It took twenty five hours and thirty one minutes to complete Trailwalker, and then about the same time again to appreciate what I'd gained and learned over the past few months, and from the event itself. Yesterday it all seemed very different but a couple of baths, good meals, lots of water and sleep have put it all into perspective once more.
I'd been told by a friend before the event that it helped to think about why you were taking part - not just about the charity cause, but the real reasons, and to have these to hold on to when the going got tough. When we set off I thought it was all about the money we were raising, proving something to myself and not looking a fool for quitting. In the end, this was why I took part, but my team were why I finished. We were lucky to have an incredible support team who - without wishing to sound like an Oscar acceptee - gave up sleep, time and effort to help us through it. And I had three teammates without whose encouragement I'd have never finished.
Arguably we hadn't prepared enough. I'm fairly fit and for the past few months we've walked at weekends while I ran and cycled during the week to get ready, but I didn't realise how physically demanding walking for over twenty four hours could be. Training for The Big One was superb though: I spent many spring and summer weekends discovering the South Downs while enjoying meandering conversations and sharing jokes with three of the nicest people you could wish to meet, often with partners, children and friends in tow. But I don't know how you can prepare yourself for carrying on when your body and mind says "no more" and it's only your will pushing you on. Maybe it's through actually taking part that one learns how to cope, and for that experience I'm grateful.
It's been interesting reading how Lloyd and Alick view the walk in retrospect, for me also there were three distinct stages: up to The Bees, the night, and the morning after.
Up 'til The Bees it had been a splendid adventure. The walking had been long and arduous, but the weather could not have been better. It was warm without being hot, with a cooling wind and a crisp, clear view to the North Downs on one side and the Channel on the other. The exercise made the pork pies, tomato soup and cheese sandwiches taste like the best fare from a posh restaurant. The scenery, sunrise and sunset were beautiful, especially the sunset at the end of Saturday which bathed the vista in gradients of orange, red and purple over more than an hour. And then from nowhere swarms of bees rising out of hawthorn bushes, intent on twisting our mellow. In the end we ran and jogged the best part of a kilometre to escape them, which was tiring and frighteningly distracting and demoralising. The sun went down and suddenly the fun disappeared as the light died. From then it was a slog to the next checkpoint at Devil's Dyke.
The night, with its increasing load of sleep deprivation and disorientation was odd. Fatigue had set in, the uneven ground was difficult to navigate and my shoes were shredding my feet. Having trained in walking boots alone, I'd stupidly switched to my runners half way through the course and by the time we reached the checkpoint at Jack and Jill I wanted to stop. But as we left for the next yomp I dropped in behind Lloyd and let Jimmy Cliff and New Order on the iPod distract me from the hurting. We made good time through the night, alternating the role of pacemaker to the end of the hardest and longest stage, arriving in Kingston where Caroline met us with tea and warm bacon sandwiches. By this point I was so spent that I couldn't really tell what was in the sandwiches but the nourishment they gave helped enormously and we set off for the penultimate checkpoint.
As dawn broke and we tackled the closing stages my knee hurt and perversely I found myself hoping for uphill stretches since going up a steep gradient was preferable to going downhill. We kept moving and eventually emerged from these last two stages, complete with Biblical thunder storm, to a grotty path behind a housing estate within sight of the racetrack. And then they made us walk round the damn track for almost kilometre to the finish line. Pure torture. Like Alick, I was nearly in tears at the end - other finishers actually were.
I didn't really want the medal at the time, I just wanted to go home and rest, but now it's all sunk in I'm proud of what we did. We finished a helluva course, helping each other through, and in doing so I learned a lot about myself and my team.
So, all that's left is to thank the many people who sponsored us for two very worthy causes, the Ghurkas whose sincere applause greeted us at every checkpoint, the support team whose smiles, food treats and tea kept the hope up, and the good friends with whom I am honoured to have shared this experience.
Monday, 16 July 2007
Trailwalker 2007 - Alick's account...
