip swinging, thus shooting my leg further out in front of me than I would on the average step. In the childrens TV show based on walking (it could be called Rosie's Round Routes) which will doubtless be the follow up to the movie starring Scarlett Johansson/Jo Brand as me, the presenter could demonstrate the exaggerated movement then there'd be a "Go on kids, you try now, how big can you make YOUR steps?" then there'd be a pause for the kids to try followed by a "Wow, amazing!" So redaers using you as my pilot audience laets give this a go:
Go on readers, you try it now, how big can you make YOUR steps?"
...
...
...
Wow, amazing!
However, I'm not entirely certain that the content would make a good kids TV show, as complete with my shiny red face I'm now mincing and shimmying along like some sort of madam tomato of the fruit and veg brothel, so perhaps of fitness DVD? Or "specailist adult website", the possibilities are endless...
In this fashion then I hit the first 2 mile markers in exactly the right time! Then I got a bit too cocky though and lost 1 minute during mile 3, which then lead to a superhuman effort in making up that minute and finishing mile 4 exactly on time, yes I've hit the hour mark on the dot! I was so happy that I even managed a good boy to the dog, although there was no energy left in my reserves for a pat on the head. The fact that I have done this today should mean that I can now do it every day, but I can't promise anything, except that the madam tomato technique will remain.
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Day 9
From a personal best yesterday - Eddie facebooked yesterday to say that he got his 4 miles done on the mean streets of South Sheilds in 58 minutes (smug little git) - to a team worst today...
It all started well, I have a very important lunch date with the girls today (although im sure you know me well enough by now to know that all meals are important to me) and Dad has a work meeting so we decided we'd try and be home from our walk today by 9am, which would mean setting off at 8am, our earliest start time yet. We managed this without too much grumbling ( "Who's stupid idea was all this anyway..." "YOURS Dad!" etc) and set off in the pre-sunrise blue light of the very early morning. After our success yesterday I even jubilantly allowed the dog to come with us, even if we did have to wake him such was the extreme earliness of our set off. At approximately 8.04am though we hit a snag. A big snag. A snag of gargantuan propartions. We call this snag Dad. (He is 51 years old you know! He may have mentioned it, a dozen or so times, per day!) Doctor Dad has diagnosed himself with a shin splint. Knowing full well that I don't know what one of those is, and therefore could not counter his demand that we must slow the pace from a march to a shuffle, and that he must limp, grimace and wince with every step in a way which I suppose was meant to inspire my pity. It didn't. For those of you who don't know my father, I can tell you that he has the attention span of a flea, and there is a chance that this project has exceeded it. Even with the best intentions, I'm sure he had imagined himself half a stone lighter by now, with a six pack, by some miracle the fresh air may have caused all his hair to grow back too, but after 8 days this is yet to happen, in fact as we try and pick up the pace training is yet to get easier. Is the point of a challenge not to be challenging then? I pleaded with him as he stumped laong getting more and more grumpy. The dog was not helping, the pace had slowed down so much that he was having time to sniff around at stuff, and firt chance to be a nuiscance he got he made use of, and tanggled his elad in a bush. Imbecile.
As far as I can tell without instant results Dad is getting bored. His shin splatter or whatever it is certainly wasn't troubling him when he posed for that smug little photo atop Roseberry Topping at the weekend, unless he was manfully disguising his agony (which is highly unlikely, by which I mean 100% impossible, as anyone who knows Stephen Allison will tell you, he is not a man to suffer in silence)
So in this ungainly fashion we reached the first mile marker "I can't go on, save yourself!" Our hero cried, collapsing onto a bench. To 'save myself' from much more of the amature dramatics, I allowed the training to be cut short and we began our undignified limp home, to the tune of "I am 51 years old you know..." sorrowfully echoing from the back. I have informed Dad that our friends Brian and Steve, authors of our challenge books and distinguished walkers, are both in their 50s, however Dad parried this attack by reminding me that they were not plagued with shin spots, or whatever it is exactly thats ailing him. Hercules himself would not have been able to walk 4 miles shouldering this burden, it wasn't his heel Achilles should have been worrying about apprently but his shins. So we trudged back to the house, having covered just 2 miles in 38 minutes, our worst time to date. Moral is low and Dad is in 'agony', ensconsed back in bed with coffee and toast, looking very pleased with himself... Whether this was just a well researched skive I'll never know, but I'll always have my suspicions. If its not then please everyone, I suggest that you all take note of Dads sacrifice, and possibly invest in a pair of shin pads for day to day use?
