A Little Somethin' to Read Before I Get Those Pics Developed
Gooood evening, lovely readers, donators and supporters. I got a few hits today so I'm guessing you're waiting for some stories, perhaps some pictures?
Well, no pics as of yet because I didn't so much feel like leaving the house... or getting dressed... or... not sleeping. But it is a mission for tomorrow, somewhere between mailing out the last couple checks and doing some fun laundry... among other chores. Ohhh, the transition back to normal life is tricky. I'm still getting used to the whole flushing toilet thing. It's amazing the things you can get used to in such a short period of time. 5 minute showers and heavily prepping one's feet before putting on shoes.
The short replay of the weekend is this:
Friday I walked the full route, 21.8 miles from Framingham, MA to Canton, MA where our campsite was. Part of the route was the Boston Marathon route and, oddly enough, my train passed right by me while I walked. I waved. It did not wave back. I met a few interesting people, not least of which were Lorraine and Cassie from Kittery, ME who are the only people I think I hung out with more than once and who actually remembered my name. And vice versa. Names are hard to remember when you're tired.
The first night I met my tentmate who was very nice and wore quite the sassy hat. She snored.
The second day was a bitch. I knew as soon as I got up at 4:56am that I wouldn't make it through the day. I took my time, made it to the first two rest stops but was really hurtin' by the 4th mile. A couple of very nice people flagged down a safety biker for me--Wally and what a sweetheart he was--who called in a sweep vehicle for me... but that's a whole big story that I'm not getting into just now. I got swept to lunch, stayed there for at least an hour, considered going on but let myself get talked out of it by a crew member. I have never been more grateful for air conditioning as I was on that ride back to camp. The second day was awefull for so many reasons--the route was in the woods, there weren't as many sweeps or safety patrols, the pit stops were further between than the first day and the heat was murder. Not my best day ever.
The third day, I was pretty determined to do as many miles as possible. I got a good rest Saturday night, slept well, especially since my tentmate had disappeared and I had the place to myself. I was really stiff when I woke up but I knew the route for the day was the shortest and that we were walking to Boston and to the end of the event. The closing ceremony was a great motivator.
I made it to the first two pit stops, but I wasn't doing too well after that. I had forgotten my Ace bandage in my duffel that morning so I had taped my knee at Pit 1 and that was freaking glorious. So much so, in fact, that I convinced myself that my feet would hurt less if I taped them at the next pit. And so, of course, I chanted half way to the next pit, "tape, tape, tape, tape." After that I made it to the Quincy townline when a safety biker stopped and asked how I was doing. "I don't know," I said, "I wouldn't be opposed to being swept." So she flagged down a van--the infamous Martini van, no less--and I got swept to lunch.
Lunch is another story but on the way I saw part of the next leg of the route and the view was beautious, right next to the ocean and OH GOD the breeze! So that became my motivation for the afternoon. I took lots of pictures of that view. They'll be blurry, I'm sure, because I didn't always manage to stop moving while taking them.
So I got to Pit 4 and planned to stay a while because the last leg was 4.5 ish miles and that, my friends, is AH LOT when you're tired. But once I peed and refilled my water bottle and ate a granola bars and several slices of orange, I was about as prepared as I could possibly be. So I said, "To hell with this; it's gonna hurt no matter what. Might as well go now." And I did. And the closer I got to the end, the stronger was my stride because goddamnit, I wanted it to be over. I stopped once, a little less than a mile there, to sit with a group of others who just needed once more stretch before the finish. We became a little cheering station for the people who kept going. I also took some pics there. But then I continued and finished out the day with a good 15+ miles.
So:
Friday 21.8 miles
Saturday roughly 4 miles
Sunday more than 15 miles
making a total of more than 40 miles or a little over 2/3 of the entire route. It's not 60, I know, and I hate to disappoint but 40 miles ain't nothin' to shake a stick at. It was hard, man, and I got the purple feet to prove it.
I'm feeling a lot better now, though, after resting all day. My leg muscles are pretty much back to normal, my knee--which I'm pretty sure I sprained--is still a little on the ouchie side but only when I put a lot of pressure on it (I'm definately Ace bandaging the buggar before karate tomorrow night) my back's still a little sore from the weight I carried but mostly it's my feet that are a mess. Huge purple bruises on each instep, calluses that could cut glass, a couple of blisters (and I lucked out there, not getting any until yesterday) one of which I ripped right open when I tore the tape off my feet last night and a toenail that I have the sneaking suspicion is only being held on by the bandage I stuck on when I couldn't bear the thought of seeing my toe nailless Saturday afternoon.