First thing to say is thx to everyone who sponsored us. We have now done 101% of a target we kept revising upwards, which is great, because, to quote an old football adage it matches our efforts - the boys gave 101%
For me, I'd break the experience into 3 parts. The first, 6am-5pm which was a quite pleasurable long walk, with some great conversations, funny moments & stunning views. Then there was the bit from 5pm to about 5am, which hurt constantly. Finally, there was the bit to the end, where you've broken the back of it all and you know you'll finish - the fact of which makes it all the harder when a storm breaks and in a moment of exhaustion your planning has gone out the window when you realise you left your coat, for the first time, with the support car!
The second stage for me really was the defining stage of it all. This is the bit of which there is no real photographic evidence and so, like a lot of experiences it will just live for ever imprinted on our memories. Walking down from Devil's Dyke, having just got thru the attack of the large bees, then recovered with a hot meal in a large army tent, we teetered across chalky rocky terrain only being able to judge the profile by the range of our head torches. It go to the stage where it really hurt going uphill, but not as much as it hurt going down.
From the Dyke to Jack and Jill Windmills is only about 4 miles and after some running repairs on feet we set off for the walk along the ridge to Ditchling Beacon. Several times I looked behind me and saw a whole string of lights from head torches snaking back across the ridge. In front of us was the beacon, lit up it seemed by warning lights on some kind of mast. The mast never got any closer though - I think in fact it this mast actually miles and miles away - nothing to do with the beacon at all.
For the early part of this stage Lloyd set the pace - a cracking one - and Tristan, who was probably hurting the most at this stage with his blisters locked in behind him and got back in the zone through a combination of the back of Lloyd's legs and his Ipod. Once Lloyd dropped back, Tristan set the pace and so we swapped around like the leaders of a peleton as we reeled back in a lot of the groups who passed us. I think Lloyd's call was a good one and an impressive one. Getting cracked on with it made sense, especially as this was the defining stage, but none of us really is in the sort of general physical state to go haring off like that and ensuring we got thru it, into Kingston, meant we pretty much ran our tanks down to empty and that was hard.
By the time we started the last stage we had that initial lift we'd experienced from many of our breaks and once we'd done the last 200m climb I thought that was it. But the storm, the rain, the slippy chalk paths, the snaking hill which didn't appear in the booklet and the deceptive length of the finish almost saw me in tears as we crossed the line 4 miles later.
I can't really compare this with anything else I've done. I love a bit of distance running - but with that sort of thing, you train, get your CV fitness up and you run as fast as you can for a comparatively short period of time. This was different though. Its not tiring as in being breathless, its hard as in being able to deal with pain, because for 12 hours, after say roughly 35 miles, all we did for the next 12-13 hrs and 30 miles was push ourselves and help each other through pain. The organisers call this the world's greatest team event and you would not or could not do this on your own. The help of the support team is essential (Thx Caroline, Lou, Jack and Phil) as is what you get from your teammates. Its an exercise in digging deep and mutual support and although training might have made this easier, there are things you cannot train for and keeping going when the tank's empty is one of them.
Its oh so far away from the 'couple of miles, couple of pints' I thought it was when I replied enthusiastically to Lloyd's mail back in the winter....
For me, I'd break the experience into 3 parts. The first, 6am-5pm which was a quite pleasurable long walk, with some great conversations, funny moments & stunning views. Then there was the bit from 5pm to about 5am, which hurt constantly. Finally, there was the bit to the end, where you've broken the back of it all and you know you'll finish - the fact of which makes it all the harder when a storm breaks and in a moment of exhaustion your planning has gone out the window when you realise you left your coat, for the first time, with the support car!
The second stage for me really was the defining stage of it all. This is the bit of which there is no real photographic evidence and so, like a lot of experiences it will just live for ever imprinted on our memories. Walking down from Devil's Dyke, having just got thru the attack of the large bees, then recovered with a hot meal in a large army tent, we teetered across chalky rocky terrain only being able to judge the profile by the range of our head torches. It go to the stage where it really hurt going uphill, but not as much as it hurt going down.
