I do this so you don't have to

Those of you who saw the picture of my leg I posted yesterday will know that I've had some trouble with swollen ankles and shins following the walk. Yesterday my left foot started swelling up too.

This morning I woke up and nothing had improved, so I made an appointment with my doctor.

I've just come back from that appointment and the verdict is that I have Compartment Syndrome. Apparently that's when the muscles swell to more than the sheath around them can contain. I've been told to rest up for a week, and I'm to go back to my doctor on Monday (er, Happy Birthday to me) to check how it's going.

Still not regretting the walk - I really truly loved it - and rather pleased that I had the foresight to take the next week off work. Not quite the holiday I had planned though!

TOTY: Number Four

Somewhat delayed, thanks to a technical fail which saw my email fall over, here's Number Four in my Top of the Year rundown.

Number Four: When 22.5 miles was a breeze. And then I broke my toe.
I knew I was tempting fate when I jogged back from the bus stop after that 22.5 mile walk to make sure that I got to the gig on time. But I didn't know that fate would hold out until later that evening and then grab that temptation with both hands.

The toe break (my first broken bone) took me out of action for a while, but could have been a lot worse. In fact I only got an x-ray because the doctor I saw thought it could be a very messy dislocation or fracture of the joint itself (yes, the toe was out at a very special angle).

No further breaks so far, and I've been careful when placing postcards in other people's beds since then. Better to be safe than sorry!

Surprised best friend and howling self not pictured.

Preparing for the distance.

If there's one thing this last week has taught me, it's to get my injuries checked as soon as something feels wrong.

Thanks to some really great help and advice (and just a little sore-making massage) from Emma, my physiotherapist of the last week, I'm back up on my feet again. The good news is that it only appears as though I did a bit of muscle damage and caused a possible flare-up of bursitis.

So I've been packed off with some great new calf stretches, an instruction to gradually build up the walking again*, and the advice to carry cool packs with me in case I get a flare up of the bursitis. Tonight I started buying stocks of what I think will probably become one of my best friends once 1st May rolls around. Mmm...chilly...



* Er, obviously just in time for me to gradually wind the training down.

New lifestyle.

Just a quick update from my lunch break, but not really a walking one as I had a rare weekend break after the physiotherapist told me to take it easy last Wednesday.



Once I'd shaken off the 'Oh! I'm not training!' guilt, I started to really enjoy lazing about in the early summer sunshine. I had a short cycle to my favourite butchers in Greenwich and then David and I had a little barbecue when I got back. We then set to an afternoon in the company of a couple of beers and nattered in the sunshine. For the first half of Sunday I did little more than read a book whilst lying luxuriously on my lawn. Absolute bliss.

Of course we did do a little walking, but in truly lazy weekend style meandering through one of our local parks in the early evening. I'd totally forgotten what one of these weekends could be like.

Tonight I have my follow-up appointment with my physiotherapist. My knee has eased (and the swelling has gone down) but I'm still getting a quite irritating muscle ache. Hopefully there will be some handy suggestions on how to minimise this and hopefully I'll be able to get back into proper training soon (er, just in time to tone it down in time for the real thing).

I'm going to have a hard time giving up this lifestyle though, even if I've only had one weekend of it.

Professional verdict...

I had my first physio appointment this evening to try and figure out what happened to my leg on Monday and what I can do to keep me walking in May.

The good news is that at this early stage it doesn't look like I've done any tendon damage. What we appear to be looking at right now is some overworked muscles and possibly a touch of bursitis (that's a swollen knee thanks to a collection of fluid to you and me).

So I've been sent away until next Monday to take it easy ('you know, don't walk 20 miles') and ice and elevate my leg where possible. Should be back up and walking in no time. Which is just as good, because there's only 24 days left to go. Oof!

When miles matter, and when they don't: accidental training and those final few miles

A few weeks ago I ended up on a train to rural Kent for a work meeting. The nearest station was about 4 miles away from the venue, so I had some cash ready for a cab.

When I hopped off the train, there were no taxis at the station. I called one cab company, and they said they couldn't be with me for at least an hour. I now had a choice: sit on my own at the station for an hour, or start walking.

So I started walking. In my flat boots (comfy, but not padded enough to be choice walking shoes) and winter coat (it was in that first week of Spring weather so the coat was mainly carried) it was a rather lazy walk. But it was really lovely and the 4 miles sped by.

