I toyed with the idea of filming or photographing my poor mangled feet to share here, but figured a far more attractive sight was the five of us, who have accepted the Everest Base Camp challenge for DIL. We met for the first time on Sunday for our first ever trek together.
Wonderfully, I have been given free gym access , a fitness test and a personal training programme by the Students Union (at Anglia Ruskin University). It has been suggested that I have the muscle and lung capacity of an Ox (albeit a slightly overweight Ox!) and that my Nepalese adventure is perfectly doable. In theory.
I have even done a complete u-turn on my previous staunch opposition to gyms and gym-goers and put in a good few hours thumping the treadmill and pumping iron to the iPoded sounds of Missie Elliot and even a bit of James Brown (I Feel Good). But Sunday’s organised walk was my first since a Geography field trip nearly 30 years ago and I wasn’t really prepared.
The main problem, as the title of this post suggests, was that I had the wrong shoes. Every one of my new companions had proper walking boots. I have been waiting for someone to “sponsor” my boots (despite having asked exactly no-one to do so) and had to scramble around at the last minute looking for something appropriate. I settled on my desert boots, which had last seen proper action in Iraq in 2006. I borrowed some of my husbands socks.
After several hours (and ten miles) of walking at a good pace around a millionaires housing estate in Surrey (bizarre I know) – I realised that the company was so good (I did perhaps too much excited talking) and peaking at the luxurious mansions so unexpectedly intriguing, that I had neglected to consider how my poor feet were feeling.
The answer was they were feeling sore and full of water-filled blisters the size of fifty pence pieces. And as I hobbled into a lecture at University this morning I could see that familiar “she may have bitten off more than she can chew” expression on my colleagues faces. We watched some funny films in class about a performance artist who stuck a dead badger on his head and carried out Shamanistic rituals. I wondered whether my whole Everest adventure (including the build up) was just one big performance. I dunno – are blisters art? Human, friction-based sculpture?
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