From the Dyke to Jack and Jill Windmills is only about 4 miles and after some running repairs on feet we set off for the walk along the ridge to Ditchling Beacon. Several times I looked behind me and saw a whole string of lights from head torches snaking back across the ridge. In front of us was the beacon, lit up it seemed by warning lights on some kind of mast. The mast never got any closer though - I think in fact it this mast actually miles and miles away - nothing to do with the beacon at all.
For the early part of this stage Lloyd set the pace - a cracking one - and Tristan, who was probably hurting the most at this stage with his blisters locked in behind him and got back in the zone through a combination of the back of Lloyd's legs and his Ipod. Once Lloyd dropped back, Tristan set the pace and so we swapped around like the leaders of a peleton as we reeled back in a lot of the groups who passed us. I think Lloyd's call was a good one and an impressive one. Getting cracked on with it made sense, especially as this was the defining stage, but none of us really is in the sort of general physical state to go haring off like that and ensuring we got thru it, into Kingston, meant we pretty much ran our tanks down to empty and that was hard.
By the time we started the last stage we had that initial lift we'd experienced from many of our breaks and once we'd done the last 200m climb I thought that was it. But the storm, the rain, the slippy chalk paths, the snaking hill which didn't appear in the booklet and the deceptive length of the finish almost saw me in tears as we crossed the line 4 miles later.
I can't really compare this with anything else I've done. I love a bit of distance running - but with that sort of thing, you train, get your CV fitness up and you run as fast as you can for a comparatively short period of time. This was different though. Its not tiring as in being breathless, its hard as in being able to deal with pain, because for 12 hours, after say roughly 35 miles, all we did for the next 12-13 hrs and 30 miles was push ourselves and help each other through pain. The organisers call this the world's greatest team event and you would not or could not do this on your own. The help of the support team is essential (Thx Caroline, Lou, Jack and Phil) as is what you get from your teammates. Its an exercise in digging deep and mutual support and although training might have made this easier, there are things you cannot train for and keeping going when the tank's empty is one of them.
Its oh so far away from the 'couple of miles, couple of pints' I thought it was when I replied enthusiastically to Lloyd's mail back in the winter....
The Trailwalker start
The Trailwalker start
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Grey, a bit damp, but everyone excited. 24 hours later, they all looked a little different....
Team Four Bellies, early on
Team Four Bellies, early on
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Stage 3 or 4. Still feeling good and strong and positive.
Team Four Bellies, with Jack
Team Four Bellies, with Jack
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
This was around Stage 6. My wife Louise had bought hot soup and rolls, my son Jack had walked the last stage with us, and we felt tired but positive. Not for a lot longer....
Sunset over the South Downs
Another sunset from the South Downs
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Sunset, Saturday evening. Spectacular, but I took this in between being dive-bombed by mad Sussex bees.
Me, Sunset, South Downs
Me, Sunset, South Downs
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Those bushes behind us are where the bees came from. Don't know why I was looking so chuffing chipper, to be honest!
Trailwalker - the full story
It's the morning after the day before, and as promised, the full story of our experience of Trailwalker.
We arrived in the Travelodge in Basingstoke on Friday night, having decided not to camp at the start and choose a real bed instead. As it happened this was a good call, given that it rained hard on Friday night, but at the time a motel behind a Harvester on a ring road commercial estate didn't feel like the most salubrious place in the world.
We headed down to the start in Petersfield that evening, registered with the Trailwalker team and enjoyed a quick barbie cooked by the Gurkha support crews. Then back to Basingstoke for a last pint and fitful sleep.
We woke at 4.30am on Saturday morning, packed our bags and headed down to the Start. It was a grey morning, but people were excited and chatty as they waited for the start. At 6am we were off on the first stage, an average run of 10k.
