On reaching targets

Training

I walked 9 miles this weekend. Not without a few stops, but still, 9 miles in one day. I know that for some people that doesn’t seem much of an achievement, but for me, that’s something I never thought I’d be able to say. I still haven’t done 10 miles, but, as J said, we have to leave ourselves something to aim for.

I was still ‘testing out’ the leg, so we chose somewhere fairly flat. Pretty villages in East Yorkshire, across bright yellow fields, under a bright blue sky, for suddenly, we had hot weather. Idyllic, as we often say on our walks.

Of course, we did have coffee before we started, lunch in the village of Kilham, and afternoon tea at Burton Agnes Hall. Having completed the ‘walking’ part of the walk (7 miles) in under 3 hours, we felt we needed to top it up with a little more walking, so headed home, and then did another two miles round another village, before finishing at a pub.

I’m still thinking those refreshments stops are going to be essential on 20 June* though.

Diet update

You might remember I set myself a target back in March. To lose another half stone before the end of May. And then things went a little quiet, because I was working away a lot, and eating out, and basically nothing was really shifting. This wasn’t helped by a four course Chinese banquet the other week, so I really had to set my mind to it to reach my target, and didn’t think I was going to.

However…when I got weighed on Sunday, I’d made it. I’ve lost a stone since I started in February. Admittedly, that’s only 3.5lbs a month, but it’s still half a stone down on this time last year.

For my next target, it’s another half stone, ideally before my holiday in July. A tough one this, as it’s only about 6 weeks, but I’ll try, for I’m bound to put weight on when away. And then that’s it, I’ll have reached my target.

*If you haven't sponsored me yet, it's only three weeks away. Here's the link

Happy Birthday, M&S

‘J suggests we leave at 5, and go to M&S on the way home’

The note is stuck under my nose as I sit, head down, at the computer, a position I’ve been in almost all day, apart from when I’ve lifted it to curse and swear at the screen (and at my lack of formatting skills). It’s looking like a good idea to me.

Earlier, we’d been talking about the ‘Penny Bazaar’, in celebration of 125 years of M&S, and wondering what they had. Despite the feedback being ‘not much’, we decide to stop off at Warrington on the way home.

My first impression is that it’s huge, much bigger than York. My second impression is that the ‘Penny Bazaar’ is long gone, but we’re soon exclaiming over the range of vintage inspired clothes, and food. I pick up a box of fruit jelly sweets, marked 'originally' 1 shilling. They’re now £2.99, so I guess that’s inflation for you.

Despite having no money, I find I’m buying a dress* and a pair of summer wedges. I doubt if I'll keep the dress, but when I try it on later, I like it. The shoes are, however, having to go back, as the straps are too tight over my fat ankles.

This morning I decide to go over to the Monks Cross shopping park to take them back, not realising that the shops don’t open till 9.30. At 9, there’s already a queue outside M&S for the 'Penny Bazaar'. While I’m waiting, I pop into Starbucks for a coffee, and join the queue about 20 past, as I might as well see what they have.

I’m handed a leaflet, showing the range of items. There are 20 to choose from, and each customer can have up to 5. I go for a silk scarf, a diamante necklace, and more mundanely, a mug, a tea towel and a pair of socks. Not bad for 5p. I return the wedges, but I get another pair of 1960’s inspired shoes in place of them, so it’s turned into a fairly expensive couple of days.

*one of the vintage ones, which, sad to say, reminds me of a dress I had about 30 years ago. It’s

supposedly inspired by the 1940’s, but then so was my other one.

What's another year?

This year, I wasn’t at home to watch Eurovision. I know, shocking, isn’t!

When I’d arranged a date for a meal for a group of friends, it was so far in advance that I didn’t think to check the date. You think I’d know that Eurovision is always mid-May*. And for the first time since 2005, we didn’t have a party.

