Day 64

I was right about rugby yesterday, and with more tonight I wasn't sure I would make it out of bed at all today, but I did. legs groaning under me I staggered out of the front door. In stark comparison to yesterday, I found the whole endeavour an uphill struggle today. The streets were crowded with Monday morning commuters and everyone seemed gloomy about it. Normally I can only really tell how sweaty I am by reading the looks of horror and disgust on the faces of passers by, but today either its warmer than it ever has been before, or my chronic sweatiness has reached new levels. (for the sake of humanity I can only hope for the former) I could feel my clothes starting to stick to me pretty early on, and I might has well have been swimming rather than walking by the time I got in. Even though I felt as though I was making even more effort than normal my time was slower, but I pulled it back (and bizzarely enough improved my mood) by torturing myself with effort in the last mile, and managed the 6 miles in 1 hour 15 minutes again. Despite not being able to get into the zone (blimey I do sound like a regular excersiser now!) I maintained my time, and hopefully will be happier (and less sweaty) with it tomorrow. Unless rugby training finally kills me off...

Day 63

Learning my lesson from Wednesday and Thursday I got up early today to get my walk in before rugby destroys me later. At 8am I set off on my 6 mile route round the isle of dogs, and (as you might expect that early on a Sunday morning) it was deserted. After the walking boots and rough ground and the dog doing my head in yesterday it was quite peaceful, I could almost say I enjoyed it! I saw some joggers (fellow excersise enthusiasts as I now like to think of them, even if my enthusiasm is only very fleeting) but no Orlando Bloom alike as yet. Something I did see very few of was busses, which is a poignant testement to Londons Sunday bus system, since I could count the number of them that I saw on the fingers of 1 hand and I was out for an hour and 15 minutes.

Days 61 and 62

Being Friday yesterday was as usual the busiest day of the week for Grandma, with a trip to the hairdressers, a visit from the cleaner and the weekly shop to do she's rushed off her feet. My feet, and legs were still in protest from Wednesday, after the effort exerted I deserve to have legs which resembe socks stuffed with coconuts, so bulging should the muscles be, but this is not the case, and I'm still struggling round bandy legged and bedraggled 2 days later. I must admit that all I could manage was a lap of Morrisons before I collpased into a heap of pain.
This morning though I was detrmined to overcome the adversity, and get at least 1 proper walk in while home. I was spurred on in this by the revelation that Dad has been slacking off to an unbelievable rate, and actually hasn't logged a walk since last time I forced him out of the house onto one. The last time I saw or heard from Ed was when I ran into him on a drunken night out in Newcastle last week, apparently he is home too this weekend, but has only moved from his bed in the hours before noon to hunch over his x box, so I think his walking is under question at the minute too. At 8am though he was of course nowhere to be seen, so I decided to take my victories where I could get them, and thinking that 1 out of 2 lazy Allison males wasn't bed, pestered Dad out of the house by 8.12. Of course the dog had to be included, guilting Dad into letting him join us with a few whimpers and tail wags. I am not so easily fooled by his cutesy act, and of course within minutes he was under our feet an in our way (the dog I mean, not Dad) The walkway often has more foot traffic on it on Saturdays and Sundays, people who Dad sneeringly judges "weekenders" although he himself has become rather a weekender such is his decreasing frequency at training. By setting off early though we managed to beat most of them, and only had to restrain Newbie from 1 over enthusiastic black labrador. Dads warm up mile which has become part of he settled routine now only held us back by 5 minutes, and after making life a lot harder for himself with his impromptu week off, and a lot harder for me coping with my own still weak legs as well as his whinging, we completed the 6 miles in a rather pleasing 1 hour 35 minutes, just 5 minutes off Brian and Steve's prescribed pace. This gives me light at the end of the tunnel of encouraging Dad to reconsider the 24 hour attempt rather than the weekend effort on the big day(/s) but I suspect he is more likely to fly up the mountains on a pig than complete them all in one day. Tonight I'm returning to London for more training tomorrow (we're in the final build up to our biggest match of the season on Friday, so hopefully things may slack off back to normality after that) and with Mam, Dad and Grandma out tonight, and Eddie hitting the pub too (not that that seems to affect the time he gets up in the morning, or should I say afternoon) I can probably predict that tomorrow I'll be the only one doing anything, and then on Monday may be struggling to walk again. We'll see if I'm right soon enough.