Trailwalker is organised into 11 stages. The first four are on average 10k, typically with a climb at the start, a long flat bit, and then a descent, and we gobbled them up pretty well. Our first support crew (well, crew is a big word for one brother, Phil, but he did a great job) kept us fed on scotch eggs and brunch bars, and we were feeling fine and dandy. But then came a 13k stage, only three k longer than the average, and for the first time we felt genuinely tired. We got it back together on the next two stages. But then, night fell.
The first genuinely unpleasant experience was at twilight high on the Downs. We were walking down a farm track, and suddenly there were gigantic bees anywhere. They were buzzing around the hedgerows, and for the best part of a kilometre they were buzzing us, too. No-one was stung, but when you're tired and strung out the feeling of gigantic bees crashing into your face and head is genuinely alarming.
As night came on, it became harder to walk on the chalky trail without stumbling over rocks, and when we finished this stage, at the top of Devil's Dyke, we were very tired. In front of us was the longest stage of the trail, 13.8 k, and it was very dark. iPods were donned for the first time, two on and two off, in an attempt to keep spirits up, and it worked pretty well for a time. Comms in the team broke down for a while, as some of us decided to get a cracking speed on to get the stage over with, while other thought a more circumspect approach might be wise. But we careered through the stage, down off the downs and through a really unpleasant bit where the trail was narrow and, in the darkness, even with head torches on, it was virtually impossible to keep secure footing. It seemed to take forever, that stage, and a new low point was reached. We were exhausted, and at the end we walked through a silent village to the 9th checkpoint, the last one where we would see our support team.
This, for me, is where I nearly lost it. I sat down and suddently felt unbelievably ill and faint. I almost passed out, but my brother John took over and got me sitting up straight, breathing slowly through the nose and out of the mouth, and after a few minutes I started to recover. We got ready for the final push: two stages, two climbs, 5 k for the first, 6.4 k for the second.
The worst thing about the Trailwalker is the way it pushes you and pushes you, until you think you can be pushed no more, and nowhere is this worse than in the final two stages. At the start of the first, penultimate, stage, there is a brutal 220m climb, then down through green fields to the 10th and final checkpoint. And, with 750 m to go before the checkpoint, what do you know? Thunder, lightning, rain, the whole thing. And I had left my waterproofs in the car, in my rucksack which I'd taken off to avoid the weight.
So we made it to the final checkpoint, soaked and cold and unbelievably tired. I borrowed a bin liner from a Gurkha, turned it into a sort-of rain vest, and then we started off, in the rain, on the final stage to the finish. 6.8 k to go.
A long, slow shallow climb, in the rain. The summit. Then 2-3 k of a muddy, rocky, awful track. Then the first site of the Brighton race track, the finish. But we're not done yet - we have to walk around the bloody thing to get to the finish. Then 750 metres along the final straight of the track, into the finish. Handshakes, clapping, medals. Done. And done.
I can't say this is something I would ever do again. It was hard, almost impossibly hard, ridiculously hard. My main emotion at the end was a kind of low-burn irritated anger at how hard it actually was. I felt idiotic for trying it without enough training, and as a 40-year old I can say I now understand, probably for the first time, that I now know how old I am.
But in a few days those feelings will fade. I started to feel proud of myself when I spoke to my wife, who seemed genuinely proud of what I'd done and who formed our support crew for the middle part of the walk, and when Alick's girlfriend Caroline, who supported us at the end when we were at our lowest ebb, sent an email last night to say how we'd done something amazing and how proud we should be of ourselves. This morning, after some judicious stretching, I maybe don't feel as bad I thought I would, and slowly, surely the memory of the horrors of Saturday/Sunday night are beginning to fade. I'm sure in a month's time I'll be thinking about doing it again next year. I won't, no question. But I bet I'll be thinking about it.
We arrived in the Travelodge in Basingstoke on Friday night, having decided not to camp at the start and choose a real bed instead. As it happened this was a good call, given that it rained hard on Friday night, but at the time a motel behind a Harvester on a ring road commercial estate didn't feel like the most salubrious place in the world.