It all started well, I have a very important lunch date with the girls today (although im sure you know me well enough by now to know that all meals are important to me) and Dad has a work meeting so we decided we'd try and be home from our walk today by 9am, which would mean setting off at 8am, our earliest start time yet. We managed this without too much grumbling ( "Who's stupid idea was all this anyway..." "YOURS Dad!" etc) and set off in the pre-sunrise blue light of the very early morning. After our success yesterday I even jubilantly allowed the dog to come with us, even if we did have to wake him such was the extreme earliness of our set off. At approximately 8.04am though we hit a snag. A big snag. A snag of gargantuan propartions. We call this snag Dad. (He is 51 years old you know! He may have mentioned it, a dozen or so times, per day!) Doctor Dad has diagnosed himself with a shin splint. Knowing full well that I don't know what one of those is, and therefore could not counter his demand that we must slow the pace from a march to a shuffle, and that he must limp, grimace and wince with every step in a way which I suppose was meant to inspire my pity. It didn't. For those of you who don't know my father, I can tell you that he has the attention span of a flea, and there is a chance that this project has exceeded it. Even with the best intentions, I'm sure he had imagined himself half a stone lighter by now, with a six pack, by some miracle the fresh air may have caused all his hair to grow back too, but after 8 days this is yet to happen, in fact as we try and pick up the pace training is yet to get easier. Is the point of a challenge not to be challenging then? I pleaded with him as he stumped laong getting more and more grumpy. The dog was not helping, the pace had slowed down so much that he was having time to sniff around at stuff, and firt chance to be a nuiscance he got he made use of, and tanggled his elad in a bush. Imbecile.
As far as I can tell without instant results Dad is getting bored. His shin splatter or whatever it is certainly wasn't troubling him when he posed for that smug little photo atop Roseberry Topping at the weekend, unless he was manfully disguising his agony (which is highly unlikely, by which I mean 100% impossible, as anyone who knows Stephen Allison will tell you, he is not a man to suffer in silence)
So in this ungainly fashion we reached the first mile marker "I can't go on, save yourself!" Our hero cried, collapsing onto a bench. To 'save myself' from much more of the amature dramatics, I allowed the training to be cut short and we began our undignified limp home, to the tune of "I am 51 years old you know..." sorrowfully echoing from the back. I have informed Dad that our friends Brian and Steve, authors of our challenge books and distinguished walkers, are both in their 50s, however Dad parried this attack by reminding me that they were not plagued with shin spots, or whatever it is exactly thats ailing him. Hercules himself would not have been able to walk 4 miles shouldering this burden, it wasn't his heel Achilles should have been worrying about apprently but his shins. So we trudged back to the house, having covered just 2 miles in 38 minutes, our worst time to date. Moral is low and Dad is in 'agony', ensconsed back in bed with coffee and toast, looking very pleased with himself... Whether this was just a well researched skive I'll never know, but I'll always have my suspicions. If its not then please everyone, I suggest that you all take note of Dads sacrifice, and possibly invest in a pair of shin pads for day to day use?
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Days 5, 6, 7, and 8
Happy New Year everyone! I haven't blogged for a while and know you will all have been worried, "Has she given up already?" I hear you cry, "has she finally eaten her own body weight in chocolate and exploded?!" Well fear not friends, firstly it would take a lot more chocolate than that to finish me off, but also the reason I have been away from my laptop for a while is that a spanner was thrown into the works, a Marty shaped spanner. Grandma has been insisting that we all "carry on with our lives" which involoves me taking my turn in New-Yearing at the boyfriends, as he fullfilled his duty in spending it up north last year. So after our training session on (day 4) the 30th I headed down to Kings Lynn, trainers and sports bra in my bag, ready to keep to my commitments with the walking, I had instructed Marty explicitly on how seriously I'm taking this, and made him solemly swear that we would do the walks properly, apart from New Years Eve which as you'll recall from my last post I had decided to allow as a day off.
