Back in February 2013 I was training for my second Moonwalk. This time I was using a proper training plan with a long walk one week and a shorter one the next. Even so, when it’s pouring with rain even a short seven mile walk can feel like an eternity. Add to that mud and floods that forced me to change my original plan and you have a real challenge of a walk.
1 February 2013
This morning the forecast was for rain. I hate wet walks, but it had to be done and, when I looked outside first thing, it didn’t seem too bad. At least the trees weren’t waving around like over excited puppy tails which could only be a bonus. Oh well, wet weather gear it was then.
Last night when I was looking at routes on WalkJogRun I discovered you can actually follow them while you walk. I’d always thought that would make things easier. Looking through some of the seven mile routes in my area for inspiration, I pressed just beside the arrow to look at the map by mistake and another button came up, a ‘start walk’ button. Why didn’t I see that before? Note to self, read the instructions on these things rather than just pressing random buttons until I get what I want.
Because of the drizzle I put my waterproof leggings on, just to be on the safe side, and my parka, which is not really waterproof but is ok in a shower, plus it’s the best thing I have. Within minutes of going out the drizzle turned into real rain, typical. If it kept that up I’d be soaked at the end of seven miles for sure. As the first part of my planned walk took me up the Big Hill I thought I’d pop into Sainsbury’s to see if I could pick up a cheap plastic mac. I was in luck, they had some although not what I’d have chosen, grey with butterflies all over it (butterflies what’s that all about?) but better than getting wet. They were huge too, even the small one fit easily over my parka and water bottle with room to spare.
So, suitably covered, I set off again into the rain. Did I ever mention how much I hate walking in the rain? The way it gets all over my glasses so I can’t see properly is a pain. The feeling of the water slowly seeping into my trainers and then my socks is just horrible, not to mention a recipe for blisters. The way it runs down my face and somehow manages to trickle down my neck despite my scarf parka and waterproof mac…well you get the picture. That was pretty much how it was all the way up to the top of Chalk Hill. At least the cars driving through big puddles didn’t matter because of the waterproof trousers and mac.
The rain seemd to ease up a little at this point but it was still dripping off the trees as I walked under them. At least I was going down the hill rather than up it. By the time I reached the little thatched cottage at the bottom the rain had more or less stopped. It made me wonder how a thatched roof keeps the rain out. After all, it’s just dried grass stalks right? So why doesn’t the rain soak through? This cottage is right on the street and the roof is only just above eye level round the porch so I had a good look. It looked pretty wet to me but it is really thick so I suppose the outside gets wet but it doesn’t soak through to the inside. At least I hope not or the people living there are going to have buckets all over the house at the moment.
On I went, down towards the river. Just before I turned off onto the footpath I spotted a flock of seagulls zooming back and forth overhead changing direction as one, a reminder the river wasn’t far away. Right away I could see I had a problem. In the middle there was a flooded area right across the path and on either side the grass was churned up into a muddy mess. There wasn’t much for it but to pick my way through the mud, trying to put my feet on the least boggy, slippery bits. With every step I took I could feel the mud squelching through my trainers, lovely!
There was no way I was going to risk the route past Mansbridge. It was almost certain to be flooded so I decided to turn down Cutbush Lane and pick up the river path at the other end. It’s years since I walked down Cutbush Lane. Once upon a time it was a bit of a rat run for the White Swan crowd, at least the ones living in my village and beyond. These days you can’t drive down it, or ride a motorbike as we did back then, but you can still walk. Thankfully, although it was wet, it wasn’t actually flooded and, because the cars can no longer drive down there, the lack of footpaths wasn’t a problem.
Just as I came to the first houses a plane came in to land. It looked as if it was skimming the tops of the trees and the roofs. There was a surprising lack of noise, just enough to make me look up, there and gone again in a moment. The seagulls earlier seemed louder with their squawking. Even so there are anti airport posters in some of the house windows, I’ve even seen one on a house not far from mine. What is that all about, the planes fly high over our village, you hardly hear them? Obviously, I’m not one of the ‘close the airport’ brigade, after all I work in the travel industry (wow it feels good to be able to say that again) and I’m pretty sure the people with the banners who write regularly to the local paper all fly off on their holidays from an airport somewhere. If they were living under the flight path at Gatwick or Heathrow, with planes landing and taking off every few seconds day and night, I’d have a bit more sympathy.