We headed down to the start in Petersfield that evening, registered with the Trailwalker team and enjoyed a quick barbie cooked by the Gurkha support crews. Then back to Basingstoke for a last pint and fitful sleep.
We woke at 4.30am on Saturday morning, packed our bags and headed down to the Start. It was a grey morning, but people were excited and chatty as they waited for the start. At 6am we were off on the first stage, an average run of 10k.
Trailwalker is organised into 11 stages. The first four are on average 10k, typically with a climb at the start, a long flat bit, and then a descent, and we gobbled them up pretty well. Our first support crew (well, crew is a big word for one brother, Phil, but he did a great job) kept us fed on scotch eggs and brunch bars, and we were feeling fine and dandy. But then came a 13k stage, only three k longer than the average, and for the first time we felt genuinely tired. We got it back together on the next two stages. But then, night fell.
The first genuinely unpleasant experience was at twilight high on the Downs. We were walking down a farm track, and suddenly there were gigantic bees anywhere. They were buzzing around the hedgerows, and for the best part of a kilometre they were buzzing us, too. No-one was stung, but when you're tired and strung out the feeling of gigantic bees crashing into your face and head is genuinely alarming.
As night came on, it became harder to walk on the chalky trail without stumbling over rocks, and when we finished this stage, at the top of Devil's Dyke, we were very tired. In front of us was the longest stage of the trail, 13.8 k, and it was very dark. iPods were donned for the first time, two on and two off, in an attempt to keep spirits up, and it worked pretty well for a time. Comms in the team broke down for a while, as some of us decided to get a cracking speed on to get the stage over with, while other thought a more circumspect approach might be wise. But we careered through the stage, down off the downs and through a really unpleasant bit where the trail was narrow and, in the darkness, even with head torches on, it was virtually impossible to keep secure footing. It seemed to take forever, that stage, and a new low point was reached. We were exhausted, and at the end we walked through a silent village to the 9th checkpoint, the last one where we would see our support team.
This, for me, is where I nearly lost it. I sat down and suddently felt unbelievably ill and faint. I almost passed out, but my brother John took over and got me sitting up straight, breathing slowly through the nose and out of the mouth, and after a few minutes I started to recover. We got ready for the final push: two stages, two climbs, 5 k for the first, 6.4 k for the second.
The worst thing about the Trailwalker is the way it pushes you and pushes you, until you think you can be pushed no more, and nowhere is this worse than in the final two stages. At the start of the first, penultimate, stage, there is a brutal 220m climb, then down through green fields to the 10th and final checkpoint. And, with 750 m to go before the checkpoint, what do you know? Thunder, lightning, rain, the whole thing. And I had left my waterproofs in the car, in my rucksack which I'd taken off to avoid the weight.
So we made it to the final checkpoint, soaked and cold and unbelievably tired. I borrowed a bin liner from a Gurkha, turned it into a sort-of rain vest, and then we started off, in the rain, on the final stage to the finish. 6.8 k to go.
A long, slow shallow climb, in the rain. The summit. Then 2-3 k of a muddy, rocky, awful track. Then the first site of the Brighton race track, the finish. But we're not done yet - we have to walk around the bloody thing to get to the finish. Then 750 metres along the final straight of the track, into the finish. Handshakes, clapping, medals. Done. And done.
I can't say this is something I would ever do again. It was hard, almost impossibly hard, ridiculously hard. My main emotion at the end was a kind of low-burn irritated anger at how hard it actually was. I felt idiotic for trying it without enough training, and as a 40-year old I can say I now understand, probably for the first time, that I now know how old I am.
But in a few days those feelings will fade. I started to feel proud of myself when I spoke to my wife, who seemed genuinely proud of what I'd done and who formed our support crew for the middle part of the walk, and when Alick's girlfriend Caroline, who supported us at the end when we were at our lowest ebb, sent an email last night to say how we'd done something amazing and how proud we should be of ourselves. This morning, after some judicious stretching, I maybe don't feel as bad I thought I would, and slowly, surely the memory of the horrors of Saturday/Sunday night are beginning to fade. I'm sure in a month's time I'll be thinking about doing it again next year. I won't, no question. But I bet I'll be thinking about it.