So did the meeting, and before long I was in need of another taxi back up to the station. This time I was told there would an hour and a half wait. Well, I think you know what I did.

By the end of the day, I'd racked up 8 miles without really thinking or caring about it. Accidental training - 4 miles, then 8 miles, was met with a shrug of my shoulders. Nothing to worry about.

Now I'm finding myself obsessing about those extra few miles. Those blue dots I posted about at the end of last month were dividing the map up into handy one hour mileage targets. The targets were based on the average speed I would need to travel to complete the walk in time, but knowing about a possible discrepancy in the published distance of the Capital Ring, I worked it out from the maximum distance I could find. That was 82 miles.

Only now it appears that I'll actually be walking less than this, probably even less than the 78 miles, I'm still working this out. It may only be a few miles less, but a few miles will make a huge difference to the average speed I need to go at and could make the difference between comfort and discomfort.

So now I'm working to confirm my route and confirm my mileage. Part of me wants to find out that it's a full 78 miles. The other part would be happy for a reprieve of 4 miles or so. That may be the Ibuprofen talking.

Monday Marathon Misery.

Hello all! I had a wonderful weekend of spending time with my Mum and Gran and generous donations and generally feeling really awesomely positive about the walk. I still felt the same way when I started off on my training this morning.

I walked 24.5 miles today. I was meant to walk 26 but my left knee failed somewhere around the 18 mile mark. Although I'm feeling much better now, sat on the sofa with hot and cold pads wedged behind my knees, a few hours ago I was sat out at East Finchley feeling as though the world was about to end.

But the thought of all of you wonderful people who believe in me enough to donate your money to my charity will keep me pushing on. Only a few weeks to go now! On the day I think I'll make sure I've got enough Ibuprofen on me to keep me upright...

So, about that sponsorship. I've had a few offline donations, so I just wanted to say thank you to my wonderful Gran, Simpson Hilder Associates, and Clare Harding. I am so overjoyed that we've burst through my target! It would be great to keep going and really break it, so please feel free to spread the word to whoever you can.

Onwards!

Road block

If you are a friend of mine on Facebook or follow my Twitter then you will have seen an extraordinarily downbeat status update yesterday afternoon (even by my standards). It went like this:

Miserable walk. Rain, a bit of hail, hip pain for hours, and I saw a dead coot floating in the canal. Totally morale shattering.

It was honestly the most horrendous walk of my life, but I was so determined to finish it I just kept going. Even when I was starting to swear under my breath, even when the rain started beating down heavily on me, even when I was not certain my legs would keep me upright. I was going to finish those stupid 23.5 miles because I knew that if I didn't, I might as well give up this whole escapade.

So I finished it.

When I got home, my hips hurt like hell. About an hour after walking through the front door, I was certain that I would never get off the sofa again. All through the night, I was waking to shift from hip to hip. And when I got up this morning it felt as though my legs had been replaced by a pair of very wobbly stilts, painfully strapped directly into my hip joints. But it wasn't the hip that was troubling me. It was my left knee - sore and stiff and almost impossible to straighten.

My boss very kindly let me work from home today - I spent it with my leg in the air and an ice pack strapped to the back of my knee. It feels a good bit better now, easing with a little bit of wandering about the house and a couple of stretches in the front room. But I've still booked myself in to see a physiotherapist in a couple of weeks, just to see if there's something I could be doing better. In the meantime, I'll keep going. I'll note how my body feels and find a way to get through.

Last night I was ready to give up. Tonight, I'm ready to beat this challenge.

It had to happen at some point...

I managed to get myself a scabby knee just over half way into today's training walk when I slipped on a wet pavement in Dulwich. Ignoring my twinging leg muscles (I managed to fall on a previous injury - this is the leg with the torn PCL) I kept going.

Honestly cannot believe that this is the first actual training injury I've sustained. Nine months! Hopefully this tiny graze will be the one and only.

Motivation.

This week's training has been a bit of a struggle - a busy and somewhat difficult week at work left the motivation a little low. This is not the first week that this has happened but this week I learned how to cope with it and, eventually, get over it.

On Saturday I had a 12 miler scheduled. I had my route worked out, and was all set to go, but my mind was not on the task and I wasn't exactly looking forward to 3 hours alone with just me and my thoughts. So I did something that I probably shouldn't be doing. I binned the walk.

