Six mile struggle

I mean, really. Don’t put a caramel in a foil and expect someone who is half a bottle of Baileys in to be able to decipher that by the light of a Christmas tree, the foil may still be on it. It was dark and I was drunk.

I needed to move. I was ready to ramble.
Ready to walk.
Ready to shake myself out of this cantankerous vibe.

It was New Year’s Eve and with no real evening plans set in stone, the suggestion of a long walk to the pub and back sounded ideal. There was also the promise of a joint of gammon upon returning home, something I struggle to show resistance to.

“Let’s go to the Kings Arms, it’s only six miles there and back.” Paul confirmed after checking on Google maps.

“Yeah okay.” I said. “Nice walk there, cheeky cider or two, nice walk back. Lets go!”

So off we went. It was a dry, mild afternoon with a gentle breeze and minimal sunshine – the perfect concoction to accompany our stroll. We set off with gumption, whizzing through the park up to Tesco, which was at the beginning of a straight 3 mile walk to the pub. The walk runs parallel to a single carriageway, with cars zooming past at 60mph. I never really notice pedestrians walking on this road when I’m driving on it to work every day, and now I know why.

Approximately 0.4miles into the walk we got a whiff of something gargantuanly awful. It was like a farm and a sewer had a love child.

It stank. We covered our faces with our scarves.

“JESUS WEPT MY EYES ARE BURNING!” I said, dramatically.

All I could hear from Paul is giggling from under his scarf. He loves toilet humour, and was cracking up at my face physically cracking up.

So there was the smell.

Then there was the air. With each car that passed, a huge dusty tarmac cloud engulfed us, made us cough and made our eyes water.

It was like walking through an apocalypse.

(Okay, yes perhaps *slightly* dramatic, but it was NOT pleasant!)

To top it all off it was uphill. I kept thinking ‘well at least it’s downhill on the way back’ to try and keep my spirits high.
After about 1.7 miles my shoes started to rub.

Great.
DISCLAIMER – Mum, I had my good trainers on. Yes, I will invest in some walking boots. No, you don’t need to ge them for me.

We trundled through the stench, smoke and meandering hill to make it to the pub. By this point my feet were in agony. I was having to walk on the sides of my feet, which was in turn straining my ankles and making me look like a penguin. I tried kicking my foot out in front to avoid stepping on the blister that I could feel slowly forming and growing by the second.

Here’s a tip. If you kick your foot out in front you will lose your balance. Or you will simply look incredibly camp.
I , somehow, managed both.

The pilgrimage was almost over. The pub was in sight. I could taste the cider. I could envisage taking my shoes off (oh the poor patrons, think of the whiff!).
I could feel the crunch of the crisps in my mouth ( after walking that far, I wanted, no, NEEDED cheese and onion. And maybe some nuts).

“Are the lights on?” said Paul.

Shit.

Shit on it.

Yes it was New Year’s Eve but it was also a Monday. A Monday at 3pm.

They were shut.

They were opening later than usual as they were staying open later than usual.

Which does make perfectly logical sense, I suppose.

“Oh for gods sake!!” I proclaimed.

“Well, lets head back” said Paul.

I looked down at my feet. Oh god, they looked so sad. I felt tears form in my eyes.
I looked up and realised Paul had set off without me. Unbelievable!

Oh god, I shouldn’t have stopped. What do they tell you at walking school? ( Lol, is that a thing?) Never rest your feet/legs halfway through a challenge!

I could feel the blisters. Two big buggers right at the top of each of my feet.
My momentary pause was the perfect opportunity for them to develop. The skin and disgusting blister fluid had worked in perfect harmony and worked as a team to ruin my feet.

Needless to say I hobbled back at a much slower pace. It was dark by the time we got home, with the promise of honey glazed gammon being the only thing getting me there.

I released my poor, swollen feet from my uncharacteristically uncomfortable footwear.

If you’ve seen Run Fatboy Run, you can imagine what I was presented with on my feet.

If you haven’t seen it, google it.

‘Run Fatboy Run feet’

Needless to say, I’m back horizontal eating chocolate again.
Only this time I’ve got two bags of peas strapped to my feet like shoes.

Happy New Year.

Sarah

One Comment

  1. Well sarah…..have you got those sensible walking shoes yet ???i think not
    bbbblllliiiissstttteeeeerrrrrssss

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