Sunday, 15 July 2007
It's all over
It's over. I'm sitting on my sofa with my body in pieces and my feet in shreds. This weekend was, without doubt, the hardest thing I've ever done physically and mentally. More later this week when bodies have recovered.
But - I'll say it again - it's over.
But - I'll say it again - it's over.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
The world's worst weather.
There's one story that's not been told. A story about a May day when Alick, Tristan and Annie ventured onto the South Downs, ill-equipped and totally unaware of the adventure they were about to experience.
A story about the day Alick uttered the infamous words "haven't we been lucky with the weather".
I still find it hard to talk about that day, hence why this post is now out of synch and weeks after the event.
It was all going so well. Pockets full of cold sausages and peanut butter sandwiches and hearts full of glee, our intrepid heroes set off ignoring the severe weather warnings and gathering storm clouds.
All was fine until Alick ignored the prime directive of outdoor pursuits and dared - nay double dared - the gods and sure enough, the heavens opened.
Two hours later, cold, wet and tired we walked off those hills and into the warm, comforting arms of Alick's local Harvester pub. A finer, more modern and welcoming hostelry one would struggle to find, it's sole deficiency being the lack of Harveys on tap.
The End.
Monday, 18 June 2007
Not a bad view
17062007057.jpg
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Not a bad view, eh? This previous Saturday and Sunday we did the preliminary to the Big One, walking two Trailwalker stages on Saturday and another two on Sunday - 40 kilometres all in all. We started in Petersfield, spend the night in a bizarre little b&b in Midhurst run by a woman from Bombay and a man from Iceland (sounds like a Men at Work song) and then walked to Amberley the next day for the train back to London.
On the way, we learned several things. Drinking the night before walking is really dumb. The BBC weather forecast is crap (heavy rain forecast, none forthcoming). The view from the top of Bignor Hill has to count as one of the best in England (south to the sea, north towards Kent). And we did 40% of the full distance in 24 hours. Not too shabby.
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Two posts in one
Oh dear. We have been somewhat in remiss when it comes to posting on here. Doesn't bode well for the full event, does it? Ne'er mind, here's two ripsnorting walks to tell you about.
Three weeks ago, John, Lloyd and Al (with a couple of interlopers) yomped from Tonbridge to Sevenoaks. As both John and Lloyd grew up in Sevenoaks, this was a time to remember the good old days of teenage angst and unbearable boredom, and as we clambered up a bridle path which ran the height of River Hill, it was the angst we remembered most. But at the top of the hill we wandered into Knole Park, catching glimpses of Lloyd's alma mater Sevenoaks School (cue several mutterings from John about "public school bastards") and remembering that Sevenoaks, for all its faults (4x4s, more Tories per square inch than anywhere on earth, an incessant obsession with property prices) is actually a very beautiful place. And if you fancy a pint of Harvey's (of which more in a future post, we hope), there's no finer venue than the White Rock in Underriver.
Fast forward three weeks to, er, yesterday, and Lloyd, Tris and Al met at Victoria and yomped enthusiastically down the river, through Wandsworth, Fulham, Putney, Barnes and Kew and on down to Richmond. Highlights of this walk were wildlife, including a woodpecker, four herons sitting in a tree down by the water, and gaggles of very attractive joggers to divert a working stiff from the job in hand. And it rained at the end, an enormous tropical downpour that reminded all of us of the importance of proper clothing. Still, we made it into Richmond damp but otherwise unscathed, a walk of 15 miles or so, and finished with a pint and a decent chilli con carne in The Old Ship in Richmond (having already stopped for a sneaky snifter at The Ship in Barnes - uncanny).
No Harveys on this trip, though. Boo!