Instead, I indulged in a little bit of stretching and pilates and then went out for a quick 4 miler.

By Sunday I was feeling a lot better. My lovely husband, David, lent me his iPod and I completed the 12 miles. In fact, it turned out to be a beautiful walk as I travelled from Lewisham to Crystal Palace, then back home via Dulwich and Crofton Park. The hills were rather steep in places, but I bounded over them quite happily.

Yesterday I was rather stiff and, perhaps foolishly, attempted my usual Monday 4 mile. Not having a day's rest was A Bad Idea and I cut the walk in half. Feeling bad about this, I jumped on a train at London Bridge and sped home.

Then, as I was unlocking my front door, my phone rang. It was a woman from the hospital that looked after me when I tore my PCL a couple of years back. Apparently they want to show my leg off to some students as I have 'a really interesting knee'. Puzzlingly, she wasn't able to tell me what was quite so exciting about it, but my knee is basking in its new-found celebrity today.

Here comes that guilt again.

I'm still not training and I'm feeling more guilty by the day. I've even started avoiding writing in here because it makes me feel worse.

A string of events have hampered my training. First it was the toe. Then it was a horrendous cold (which I'm still struggling to get over). Now horrendous wisdom teeth and a headache. And being busy. Don't forget being busy.

Writing it down seems like listing a string of excuses and, who knows, maybe I am.

In a bid to kick myself back into activity, I went to the gym on Monday morning. I have a happy relationship with my gym but I hadn't been there since before this challenge started and the walking took over. It felt good to be doing something different even though I know it can't be a replacement for long-distance walking.

This weekend I'm aiming to drop myself back into proper walking with an easy 8-miler. Then from Monday it's back on to the proper training. Perhaps a little lighter than I was doing while I find my feet, but definitely back on.

Wish me luck.

Frustration strikes.

More photos are in my Flickr set from the day
Sunday was a lovely sunny day, so David and I decided to venture all the way out to Greenford to take on the next section of the Capital Ring: Walk 9, Greenford to South Kenton. We left without maps as my printer was playing up but had faith in the signage that we've seen so far, confident that we wouldn't lose our way.

We did lose our way a bit, thanks to some confusing signs on the way into Harrow-on-the-Hill, and it wasn't the most exciting walk, but that wasn't what was troubling me.

What was troubling me was the ache in my foot, and the general decline in my fitness in the few short weeks that I've been off the proper training regime. As I reach an important milestone (more about that on Friday) I'm suddenly conscious that I have to start pulling out the stops.

So it looks like I'm going back to the gym, and I'm going back on the road, and I'm going to beat this. There is no way that I am failing.

Introducing Luigi.

This last week has been one of those glorious weeks that remind you how great life is. My week started with a quarter share in a substantial pub quiz jackpot and ended with a fantastic weekend away at the zoo where I was married for my first anniversary. These alone would have been enough to send me to smug and cause me to forget all my walking woes.

But on Wednesday I had dinner with my sister, George. This in itself was lovely enough, but towards the end of the evening she handed me a wooden box. Inside was a small carved wooden man, jointed and dressed in a tiny suit. He had a piece of grey fur for hair, blue eyes and painted on rosy cheeks. His tiny shoes had little leather heels and you can still just about see where the strings were when he was a fully strung puppet.


George was given Luigi, as we now know his name is, by Dad shortly before he died. Dad made him when he was about 8 and must have had him hidden away since then as neither George, my Mum or I can remember seeing him before. Mum does remember Dad telling her about him though, and that's how we know about his Italian moniker.

He's an incredibly detailed piece of work, of such a level that at first I doubted that it could be an 8-year-old's craftsmanship - I've got a bit of puppet making experience, but I'm pretty certain that I couldn't create anything quite like this even now. But then I know that Dad had far more patience in his work than I have ever had.

My own interests mean that Luigi's appearance makes me feel as though I've had a little chat with Dad - a little shared experience. But it's strange to learn something new about your Dad, four years after he went silent. Good strange though.
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In walking news, I managed 2 miles last night. I could have continued but I was pushed for time and the foot was starting up its dull ache. I think it's telling me that I'm going to have to take it slow and steady to get back to my usual routine, so the first marathon will have to be postponed until November.

Champions and miracle healing.

One of Ian Bull's photos. Thanks Ian! See the original size here.

