London to Brighton: Part 1

I woke up from a short doze in the car and had dreamt I'd just walked to Brighton from London and my Dad was driving me home... except it was a reality and it continues to feel that way, a blur, as if it didn't happen, the feeling is quite surreal. I suppose it's quite a surreal thing to do.

I arrived at Old Deer Park in Richmond at 7:40 for an 8:40 start, it was a beautiful blue morning, if you could imagine perfect walking conditions, we had them. I was registered in a matter of seconds. Here I was given my event pass which contained my timing chip, which we later found could be scanned through our jackets like some kind of airport security check, mind blown. I found that last hour fairly tranquil. I lay down away from the hum of fellow participants and waited (waited for Claire who seemed to be running late!). Once she decided to turn up, the time came to collect myself and make it over to the starting banner, a countdown from 10 and off we plodded for a flat paved jaunt along the Thames.

Our first target was 12km away, the first of 8 official rest stops, with food and medics who specialised in blister popping, apparently. We tried not to stay long and press on whilst the energy was there. Looking around everyone looked positive, just taking a quick break before the next stage. Onward! These first 32km were OK, flat and suburban, we'd done this in training a few times, we knew what to expect. The next rest came at 25km, here we had lunch, checked the feet. I could feel the start of a couple of blisters so I plastered up, I'm glad I did. The intermittent support from strangers throughout was a really lovely thing to see and hear. We passed two little girls sitting on the wall outside their house with posters of good luck they'd drawn, their beaming smiles helped hundreds of people that day I'm sure.

We passed through a valley lined with buttercups, it was named Happy Valley, obviously whoever christened it wasn't walking to Brighton at the time. Off road paths began in earnest, I preferred this terrain to flat concrete sections, easier on the feet! Negative thoughts eventually began to creep in. We'd been walking for a good 6 hours and we hadn't even made it outside the M25, a little frustrating. But shortly after these unwelcome thoughts I heard clapping at the top of a harsh incline, I recognise those hand claps! As we both crested the hill my Mum and Dad were stood next to the car cheering everyone on, a nice surprise. Shortly after that we went under the M25 and then hit 40km and a rest stop. They had pick 'n' mix. My feet were really beginning to feel it at this point and we still had 60km to go, but they had pick 'n' mix. The discomfort in my feet told me it was time for the walking poles, which I found really alleviated a lot of pressure from my feet, they were pivotal in limiting the pain for the duration. And the rest stop had pick 'n' mix.

From here we were aiming for Tulley's Farm which came at 56km. And for us the separation between day and night. It was also the furthest distance between any of the official stops. Personally I found it the most beautiful. Old wise oak trees divided undulating fields of early green corn, stiles divided the fields further, stiles that we would soon begin to despise, collective groans echoed amongst us. Although, I saw them as an apparatus to stretch my legs, which sounds quite strange but my desire to stretch was strong. My legs were crying out for something different after the repetitive motion of walking. The terrain varied, unforgiving country lanes, muddied country tracks and stony descents were plentiful. All of which reacted differently to the feet and legs. 

I heard a cuckoo for the full length of a freshly ploughed field, which made me hope for a good dawn chorus, something I'd been particularly looking forward to, because I'm never normally awake at such an hour. The wildlife was a bit disappointing, I imagined I'd see all sorts, but the presence of a long, irregular stream of walkers made them a little shy. A long stretch of lane came and there it was, the 50km sign, half way, and half a day on the move. We did need our head torches just before the 56km point, which added a little excitement and took our mind off other more painful matters. 

             

Tulley's farm appeared out of the dark, we were welcomed by a jazz band, cheers and a buzz of activity, it also marked the finish for the alternative 56km route, what sensible humans those people were. Spirits were high, well mine were, sort of. Hot food was on my mind and hot food I ate. I aired my feet and got some clean plasters from St John Ambulance, who were at every stop with their as ever first rate service keeping very busy, in fact there were queues forming to have feet looked at. Claire's friend Lesley was here to support us, a friendly face under such circumstances is something I wholeheartedly welcomed!

We encountered such a diverse array of charities being supported by such a diverse group of people. And each and everyone with a story to tell, we eavesdropped on conversations as we passed other walkers and as other walkers passed us. We spoke with others here and there along the way. We were amongst such brave, tenacious and strong minded individuals. And that was an honour.

I added another layer on top and a Buff headband to keep my head warm. I donned fresh socks, leg warmers (it was Eurovision after all) and enclosed my feet yet again. I clicked my head torch into life and we began the long slog through the darkness...


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You can still donate to me and Claire. I walked for the British Heart Foundation and you can donate here. Claire walked for MPS Society, you can donate to her here.