Three weeks ago, John, Lloyd and Al (with a couple of interlopers) yomped from Tonbridge to Sevenoaks. As both John and Lloyd grew up in Sevenoaks, this was a time to remember the good old days of teenage angst and unbearable boredom, and as we clambered up a bridle path which ran the height of River Hill, it was the angst we remembered most. But at the top of the hill we wandered into Knole Park, catching glimpses of Lloyd's alma mater Sevenoaks School (cue several mutterings from John about "public school bastards") and remembering that Sevenoaks, for all its faults (4x4s, more Tories per square inch than anywhere on earth, an incessant obsession with property prices) is actually a very beautiful place. And if you fancy a pint of Harvey's (of which more in a future post, we hope), there's no finer venue than the White Rock in Underriver.
Fast forward three weeks to, er, yesterday, and Lloyd, Tris and Al met at Victoria and yomped enthusiastically down the river, through Wandsworth, Fulham, Putney, Barnes and Kew and on down to Richmond. Highlights of this walk were wildlife, including a woodpecker, four herons sitting in a tree down by the water, and gaggles of very attractive joggers to divert a working stiff from the job in hand. And it rained at the end, an enormous tropical downpour that reminded all of us of the importance of proper clothing. Still, we made it into Richmond damp but otherwise unscathed, a walk of 15 miles or so, and finished with a pint and a decent chilli con carne in The Old Ship in Richmond (having already stopped for a sneaky snifter at The Ship in Barnes - uncanny).
No Harveys on this trip, though. Boo!
Thursday, 12 April 2007
South Downs Way, Bank Holiday Monday
Dower House 068
Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
So the first full-on full-team Four Bellies experience happened this past Bank Holiday Monday. We did 23kms along the South Downs Way from Amberley down into Shoreham-on-Sea. We were joined by two interlopers - Lloyd's son Jack, and John's wife Jan.
The sun shone, the views were spectacular, and the beer in Shoreham was exquisite. We set off from Amberley at 10.30am and got to Shoreham at 3.30 - so, just under a quarter of the full Trailwalker distance in five hours. Not a bad pace, but we've got an awfully long way to go.
John brought egg pittas and sausages. In his pockets. Disgusting.
Monday, 2 April 2007
A Walk of Two Halves
Tristan and I met up for the first time, along with a friend of his Annie, to attempt 2 walks, both starting from Groombridge on the Kent/Sussex Border, across the top of the Weald.
The idea was to do a 9.5 mile loop out through some villages, Hartfield and Withyam, back to Groombridge and then another 8 miler to Eridge Station and back - with the option of some short cuts if we needed them.
We did the first walk, the full distance, in about 3 hours - but as we reached the end, Tristan upped the pace a notch and I thought, I'm sure, I could hear the sound of his lips smacking together. He was ready for half time and put a real stride on up the hill towards the nearest pub.
So what was going to be a walk of two halves became a lunch of two pints You see, there's really little point walking in such a beautiful area without sampling the fruits of the land - and this area is famous for its hops, so it really didn't seem right to leave without having a pint of a Sussex ale and one Kentish variety, the nut brown nectar washing down a roast beef dinner....
In the end, we didn't make it out for the second half, but it was because, right, we'd ran out of time. It was 2.45 by then, and there was no time to fit in another loop. And I won't hear it any other way.
An essential part of training is not just the walking, its about working out what your strategy is for food and liquid. At this point, regular beer stops cannot actually be discounted.
Next Monday, the four bellies get together for the first time - meeting at Amberly, for a section of the South Downs Way to Brighton. It proves to be an auspicious occasion.
The idea was to do a 9.5 mile loop out through some villages, Hartfield and Withyam, back to Groombridge and then another 8 miler to Eridge Station and back - with the option of some short cuts if we needed them.
We did the first walk, the full distance, in about 3 hours - but as we reached the end, Tristan upped the pace a notch and I thought, I'm sure, I could hear the sound of his lips smacking together. He was ready for half time and put a real stride on up the hill towards the nearest pub.
So what was going to be a walk of two halves became a lunch of two pints You see, there's really little point walking in such a beautiful area without sampling the fruits of the land - and this area is famous for its hops, so it really didn't seem right to leave without having a pint of a Sussex ale and one Kentish variety, the nut brown nectar washing down a roast beef dinner....