I sort of made up for it by watching the semi finals, which meant I had seen most of the entries. It wasn’t the same as seeing it live on the night, but as I intermittently tried to follow the proceedings via Twitter comments from Cat and Coza, it helped. It was very intermittent, as I was in a Chinese restaurant (I know, I wasn’t even eating Eurovision), which had very hit and miss reception.

I was, of course, supporting the beautiful and uber-camp, Sakis from Greece. As you know, we met him in Istanbul. Norway was apparently the favourite, though I didn’t find the song, or the singer, that great. Anyhow, apparently it was a runaway winner.

This bigger talking point, however, was that the UK came 5th**. Amazing, for a song that belongs in a (not a terribly good) West End show. I guess all that promo worked.

I did miss the chance to eat random food from all over Europe, and to score all the songs on their Eurovision-ness, though. Hopefully next year, for Oslo.

*I know this wouldn’t be a significant date in most people’s calendars, but it is in mine.
**Yes, I was a bit sad that Foxy’s total has now been overtaken

Training update

Having been in considerable pain at the start of the week*, I asked our MD at work for some advice on my leg, thinking he might suggest strapping it up, or exercises.

‘Rest’
‘Anything else? It has to be better in six week’
‘Oh, it’ll be better in six weeks’

Very useful, I must say. By the end of the week, however, it wasn’t causing me as much pain, so I ventured to the supermarket in flatter shoes**. Not too bad.

So today I set off on a day out, which involved a 3 mile walk as part of it. It was, as promised, pretty much all downhill, which didn’t put much strain on it. I took it steady, and was ok. We managed the three miles in not much more than an hour, so we’re not doing too bad, I think.

I now need to start building up again from next weekend, but still taking it carefully. I really wish they’d tell us what route we’ll be walking, so I can check it out on a map.

*I acknowledge I am being a drama queen over this.
**Bizarrely, because I did it when walking uphill, and extending the muscle, I was able to wear the killer heels last night with no problems.

Training injury

I’ve always maintained that exercise is dangerous, and really needs to be avoided at all costs, and sport even more so, however, I now find myself nursing a 'training injury'. I think you can safely say it's not a phrase that I ever expected to apply to me.

When I climbed Roseberry Topping the other week, as we encountered one of the steep sections, I felt a pull in my calf muscle. Painful, yes, but it didn’t stop me climbing, and I finished the walk.

Last weekend, on Saturday I did about 3 miles with V*. I could feel the strain as we did the first uphill section, but it was ok. On Sunday, I’d planned another, 5 mile, walk with the ladies walking group.

The first section was steeply up hill. We encountered the first significant mud for a few weeks, and I did a bit of shrieking like a girl, but managed not to fall over. Then the incline became even steeper, and as I took a step, I felt my leg ‘go’.

After that, it was difficult to put any weight on it for a while, and I had to abandon the walk. I was gutted. I walked back down hill, and then along the river, as I waited for the others, wondering just when all this became so important to me.

I’m now resting it this weekend, which is good, as the weather is rubbish anyway. I’m supposed to be doing 3 miles on Sunday, but am told it is downhill, so I’m hoping it holds up. I remain determined to complete my 10 miles in 5 weeks time.

*We did find a fabulous, and highly recommended tea shop, in the village of Glasshouses, with gorgeous cake.

Words and pictures

As the cheapest train fare that I could get back from London on Friday meant not leaving till 9pm, I found myself with a few hours to kill.

I decided to go to the National Portrait Gallery. It’s just over the road from the Garrick, where I saw A Little Night Music, and I’m getting quite familiar with this part of London. It’s bizarre that it’s taken me this long to feel I actually know my way round the centre a little. It was open until 9pm on Friday, and had a restaurant and a café, so that was me sorted.

