Days 94, 95 and 96

After recovery day Tuesday there was a (pretty rough) rugby match Wednesday which as resulted in needing 2 days off as really move at all, I am however walking back from the pub now, aching muscles fairly well lubricated by alcohol if that can be counted in my favour. Tomorrow I am off to Otaly for a week on rugby tour where I will techically be excersing with rugby (

Days 90, 91, 92 and 93

I was right about Saturday, there was no time for a walk (but I did get another cake) and on Sunday we deliberately had a rest day building up to yesterday, which was my 21st birthday (cue another cake) Dad and I took part in the traditional 21st birthday activity of... climbing Scafell Pike (highest point in England dont you know) I know its not as traditional as I've made it seem, but thats what we did anyway. all 3209 feet of it. After a hearty breakfast ( a fry up with dubious nutritional value) we were on the mountain by 9am. We approached from the Borrowdale side of the mountain, Brain and Steve prefer climbing from the other side as its an hour less footwork, but an hour and a half longer to drive to the start point. So whats another hour we blithely thought, we'll make mincemeat of it. What fools we were. The way the peaks of the mountain rise theres an initial thousand foot climb then you reach a plateau with a tarn (like a pond for those without Lake District knowledge, although I'm sure thats none of you) and from the bottom thats all you can see. No bother I though, is this really the highest point in England? However when you reach the ridge with the plateau another 2 thousand feet appearsf rom nowhere, and makes one feel quite sick let me tell you. However with a slight deviation from the path at the end involving a scramble up a vertical rock face we reached the top I'm proud to say in 2 hours 50 minutes, which is pretty good considering Brian and Steve expect us to be done in 5 hours, and surely coming down is quicker than going up right?
Wrong. wrong wrong wrong. As soon as he sat down at the top to eat his (now horerendously squashed and hideous looking froim sitting at the bottom of his bag) sandwich, I knew we'd have a job getting Dad to his feet again never mind back down the mountain. Sure enough after his impressive effort up, dad had little left but whinging for the way down. It started out small; a fly flew in his eye, a fly flew in his mouth, he had a stitch, his toe hurt, his other toe hurt, he had a headache, the sun was shinging in his eyes, and so on and so forth, all the while the pace dropping and dropping, until he decided the real problem was in his knees. "Most injuries happen on the way down, when people push themselves too hard, so I'm going at a speed I feel comfortable at," he whined, from a stationary position sitting on a rock. The only injury he ran the risk of was night falling beforer we got down and catching pneumonia in the cold! Eventually however he toddled down, oohing and aahing with every step like a distressed little chimp with every step, in 3 hours 40 minutes, bringing the grand total to 6 and a half hours. I'll keep focussed on the important part, 2 hours 50 to the top! Today there will be no walk as we need to recover, or as Dad half mournfully and half suspiciously gleefully keeps saying, his 3 peak dream will be over. A good birthday all in all, and now I know a third of what to expect on the big day.

Day 89

My birthday is coming up, and as I'm split between London and home it means I have double celebrations. This can only have negative effects on my walking... take last night for example, my birthday is still 3 days away and I already have 2 birthday cakes (not that I'm complaining at all!) and I toddled round my walk today swaying like a little ear of drunken corn still tipsy from wine. At least I did it though, in 1 hour 15 as usual so my speed wasnt affected, I may even have been faster than usual since I must have covered extra ground wobbling all over. I'm now going to have some cake for breakfast. Tomorrow I'm driving home for a birthday lunch and night out so there probably won't be time for a walk but I'll do my best. And now for cake...

Days 87 and 88

There was no walk yesterday with uni all morning and rugby stuff all afternoon. Today was a birght and early one though, setting off at 8.15am, after the shorts incident on Tuesday I dug out another pair (yes I own 2 pairs of sports shorts, who'd have thought it) today a nifty itte balck lycra number. I was almost as slinky as the robotic runners I'd been scorned by on the Isle of Dogs in these, however as far as I've noticed none of them huff and puff like theyre about to blow a house down, so maybe I'm not there yet. To complete my sexy new look, my right eye decided to run constantly throughout my walk today, making me look like I despise excersise so much I was crying for 6 miles as I went, or this is in fact a whole noew way to sweat, from every orifice, that only my body could provide.

Day 86

Today it was sunny again, very sunny. So I flashed out down to a t-shirt, and (drumroll please) the leggings were removed as I got the shorts out. Very sexy. I set off skantily clad, but still in the hotter weather as sweaty as ever. I enjoyed the breeze around by legs though... for about 30 seconds, at which point I noticed the sainted shorts beginning to chaffe. I completed the 6 miles in an hour and 15 despite hobbling around, and will probably be switching back to leggings tomorrow. Dad tried to feed me some cock and bull story about him doing a 12 miler, but I'm not sure I believe him!

Days 83, 84 and 85

Over the weekend I located my sports bra; it was in the wash. Relieved as I was to find it, there was still a problem; it was wet from being in said wash, and we students do not have tumble driers. While I waited for it to try I decided it would be best for health and safety reasons to refrain from walking without it, so I had an impromptu weekend off. This morning I drove back to London from Kings Lynn where I'd been to see Marty for his birthday, and Monday morning traffic well and truly screwed me over, leaving me not enough time to walk before uni. I nipped home after class to get my walk in before rugby training tonight.
So reunited with my sports bra todays walk could be described as a walk of two halfs; initially when I set off I cursed Dad and his shin spints, as my own lower legs began throbbing and twanging. I was less power walking and more crippled style hobbling along at a distinctly slower than usual pace when I heard "ROSIEEEEEE!" I stared round bewlidered (which is fairly hard to do whilst keeping moving at reasonable speed) "Ophelie..?" I called into the street (luckily recognising her french accent) but still didnt see her. I like to think that you wouldn't be able to imagine me stumbling around yelling into the middle of the road, but I sadly suspect it comes all too easily to you. Soon after Ophelie texted me explaining that she was hanging out of her window yelling, and that I should keep going as she was bringing cookies to training tonight. Strangely my legs began to hurt a little less, and spurred on by the thought of cookies I finished the 6 miles, but my legs are not really my friends now...

Day 82

Feeling more in line with the world today, I was up and about by 8am. However my dilemma of the day arose quickly; my sports bra has vanished. Not that my room is messy, but time ticked by as I rifled through the piles of junk scattered around it. I didnt want to run the risk of losing time and momentum, so thought I'd be able to compensate by wearing not 1 but 2 normal bras. I quickly realised that this was not going to be successful. I managed to dodge 2 black eyes and got round the 6 miles in 1 hour 15 minutes, but feel that its best for everyones mental imagery if the less said about todays walk the better...