In the end, we didn't make it out for the second half, but it was because, right, we'd ran out of time. It was 2.45 by then, and there was no time to fit in another loop. And I won't hear it any other way.
An essential part of training is not just the walking, its about working out what your strategy is for food and liquid. At this point, regular beer stops cannot actually be discounted.
Next Monday, the four bellies get together for the first time - meeting at Amberly, for a section of the South Downs Way to Brighton. It proves to be an auspicious occasion.
Saturday, 3 February 2007
Harveys pint after eight miles
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Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
We stopped at a pub after eight miles. You have no idea how good this tasted.
Our first practice walk
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Originally uploaded by lloydshep.
Wow. We walked the best part of 12 miles through the Kent Hills today and I'm sitting at home nursing one very very tired ankle and one very very knackered hamstring. A sobering experience. This was only a fifth of the distance we need to walk on the Trailwalk, and it was really hard. We've got a lot of work to do.
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
Four Bellies are Go!
So, the Four Bellies project is officially off the launch pad. This weekend sees our first practice walk, and our sponsorship site is now live and collecting cash.
The four of us are doing the Oxfam Trailwalk in July 2007. There's information about it here, but all you really need to know is that we're proposing to walk 60 miles in less than 30 hours, without (and here's the rub) stopping for anything other than a quick breather. The gurkhas do this kind of thing for fun. We do it for charity, and the soul.
So you want to give us money, right? Lots and lots of money for the best of causes. Well, get straight over to our Justgiving site and start giving and giving. Do it now.
The Four Bellies are:
Alick Mighall: Brighton and Hove Albion fan, bassist and general muso, the only one in the group with significant body piercings and a recent traveller in Points East.
Tristan Leaver: Only an honorary Belly, as in actual fact he's got a lovely flat stomach and is in all ways terrifyingly fit. The Belly Most Likely To Finish.
John Shepherd: Entrepreneur, footballer and professional drinker, John spent his stag night naked with six other men in a Cotswolds pub. We'll be asking him to stay clothed for the duration of the Trailwalk.
Lloyd Shepherd: The oldest Belly, the proudest Belly, the largest Belly. He hasn't been on any foot-based journey this long since sneaking off for fags in Knole Park during cross-country runs.
And, if you didn't get it before, get giving now at our Justgiving site. Now now now!
The four of us are doing the Oxfam Trailwalk in July 2007. There's information about it here, but all you really need to know is that we're proposing to walk 60 miles in less than 30 hours, without (and here's the rub) stopping for anything other than a quick breather. The gurkhas do this kind of thing for fun. We do it for charity, and the soul.
So you want to give us money, right? Lots and lots of money for the best of causes. Well, get straight over to our Justgiving site and start giving and giving. Do it now.
The Four Bellies are:
Alick Mighall: Brighton and Hove Albion fan, bassist and general muso, the only one in the group with significant body piercings and a recent traveller in Points East.
Tristan Leaver: Only an honorary Belly, as in actual fact he's got a lovely flat stomach and is in all ways terrifyingly fit. The Belly Most Likely To Finish.
John Shepherd: Entrepreneur, footballer and professional drinker, John spent his stag night naked with six other men in a Cotswolds pub. We'll be asking him to stay clothed for the duration of the Trailwalk.
Lloyd Shepherd: The oldest Belly, the proudest Belly, the largest Belly. He hasn't been on any foot-based journey this long since sneaking off for fags in Knole Park during cross-country runs.
And, if you didn't get it before, get giving now at our Justgiving site. Now now now!
Sunday, 7 January 2007
Four Bellies went a walking
On 14-15 July, the four of us are doing the UK Oxfam Trailwalk. 100 kms in less than 30 hours, from Petersfield to Brighton. We hope to survive this event with four bellies intact, though perhaps four slightly smaller bellies. We're using this site as a blatant fundraising tactic.
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