As I mentioned on Friday, this weekend I took part in a 20k walk through Cork City—and beneath the stars—in aid of Diabetes Ireland.
The idea came to me approximately 12 days ago when, while daydreaming on a bus, my eyes landed on a poster advertising it and a voice whispered, That would be a fun. And it’s for a good cause. And you could do with some exercise. I thought it was my own voice, but last night I discovered that it actually belonged to an evil bitch who just wants me to suffer pain and punish me for thinking that a sofa spud could just get up one day—or one night—and walk for four and a half hours.
All ready for the walk: water, headphones, protein bars and a complete and utter lack of enthusiasm (not pictured).
The thing is, I didn’t think that. I fully intended to train for this event, building up slowly on the treadmill and then walking sections of the actual route in advance. But as the last couple of weeks have been crazy busy for me, I ended up spending more time drawing up my pretty training plan with multicolored Muji pens than I did doing any significant training.
Blackrock Castle Observatory, one of the stops along the way.
So last night, at 10pm, we set off from the Rochestown Park Hotel here in Cork. By 10.15pm, regret had set in. The whole reason I did this was because it was just a walk. During my temporary relocation to Nice last year, I walked a good seven or eight kilometers every single day, and never felt any worse for it. Dare say, I enjoyed it. (Not as much as sitting down, but still.) I could do this, and I could especially do it if I was raising money for charity at the same time. But as soon as we set off last night, it became immediately apparent that I was the only one who got the “not a race” memo. It was ridiculous. Some people were on the verge of running. And even if they said go at your own pace, you couldn’t really. You had to try and stay with the group, if only to make the stewards life a bit easier.
With about 5 or 6k to go, my left ankle informed me that it wasn’t interested in continuing. There was an ambulance service traveling with us, and the lovely people inside of it wrapped the ankle in a bandage for support and told it to stop being a little bitch and man up. I finished the walk, even though I was more hobbling than walking, and thinking back to how much pain I was feeling, I’m not sure how I did it. (At one point I started reciting the rap to Fresh Prince of Bel Air in my head to take my mind off it; I’d just seen the Will Smith/Gary Barlow duet on Graham Norton the night before.)
So the good news: we finished the walk, and in reasonable time.
The bad news: today it seems I have a sprained ankle.
The other good news is that we’re keeping our MyCharity.ie page open for another little while, so you can still sponsor us. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to those of you who have donated money already. You’ve all been ridiculously generous but seriously, one dollar (or euro or pound!) would do. It’d do better than “do”, it’d be great. And it might make my ankle feel better.
Probably not as much as this codeine-based soluble painkiller will though. *lifts glass* Cheers!