So the next day dawned and I revelled in the thought of a day without marching around wishing I could drown Eddie in a ditch, my joy was short lived however when Dad texted me a photo of him and Eddie on the top of Roseberry Topping (our local hill) The rats! They're not having a day off at all! "Quick Marty! We need to find a hill!" I squawked. Ever charming Marty grunted and rolled over in bed. Frantically I scrambled up, dressed, and urged Marty into joggers and trainers before I remembered that being in Norfolk, the flattest county in the country, if not the world, we were going to struggle to find anything steeper than a high curb. Having to settle for 4 miles on the flat through the town we set off. Apparently Marty hadn't fully understood the term 'power walk' (being from Kings Lynn I should have suspected that there were too many syllables in the phrase for him to have correctly comprehended it, but I suppose I had heard what I wanted to hear when he promised he had understood and would comply) so we began an awkward shuffle, me walking at the correct speed dragging him along with me "stop pulling meeeee!" he moaned like a petulant child "Well walk properly then!" I snapped back equally stroppily. The final straw came when he whipped out a packet of crisps, a packet of crisps! At this point I did scream at him and storm off, leaving him stumping along munching on his crisps, good for nothing son of a gun. Powered by rage I walked faster than I ever have before, a cloud of cartoon style dust must have risen from the ground behind me, stomping along I came to realise that I was approaching the only landmark I know in the town, a pub, The Retreat. Having reached it, to avoid getting lost the only thing I could do was turn around and walk back, hoping that it was a 4 mile round trip. 55 minutes later I was back and luckily the journey it turns out did cover 3.9 miles, so apart from the blazing row that followed with Marty (think "I cant believe you walked off and left me!" "I cant believe you wouldnt walk properly!" etc) my efforts were successfull (Marty also apologised in the end, as we have seen earlier I am always right, so it was only to be expected really) Then as is the tradition of New Years Eve, we went out and got drunk.
As part of the going-out-getting-drunk thing, I accidently clocked up an extra 2 miles of walking; in the small hours of the first morning of 2012, after much drinking, dancing, auld lang syne-ing and so on we staggered out of the premier night club of Kings Lynn 'Chicagos' (yes just as glamorous as it doesn't sound) and made the genius decision to walk back to Martys house from town. Lots of girls in preparation for a situation such as this put flip flops or some other form of flat shoe in their bag to save themselves from walking home in heels. I had thought similarly, but had taken out that night with me a very pretty but very small bag, too small for extra shoes, I had cleverly managed to squeeze a pair of socks in there though. These went on to do me little to no good as it had been raining when we left, and everyone knows how useless wet socks can be. 2 miles were covered though, essentially barefoot by me, in just over half an hour, so I'll leave it in your hands to decide whether this is allowed to count, but unless anyone tells me otherwise I'm going to count it! I did also complete a formal walk, at 8am the alarm I had cunningly set the night before went off, and without bothering to try and wake Marty I set off, not hungover yet as still probably slightly drunk. As a result of this the 3.9 miles to The Retreat and back passed in a 55 minute blur. Then the hangover hit me and the rest of the day was lost, so I was glad to have gotten up early in the end.
On day 7 I awoke to another text from Dad, saying that the weather at home was shocking, so he and Ed would take that day off today. Following their lead I too took a semi day off; in that I made Marty walk rather than drive the 4(ish) mile round trip to town, but at a more relaxed pace (which is what I imagine he had expected to happen all along) and we did stop while we were there and have a massive fry up.
Today I returned home, refreshed from my day off and chomping at the bit to get back out into the country air and back onto some rough terrain. Ed returned to college in South Sheilds yesterday, and I'm yet to hear how his town walking went today. I imagine, using common knowledge of 19 year old boys, that he stayed up all night drinking with his mates (or using more specific knowledge of my 19 year old brother, stayed up all night playing xbox) and has not moved far from his sofa today, but I remain hopefull and will let you know how the South Sheilds division of the troupe has faired when I know. Dad too was unable to participate today, being a grown up and having to return to work today (oh how I long to stay a student forever so that the world of work continues to not affect me) so I set off, so desperate fro company I even deigned to take the dog with me. After my day off and 2 previous days strolling on the pavements of Kings Lynn, the country air and rough terrain I had longed for quickly became tiresome, and when the shocking weather that Dad had mentioned from yesterday reared its ugly head again as I passed the first mile marker I was sorely tempted to turn around, cut the walk short and go home, but I bravely continued. As hailstones began to hit us and the dog began to whimper we upped the speed of the walk to mad dash between patches of shelter of trees and bushes. In this cold, wet and unpleasent fashion the remainder of the walk/jog passed speedily, such was our hurry to get back into the warm house, and we clocked back in in 1 hour and 1 minute, my personal best (and 9 minutes faster than Dad and Eds best effort to date!)
