More getting fit experiences

Tuesday I decided to walk from Long Eaton to Nottingham via the river as part of my current attempt to get fitter and lose some blubber. It is a three-hour walk if you stride quickly enough which should be about a 1,000 calorific burn. Good times.

The clothes situation is getting desperate. Have you seen break dancers do that dance called the worm. Well I looked something like that. Only I was on my back and humping myself around the room like a caterpillar having the biggest orgasm this side of the Milky Way. All this exertion and still I could not get the button fastened on my jeans.

I have even had to visit Primark and buy some £6, one-size bigger jeans. These I bought to get me through the winter. My comfy t-shirts are back out the drawer and I have found myself getting drawn towards blue, drawstring sweatpants. Things needed to change. However I must point out at this stage that men have not discovered Primark yet. I was strutting around this shop on my own. I could have wandered around naked. I had three lovely old mummsie type shop assistants helping me with all my decisions. Telling me I wasn’t fat but big boned. I am sure one old lady wanted to take me home as a pet. I got a great pair of jeans, a business shirt and black trousers for less than a cafe latte and poppy seed muffin. I am officially a Primark fan, while unemployed. I wonder if they sell magic black gloves.

Back to Tuesday. Weather said cold and possible snow. SNOW, I decided that I would be brave and still attempt the walk. I donned a long sleeved running t-shirt that was about as flattering as Christopher Biggins in Lycra. I then wore my fur lined walking trousers, walking boots, fleece and woolly hat. I then added my camo coat to this, which has its own fleece, zipped in. I looked very, fat. Sorry, big boned.

I made a baguette with ham / egg and a liberal lashing of mayo and placed this carefully in my backpack along with juice, which incidentally I had drunk within 15 minutes, and a book I was too knackered to read. As you probably recall, the day ended up sunny and warm and I sweated way too much.

By the time I came to eat my baguette it was a buttered roll. Everything that was inside the bread decided to somehow wander it’s way outside the bread, and tour all areas of my rucksack. I decided to try and fish the fillings from the rucksack, clean them and put them back in the bread. Blowing egg doesn’t seem to clean it and rubbing it on your coat seems to just spread mayo. Then when you look down the egg is dirtier. I was quickly realising how kids get into such a mess. As you can imagine this wasn’t working very well and then I dropped the whole thing while polishing some fluff from a sliver of ham. It landed straight into a puddle. The only puddle in a three-mile radius. The ten-second rule wasn’t going to work here. Yet to my amazement, I found myself still picking the now soggy lump up, and brushing it with the back of my hand. Tenderly blowing it as if I could dry it out. Somehow mentally convinced I could change the laws of physics. I was convinced there must be some part of my breakfast / lunch that was still dry and edible. Did I tell you that I had not eaten breakfast? This mother of all rolls was it, both meals rolled into one. That was why I had allowed myself mayo. It was a double meal. Now it was wet and dirty and looked more like sloppy dough. I had £2.60, which was just enough to get the bus home.

There are a few things I learnt from this three-hour walk. I will describe them now. Then you can be properly prepared.

Firstly, socks. Even the slightest hole will mean that your skin pushes through and within one hour you will have blisters the size of the O2 arena. Don’t do what I did and change socks to alleviate the pain. An hour later you have a matching blister on the other foot. Moral. Wear good socks.

Secondly. Vaseline. Ball chaffing is one of the worst pains in the western world. To make this worse, eventually my balls had rubbed back and forward along my inner thigh that much the heat had set fire to my hairs. I had to spend the next three hours constantly pulling red raging skin from red raging skin. Ladies were crossing the road in front of me as I wandered towards Nott’s city centre with my hand down my fur lined pants separating scrotum skin from thigh skin while pulling a face that a professional gurner would have been proud of.

Thirdly. Toilet. Make sure you have done the business before you wander along a river for three hours with no sit down toilet area. I spent the last 5 miles of my trip physically walking like a nonce with my hands down my trousers cupping my sore balls as tenderly as only a man knows. If I had sneezed, coughed or God forbid, farted, I would have logged out. It could be an idea to pack baby wipes. They are only 79p for a poo’s worth and take hardly any room in your backpack.

Fourthly, take enough money with you to buy replacement pants, socks and Vaseline. The extra money could also be used to buy something to eat should you be a complete wazzock and drop your food in the first puddle you come across.

2p more than the bus fare home would have also meant the ability to buy a cup of coffee rather than just gagging with thirst while waiting for the bus. Oh, and not to forget, starving.

Tomorrow we are having a WII night with Paul ‘the gloves’ choochoo’ and Fum. I will let you know how it goes.