These boots were made for walking. Allegedly. I remain unconvinced.

I'm a bit achey, and I'm lacking a considerable amount of skin from my right heel. Nice. It's all because we had our first training walk at the weekend.

The day started for me at the ungodly hour of 6am, as I hauled my sorry ass out of my lovely cosy bed and into the harsh reality of Stupid O’ Clock in the morning. I needed the time because I hadn’t prepared my kit the night before, and I was determined that I was going to get a good healthy, energy-packed brekkie in me before heading off (even though eating at that ridiculous hour was the last thing I wanted). So, there I was – eagerly (?) waiting for Wilf at the bottom of my road at the agreed time of 7.15. At 7.20 there was still no sign of him, so I gave him a call. No answer. Hmmmmmmm. Then he called me back. I’d woken him up, apparently. He’s sure he set his alarm for 6, but it’s unclear whether that was AM or PM.

We finally left the mean streets of Lewisham about 8. After a much convoluted and disjointed journey, we made it to Brighton and found Elliot, Martin and Nigel. Elliot was on amazingly good form, considering he’d had 2 hours sleep and a series of misadventures the night before.

A taxi took us up to Devil’s Dyke, where we changed into our walking boots, broke out the snacks, and Elliot donned his ‘turbo-trousers’. I offered to marry Martin for bringing dark cholocolate Tunnocks wafers and jaffa cakes, but he was having none of it (something to do with me ‘not being a normal girl’, apparently!).

Martin’s Tunnocks count so far = 2

And so it began – we set off in glorious blustery but sunny weather, past the hang-gliders and onto the South Downs Way.

It wasn’t long before my boots started alerting me to their brand-spanking-new status. I knew they would, but it was only a couple of miles in and I had to apply the marvel that is Compeed to my already raw heel. Foot sorted, we did a gentle-down-and-steep-back-up section before gently meandering our way back up onto the tops.

The route took us on more gentle paths for a few miles until we reached the limit of Wilf’s local knowledge. It hadn’t taken us very long, so we wondered what to do. We sat on a big marble/granite thingy for a while, I adjusted my increasingly painful boots, Martin ate more biscuits, and we all wondered why we hadn’t brought a map. We decided to head on for a bit further anyway.

Martin’s Tunnocks count so far = about 6, I think.

Have to say, it was beautiful up there. I just wish that my mind hadn’t been solely (Ha! See what I did there?) on my bruised and blistering feet. Still, there were many pleasant chats and ridiculous conversations en route. Eventually we managed to persuade Wilf that attempting to walk to Arundel was not a good idea, Martin ate more biscuits, and then we turned round and headed back the way we came.

A last-minute change of plan saw us taking a diversion and heading to Shoreham, instead of right back to Devil’s Dyke.

Martin’s Tunnocks count so far = 8

Three and a half miles and one more caramel wafer later, the meandering river path landed us in the sprawling metropolis that is Shoreham, and deposited us at a pub. And about time too, because I was getting to the limping stage, and some of the others were suffering from chaffing (well, if they *will* insist on wearing jeans!).

Some cheesy chips revived me a little and then we headed off to the station to get the train home (which took FOREVER!).

A long but worthwhile day, all told.

Distance walked = approx. 13 miles
Total number of caramel wafers consumed by Martin = 9.

I am quite worried about my boots situation though. They need more breaking in, obviously, but I may have to rethink and find something a little more kind to my feet.