That photo was taken just after lunch on the Green Chain Megawalk last Saturday. You can see me grinning away second on the right and Ian, who did a great job of leading us bunch of walkers, is in his snazzy high-vis jacket at the front. We were all looking quite cheery at that point as we were nicely stocked up on hot tea and sandwiches and had not yet met the real hills of the route...

Anyway, I have some minor foot news! I'm pretty certain that I'm going to be back out training next week. I've been getting a lot less pain in the last couple of days and I'm limping less often. Most importantly, my toe seems to be setting straight! Hurrah! I'd hate to have a wonky toe.

The verdict is in...

You might not be able to see it too well but the toe next to the little toe, just across from where the cursor is pointing, is fractured. A nice little diagonal break.

That toe is now getting nice and cosy with my other toes as it's been strapped to the ones either side. I've been told that after a few days rest I can start training again so long as I keep everything straightened and tied together for at least 4 weeks.

I have to say huge thanks to the staff at Lewisham A&E who were, as usual, brilliant at getting me in and out of there in no time at all. Also, thanks for not laughing at the woefully chipped nail polish on my toes.

It doesn't seem as though this little set back will have a huge hit on my training, but it will be a bit of a dampener on another commitment I have - I won't be able to dance in the flamenco performance I'm meant to be involved with this Wednesday. I can't even imagine squeezing my foot into a high heel right now, let alone stamping it once it's there. Feeling a bit down about that as I haven't performed for well over a year.

Still, I must remember that I had a lovely day out yesterday before all this idiocy happened. I only took a few pictures from the day, but I've put them in my Ward Walks London set of Flickr. Here's my favourite shot, taken at the end in Erith.

Finally broke that magic 20 mile barrier! But may have broken something else too...

I walked an easy 21.5 miles of the lovely Green Chain yesterday. It was really rather beautiful and I'll post some pictures later. Big thanks to Carla and Michael who joined me, making sure that there was conversation all the way along the route. It turns out that helps make the miles go by rather nicely.

This morning this post finds me sitting in my front room with my foot propped up on a bag of frozen peas. I think it's likely that I'm going to need a trip to the hospital as one of my toes is not lying quite the right way. It looks like I may have dislocated it, but a major fear is that it's broken. Did I do this walking? Er, not quite.

You see last night, after the walk, I went out to see Matt Berry perform at my local. He's the chap from the TV who's in the IT Crowd and Darkplace and the Mighty Boosh. The evening was quite lively, and I had my best friend down from Sheffield for the occasion. I was in high spirits.

And it was those high spirits that suggested that I needed to place a postcard of Mr Matt Berry in the bed of my best friend whilst she was in the bathroom. Knowing that both speed and stealth was needed, I ran along my landing on tip toes. Unfortunately, I bent one of those toes around a balustrade sending it in completely the wrong direction. I was laughing so much at the time it took a while to realise that something was wrong.

This morning something is still wrong. Oh dear.

Losing to yourself totally sucks.

If I hadn't recently started developing this competitive streak, I seriously wouldn't have given two hoots to what happened to me yesterday. But right now I'm seriously annoyed at having to abandon my 20 mile walk 5 miles before the end.

Everything was going well to start with. I bounded off towards the Thames and bounced along the Southbank. Even as I headed up through to Angel and onto the Regent's Canal tow path I had a bit of a spring in my step. I took a phone call from my husband 2 3/4 miles from Limehouse, and proudly proclaimed that I was on course for an early finish, but by then the ache in my hip had already set in.

By the time I'd left the canal and was heading onto the Thames path near Westferry I was talking to myself (OK, swearing to myself) but had made a pact that I'd keep going whether it hurt or not.

And then I passed a tourist who was looking at me with a look of bafflement across his face. I don't know whether he was trying to translate some of my choice language, or whether he genuinely questioned why I was continuing to hobble on when I was clearly in some pain, but he helped me get some clarity on the issue.

I looked awful. I felt awful. It was time to quit and get some help.

I tearfully jumped on the DLR at Westferry and went home. I'm going to be having a chat with a physiotherapist sometime soon to see where I'm going wrong. I felt, and feel, like an absolute loser, but I'm trying to comfort myself with the reminder that this was just one walk. There are many many more 20 miles to cover over the next 8 months.

Oh crikey, I hadn't thought of that.