The Loneliness of the Middle Distance Walker

As our fearless leader mentioned in her previous post, some team members have been walking their legs off in a solo capacity.  I myself have been trying to do at least 3 walks to and from work in a week.  That’s 6 hours walking, which does seem pretty paltry when compared with a fast approaching weekend in July that I’m looking forward to with excitement and rising dread.  Those of you who live in London may be aware of the ark-building weather that we’ve been having lately - not pleasant, but it didn’t deter me from my planned Tuesday morning walk.  I find that walking in a wet weather puts me in an introspective mood.  I think it’s a combination of the moody greyness and that sense of being cocooned from the outside world that you get from a close fitting hood.  So, I’d like to share with you some walking induced meditations on the big issues of the day:

 

• Can a mother remain blissfully unaware for 24 years that her daughter is being held captive in her ever expanding basement?  Seems unlikely to me.
• Is Boris fit to be Mayor of London?  This is not a political forum and I wouldn’t want my opinions to be misconstrued as the opinions of my team mates or our sponsors.
• Custard tarts – why?  Inexplicable.
• Various musings on the nature of gravity that are too lengthy and mind-blowing to elucidate here.
• By doing Trailwalker, are we saving the world?  No.  But we are demonstrating COMPASSION and HUMANITY – these are not cheesy or embarrassing words.  WE ARE ALL SUPER HEROES – now that is cheesy and embarrassing.
• Is this a one way or two way street?  I’m still undecided, but feel that I should reach a conclusion on this before I fall foul of my own confusion.
• Should I be annoyed that this child has nearly bundled me off of the pavement, or pleased that she was so polite about it?  Good manners go a long way, and she was sprinting in the hope of catching a bus against all the odds.  On a side note, are you the kind of person who derives pleasure from seeing someone running for public transport, but not quite making it?  Or do you cheer in unbridled glee when you see someone sprint through the doors of the 8.11 to London Bridge in the nick of time?  I fall into the latter camp, but there’s no right answer.
• Do I really have to wade through this puddle?  Not when a flying leap will see me sailing across unscathed – I am woman hear me ROAR!
• What can I do to ensure that Mansun are preserved for posterity?  This is a public plea to you all to spare a few meg on your mp3 player for one of the cruelly ignored bands of the 90s.
• Are those my legs?  In all probability, yes.  They seem to be occupying the appropriate space in time, but I can’t actually feel them so it’s hard to tell.