So the next day dawned and I revelled in the thought of a day without marching around wishing I could drown Eddie in a ditch, my joy was short lived however when Dad texted me a photo of him and Eddie on the top of Roseberry Topping (our local hill) The rats! They're not having a day off at all! "Quick Marty! We need to find a hill!" I squawked. Ever charming Marty grunted and rolled over in bed. Frantically I scrambled up, dressed, and urged Marty into joggers and trainers before I remembered that being in Norfolk, the flattest county in the country, if not the world, we were going to struggle to find anything steeper than a high curb. Having to settle for 4 miles on the flat through the town we set off. Apparently Marty hadn't fully understood the term 'power walk' (being from Kings Lynn I should have suspected that there were too many syllables in the phrase for him to have correctly comprehended it, but I suppose I had heard what I wanted to hear when he promised he had understood and would comply) so we began an awkward shuffle, me walking at the correct speed dragging him along with me "stop pulling meeeee!" he moaned like a petulant child "Well walk properly then!" I snapped back equally stroppily. The final straw came when he whipped out a packet of crisps, a packet of crisps! At this point I did scream at him and storm off, leaving him stumping along munching on his crisps, good for nothing son of a gun. Powered by rage I walked faster than I ever have before, a cloud of cartoon style dust must have risen from the ground behind me, stomping along I came to realise that I was approaching the only landmark I know in the town, a pub, The Retreat. Having reached it, to avoid getting lost the only thing I could do was turn around and walk back, hoping that it was a 4 mile round trip. 55 minutes later I was back and luckily the journey it turns out did cover 3.9 miles, so apart from the blazing row that followed with Marty (think "I cant believe you walked off and left me!" "I cant believe you wouldnt walk properly!" etc) my efforts were successfull (Marty also apologised in the end, as we have seen earlier I am always right, so it was only to be expected really) Then as is the tradition of New Years Eve, we went out and got drunk.
As part of the going-out-getting-drunk thing, I accidently clocked up an extra 2 miles of walking; in the small hours of the first morning of 2012, after much drinking, dancing, auld lang syne-ing and so on we staggered out of the premier night club of Kings Lynn 'Chicagos' (yes just as glamorous as it doesn't sound) and made the genius decision to walk back to Martys house from town. Lots of girls in preparation for a situation such as this put flip flops or some other form of flat shoe in their bag to save themselves from walking home in heels. I had thought similarly, but had taken out that night with me a very pretty but very small bag, too small for extra shoes, I had cleverly managed to squeeze a pair of socks in there though. These went on to do me little to no good as it had been raining when we left, and everyone knows how useless wet socks can be. 2 miles were covered though, essentially barefoot by me, in just over half an hour, so I'll leave it in your hands to decide whether this is allowed to count, but unless anyone tells me otherwise I'm going to count it! I did also complete a formal walk, at 8am the alarm I had cunningly set the night before went off, and without bothering to try and wake Marty I set off, not hungover yet as still probably slightly drunk. As a result of this the 3.9 miles to The Retreat and back passed in a 55 minute blur. Then the hangover hit me and the rest of the day was lost, so I was glad to have gotten up early in the end.
On day 7 I awoke to another text from Dad, saying that the weather at home was shocking, so he and Ed would take that day off today. Following their lead I too took a semi day off; in that I made Marty walk rather than drive the 4(ish) mile round trip to town, but at a more relaxed pace (which is what I imagine he had expected to happen all along) and we did stop while we were there and have a massive fry up.
Today I returned home, refreshed from my day off and chomping at the bit to get back out into the country air and back onto some rough terrain. Ed returned to college in South Sheilds yesterday, and I'm yet to hear how his town walking went today. I imagine, using common knowledge of 19 year old boys, that he stayed up all night drinking with his mates (or using more specific knowledge of my 19 year old brother, stayed up all night playing xbox) and has not moved far from his sofa today, but I remain hopefull and will let you know how the South Sheilds division of the troupe has faired when I know. Dad too was unable to participate today, being a grown up and having to return to work today (oh how I long to stay a student forever so that the world of work continues to not affect me) so I set off, so desperate fro company I even deigned to take the dog with me. After my day off and 2 previous days strolling on the pavements of Kings Lynn, the country air and rough terrain I had longed for quickly became tiresome, and when the shocking weather that Dad had mentioned from yesterday reared its ugly head again as I passed the first mile marker I was sorely tempted to turn around, cut the walk short and go home, but I bravely continued. As hailstones began to hit us and the dog began to whimper we upped the speed of the walk to mad dash between patches of shelter of trees and bushes. In this cold, wet and unpleasent fashion the remainder of the walk/jog passed speedily, such was our hurry to get back into the warm house, and we clocked back in in 1 hour and 1 minute, my personal best (and 9 minutes faster than Dad and Eds best effort to date!)
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