Thursday, 13 May 2010


Unluckily, I have big feet for a girl. Luckily, my dad had small feet for a man.

When Dad passed away, I inherited something pretty special. His walking shoes.

Truth be told, I'd been stealing pairs of shoes from him for years (his long sheepskin lined brown leather Bally boots were, and are, a favourite of mine) and I was well practiced at sneaking away pairs of his nice wool socks. But this great pair of Brashers are something special.

Since I inherited them they've been everywhere I could possibly conceive needing a good pair of sturdy shoes. They've walked the Atlas mountains of Morocco twice (once on Dad's feet, and once on mine), got soaked through in the Lake District and, at the start of this year, joined me on a short walk through snow on the Pennines.

But as great as they are at walking off road, I don't think they're ideal for the challenge ahead.

So I'm going to a specialist running shop this week to get my walk assessed and find a flexible pair of lightweight trainers to start the serious training in. I feel strangely nervous about this purchase and almost feel like I'm cheating on my Dad's shoes. Hopefully these feelings will fade once my feet are more comfortably shod.

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