Days 59 and 60

Yesterdays rugby training was technically a day off I suppose as there was no walking involved, however this as no ordinary rugby training, we focussed on "fitness" (thus demonstrating my lack thereof, although performed slightly better than I would have done this time last year) Today then, my legs are NOT my friends. Every step involves twingeing tweaking and tears (ok slight over-dramatisation of the pain but it is baaaad) if my body parts could talk they'd be saying "why would you d this to us?!" and at the minute the answer is rally dnt know, suffice to say if ever squat again it wll be too soon... therefore sadly  i am unlikely to walk 6 meters today never mind 6 miles, but  i have confirmed something -  id rather have a nice walk any day, so hopefully ill be able to do some hobbling tomorrow

Day 58

Today after a double dose of rugby yesterday and the day before, with my first London 6 miler under my belt, my legs are feeling like jelly; hard stiff lead jelly (because they are wobbly as well as heavy you see) However after consuming almost my body weight in pancakes with more to follow tonight I forced myself back out onto the pavement, setting off at half past 2 after a full morning of uni (and pancakes) I had left myself open to falling foul of school run time, luckily I flew round the 6 mile route like a little lead jelly on legs, rushing back to my pancakes, with a pe-mixed-just-add-milk packet at home I've got a lot to be getting on with, more tomorrow

Days 54, 55, 56, and 57

When we last spoke I was recovering from the traumatic experience that is a 3 mile sing along with Dad and Ed. Since then there have been trips to morrisons and the hairdressers for Grandma, a journey back to London for me, and a rugby match yesterday (for Grandma, not just kidding for me) which was won 51 - nil. In the confusion walking rather fell by the wayside, but no more! After the gradual and patchy return I've made to excersise, I'm ready to put my routine back together, starting this morning, and sticking to phase 2 of Brian and Steves prescribed training campaign, with my first 6 miler in London. The route I've selected is not dissimilar to the 4 mile circuit I've been using up to now. In fact it is the 4 mile circuit I've been using up to now, witht he additional 2 mile round trip to Canary Wharf (as previously discovered through google maps) tacked onto the end. I must have still been giddy on country air when I hoisted myself out of bed at 8am and threw myself out onto the streets in prime commuter time, however I made short work of the smug suits, and was declared by a lollipop man to be "quite galloping along" determined to set myself a time to be proud of and force myself back into pre-concussion shape, cut down in my prime as I was. The intitial 4 miles were relativley uneventful (Dad, a regular 6 miler now - in that he walks 6 miles 1 day then has a few days off - considers a mere 4 mile walk to be nothing more than a warm up now) and I approached what would normally be the end of the walk, the end of our street where I would normally be panting and staggering back to the sofa I realised the error in my route choice. Instead of panting and staggering in the attractive way I've just described up the street and back into our house, I had to force myself my tired little legs on past the warm inviting opening and took the lollipop man by surprise by passing him again, although at more of a shuffing trot than a gallop this time. I stomped on to Canary Wharf then, unsettling the security guards there by being so sweaty and unkempt looking in public, and turned round joyfully homewards. Lollipop man was agast as I passed him yet again, this time in the opposite direction on the home straight, and I threw myself across the threshold of our house after 1 hour and 15 minutes. 15 minutes faster than even Brian and Steve could have expected of me. There is a chance now though that all my muscles will seize up in protest to such a degree that I can never walk again, and as I've learned the hard way pounding the pavement in trainers is wildly different to clumping around the country in heavy hiking boots. Once I get my breath back though I'll be pleased with myself.

Days 52 and 53

Yesterday the dog remained in disgrace, that coupled meeting for Dad amongst other important things (defrosting grandmas freezer...) meant that walking got a rest day. Today I had to take Eddie (the imbecile who was incapable of going alone) to sort out his student loan, then various other sorts of faffing about ensued (ok ok I went out for lunch) so it was after 3pm when we set off. Half baked ideas about doing 8 miles to make up for yesterday soon went out of the window when Eddie, who deigned to join us on his jaunt off from college, accidently engaged Dad in a subconsious mind war. Dads routine (which I too have happily fallen into) now involves a slower first 2 miles, building speed after this warm-up period. This is the only way of dealing with hisstupid shins. Eddie however is cursed with giant legs, and was almost incapable of keeping to the slower speed... Thus followed Dad "setting the pace" with me and Ed falling into step behind him. Then without meaning to (he claims) Eddie would speed up slightly, and Dad, too proud to complain, sped up in cometition. In this ungainly staggered pace we tottered onwards and we had to turn round at the 3 mile point, having arrived there after 50 minutes (10 minutes quicker than we were planning) The dog was sad not to be allowed off his lead (I coud sense it) and Dad was grumbling about his legs, Ed was struggling to stay in sync with the group, but I was the saddest of us all. Why? Because Dad and Ed decided to counter the downsides of the day by singin to "raise moral" I can only leave you to imagine how many renditions of  'She'll be coming round the mountain' can be fit into an hour over 3 miles...