If truth be told, I was shamed into it.
Both Robin and David had written how they are going for daily walks weighed down by tinned soup, bibles, stuffed badgers (they are these days, aren’t they?) and gallons of water in their quest for lithe bodies and peak fitness for the Challenge that lies ahead.
Over the years, Lord Elpus and I have evolved our own fitness programme – a programme with a difference – one with a holistic approach to the Challenge that suited our purpose admirably. Our trainer was none other than Miss Whiplash. As we splodged our knackered bodies through sodden, muddy Suffolk fields there was a voice urging us on from the rear: “You’ll thank me for this in May.”
TRAINING WITH MISS WHIPLASH
I have to say, I do not recall either Phil or me ever giving thanks in any of our May trudges.
dominatrix trainer did allow the taking of alcohol prior to setting out into the miserable wet winter mud. So we would always be found in a snug Suffolk pub in front of a roaring fire. There would be a couple of pints and, just as Miss Whiplash was looking restive, a dart to the bar to get another round in.
Over the god-awful winter months we would slowly raise our mileage up to a giddy twelve miles, collecting a few Suffolk Munros (hills over a hundred metres) in the process. Our thoughts were that if we could manages a dozen miles in an afternoon in the slippery mud after a lunchtime drink, then fifteen miles in a day over the comparatively easier terrain that Scotland offered would be a doddle!
And generally this did the trick. Oh, we also spent a long weekend somewhere hilly trying out those tenty/sleepy baggy thingies, getting rained on, otherwise known as the PreWalkDaunder. But, yes, that was all the training we found was necessary.
These days I live miles away from Miss W’s ministrations and I’m afraid I have let the training regime slip a little – well, a lot, actually. Robin and David’s new found zeal for athletic perfection found me staring once again at my burgeoning belly and string-like legs. A heavy sigh saw me packing a light rucksack with Trinnie, Oook, my sandwiches and a flask of ginger beer, with a steely glint of determination in my eye. Quite why my right eye didn’t follow suit I have no idea; it always was a lazy bastard.
Anyway. Here are the pictures of a twelve mile stroll through the Great Park, with a little ‘Pitch and Strike a Hike Tent’ practice thrown in at lunch time. You can click on each picture and they should get slightly larger in a new window.
WINDSOR: REDUNDANT POST OFFICE PARAPHERNALIA – THE BOX ON THE RIGHT WAS FOR ‘CORONATION AERIAL POST.’
THE LONG WALK
THE GREAT PARK
PITCH & STRIKE A STEALTHY HIKE TENT - 1
PITCH & STRIKE A STEALTHY HIKE TENT - 2
Amazingly, it all went very well. Trinnie behaved herself and now craves my touch. We now reach ecstasy in a matter of a moment. There is life in the old dog yet. Now I just need to sort out this belly…