When I left Cutbush Lane I almost went the wrong way, it wasn’t a getting lost kind of thing but a mindless heading towards home because that was the way I always went thing. After about three steps I realised my mistake and turned one hundred and eighty degrees towards the river. Another plane came in to land. At one point it looked as if it was sitting on the roof of one of the houses.
About half a mile from the river WalkJog run buzzed to let me know I’d passed mile three. Sweetie time! This week I had wine gums. The great thing about wine gums (although my dentist would most definitley not agree) is that each one lasts ages if you can stop yourself chewing them. Two wine gums later and I was almost there (ok, I admit it, I chewed the first one).
Across the road there was the path to the park. A flooded path. There’s a barrier to stop people riding motorbikes along it and I had to squeeze round the side to find dry ground. I couldn’t have done that a few years ago for sure. Even then it was a touch on the squelchy side. The trainers were looking pretty dirty by this time. This path come out about a quarter of a mile from Mansbridge so I headed to the river path and started off towards Woodmill.
The river was high and flowing fast when I reached it. The little streams that go off to the sides were all tumbling white water and the woods beyond were pretty flooded. A little way along the path a pair of swans were preening their feathers. They ignored me as I passed. Further on an elderly couple were walking a poodle in a tartan coat, the woman pulled a handful of bread from her little hessian bag and threw it to some ducks swimming close to the path. Within seconds a mass of seagulls swooped down out of nowhere and started snatching the bread, almost from the mouths of the ducks. I turned and watched them fly after the old couple, waiting for the next handful of bread. Honestly, seagulls are so greedy, wherever there’s food round here there seem to be seagulls waiting to dive on it.
The clouds were gathering as I reached the final bend before the end of the park. Dark, rain filled clouds. The sun, high above them, reflected off the puddles and the river almost blinding me. By now I was close to the bridge, swans were trotting around on the mud because someone else had just thrown some bread. Funny how they look so elegant bobbing about on the water but quite clumsy on two feet plodding through the mud.
At the top of the steep slope I was not much more than a mile from home although I’d not long passed the four and a half mark. The plan wasn’t to go straight home though, I still had two and a half miles to walk and I wanted to pass by the butchers on the way back too. Of course this meant hills. No matter which way you look at it there is no way of getting up to the village without a hill of some kind but, when I planned the route, I went for long and gentle rather than the Big Hill which wouldn’t have given me the mileage anyway.
Gentle is probably not the best word to describe the last part of my walk. The incline is not one you’d want to walk on the treadmill for too long but better than the calf burning Big Hill, the trouble is it goes on and on… I trudged up to the top, marvelling at how fresh and clean the gardens looked after the rain, all the colours bright and crisp. By the time I got to the top I was down to my last mile. Rather than turning left and trotting up to the village I turned right and walked down Peartree Avenue for a while, circling round the common onto the road that runs behind it. This was all part of the master plan for seven unflooded miles, not quite as unflooded as expected granted but no actual wading through water which is always a bonus. Now it was up towards the village at last, edging ever closer to the seven miles.
I dashed through Sainsbury’s, grabed a bottle of chocolate milk, then dashed across the precinct to the butchers. With a bag full of meat and some jalapeño jack cheese that looked rather exciting I finally started for home. The plan had been to walk back down the little hill and around The Crescent but I was almost at seven miles so I decided to go off plan and walk down the Big Hill instead. Halfway down WalkJog run buzzed to tell me I’d done it. Walk complete.
My trainers were so filthy I had to leave them outside. They’re bound for the washing machine later. It may only have been seven miles this week but I think I earned my chocolate milk shake. It was cold and wet, there were puddles, floods and mud and there were hills. I burned almost eight hundred calories too. Commando always has a chocolate milk after his runs, in fact, when I got in he’d just finished one because he’d been for a run while I was out. They are supposed to be the perfect thing after exercise, carbs, protein, calcium, Commando swears by them and they are fast becoming my after walk routine. Who can argue with chocolate after all?