I have been before, as it ticks the boxes of both history and art, but it was lovely to browse at my own pace, in an almost empty galley – I guess it’s not everyone’s idea of a good Friday night out. The quiet adds an eerie quality as I look into these faces of people long dead, and many of the paintings have a resonance which is lost in photographic reproductions. The great and the good are grouped by period. I’m struck by how real many of them seem; they’ve been captured warts and all, quite literally in the case of Oliver Cromwell. A notable exception is the Prince Regent; the aging and hugely fat ‘Prinny’ is presented as dashing and heroic. The earliest portraits are from the 15th century. Richard III is there is all his glory, with added deformities visible. So is Henry Tudor, who looks mean and miserable.

There’s a feature on Henry VIII which is fascinating. He’s there as a young man of 30, and as the fat and aging monarch. Even the artists fearing for their heads don’t flatter him. In the Elizabethan Gallery, a group are playing contemporary music, but it means I can’t get up close to the portraits, so I skip ahead to Shakespeare. Authentic or not, there’s something in his eyes which speaks to me. There’s laughter and intelligence in this face, along with some self mockery.

I love the Stuart portraits, Charles II, and his mistresses, Prince Rupert, dashing and handsome. Of the later periods, the Romantics fascinate. Byron is stylish and heroic, in costume, and many of the men look like they could have modelled for Mr Darcy. Jane herself is there, in a tiny miniature painted by her sister.

The Victorian portraits are different again. A celebration of British industry and achievement, these are self made men, soldiers and men of Empire. Gladstone and Disraeli seem to glare balefully at each other as they must have done over the despatch box, while Queen Victoria gazes adoringly at Prince Albert.

Once we get to the 20thC, the style becomes more abstract. Some are too ‘modern’ for me, but others seem to capture the spirit of the sitter. I particularly like one of Alan Bennett, who looks a little shambolic clutching a coffee mug.

It was a lovely little oasis, away from both work, and the hustle and bustle of a Friday evening in London. Just perfect.

'That's not a hill, it's a mountain!'

Two years ago, just after we started walking, I remember Cat and Shona suggesting that we walked up Roseberry Topping. I think my reply was ‘in some other lifetime!’

However, things change, and I get fitter, and then I get a target, and the next thing you know, when this walk is suggested again, in a Scarborough fish and chip restaurant* on Easter Monday, I find myself agreeing that it is a good idea.

The planned day was this Sunday, another bank holiday weekend. It was going to be quite an outing, however, things changed, Cat had to work, Shona had pulled her back, V couldn’t manage it, so it turned out that there were only two of us facing the climb.

We’d done Captain Cook’s Monument in the morning. Having been told that it wasn’t much of a climb, I’d found it quite strenuous, but the views were fabulous. It was only when looking across to Roseberry in the distance that I felt a little daunted.

Having called in at a pub for a lunchtime drink, J and I were dropped off in the car park at the foot of Roseberry. I looked at all the small children and dogs coming back down. Surely if they could make it, I could. I mean, most of them didn’t even have ‘proper’ footwear.

We took the gentler route, through the bluebell woods, rather than the direct, and very steep, ascent. It still seemed pretty steep to me. We got through the woods to a small plateau, which we referred to as ‘base camp’. It was from there that it started to get really steep. The summit loomed. We stopped for breath a lot, and were overtaken by more small children. I wondered how the hell the likes of Chris Moyles got up Kilimanjaro!

Finally, we reached the rocky outcrop which signalled the top. Boy, was it windy. The view were spectacular though. We could see across to ‘Boro, over to the moors, and across to the sea. I really felt a sense of achievement. Looking down over the steep edge, other climbers just starting the ascent were tiny dots on the landscape.

We then looked at the next part of our route, which took us down a winding path at the other side, and up again to another plateau, as we were not going back the way we came, but continuing with our walk. Every time we turned, it was a photo opportunity.

Finally we reached the car, in a park below Captain Cook’s Monument. We’re claiming it as 6 miles, but I’m thinking it’s the most strenuous 6 miles yet**.

* Fitting, as it’s only by doing the walking that I get to eat fish and chips
** If you haven’t sponsored me yet for the Ribbon Walk, the link is here