The plan is to shower before I take off the bandage, just in case Mr. Toenail comes off with it. Then to bed, up to pee, back to bed, up to pee again and then MAYBE some actual sleep. I can't wait to get my body used to less liquid flow. There are stairs between me and the potty. Stairs that clearly hate my feet.
More stories to come. And pictures. And maybe some journal entries, although just to warn you, many of those entries are about my courageous attempt to overcome my trepidation about the big blue boxes...
Well, no pics as of yet because I didn't so much feel like leaving the house... or getting dressed... or... not sleeping. But it is a mission for tomorrow, somewhere between mailing out the last couple checks and doing some fun laundry... among other chores. Ohhh, the transition back to normal life is tricky. I'm still getting used to the whole flushing toilet thing. It's amazing the things you can get used to in such a short period of time. 5 minute showers and heavily prepping one's feet before putting on shoes.
The short replay of the weekend is this:
Friday I walked the full route, 21.8 miles from Framingham, MA to Canton, MA where our campsite was. Part of the route was the Boston Marathon route and, oddly enough, my train passed right by me while I walked. I waved. It did not wave back. I met a few interesting people, not least of which were Lorraine and Cassie from Kittery, ME who are the only people I think I hung out with more than once and who actually remembered my name. And vice versa. Names are hard to remember when you're tired.
The first night I met my tentmate who was very nice and wore quite the sassy hat. She snored.
The second day was a bitch. I knew as soon as I got up at 4:56am that I wouldn't make it through the day. I took my time, made it to the first two rest stops but was really hurtin' by the 4th mile. A couple of very nice people flagged down a safety biker for me--Wally and what a sweetheart he was--who called in a sweep vehicle for me... but that's a whole big story that I'm not getting into just now. I got swept to lunch, stayed there for at least an hour, considered going on but let myself get talked out of it by a crew member. I have never been more grateful for air conditioning as I was on that ride back to camp. The second day was awefull for so many reasons--the route was in the woods, there weren't as many sweeps or safety patrols, the pit stops were further between than the first day and the heat was murder. Not my best day ever.
The third day, I was pretty determined to do as many miles as possible. I got a good rest Saturday night, slept well, especially since my tentmate had disappeared and I had the place to myself. I was really stiff when I woke up but I knew the route for the day was the shortest and that we were walking to Boston and to the end of the event. The closing ceremony was a great motivator.
I made it to the first two pit stops, but I wasn't doing too well after that. I had forgotten my Ace bandage in my duffel that morning so I had taped my knee at Pit 1 and that was freaking glorious. So much so, in fact, that I convinced myself that my feet would hurt less if I taped them at the next pit. And so, of course, I chanted half way to the next pit, "tape, tape, tape, tape." After that I made it to the Quincy townline when a safety biker stopped and asked how I was doing. "I don't know," I said, "I wouldn't be opposed to being swept." So she flagged down a van--the infamous Martini van, no less--and I got swept to lunch.
Lunch is another story but on the way I saw part of the next leg of the route and the view was beautious, right next to the ocean and OH GOD the breeze! So that became my motivation for the afternoon. I took lots of pictures of that view. They'll be blurry, I'm sure, because I didn't always manage to stop moving while taking them.
So I got to Pit 4 and planned to stay a while because the last leg was 4.5 ish miles and that, my friends, is AH LOT when you're tired. But once I peed and refilled my water bottle and ate a granola bars and several slices of orange, I was about as prepared as I could possibly be. So I said, "To hell with this; it's gonna hurt no matter what. Might as well go now." And I did. And the closer I got to the end, the stronger was my stride because goddamnit, I wanted it to be over. I stopped once, a little less than a mile there, to sit with a group of others who just needed once more stretch before the finish. We became a little cheering station for the people who kept going. I also took some pics there. But then I continued and finished out the day with a good 15+ miles.
So:
Friday 21.8 miles
Saturday roughly 4 miles
Sunday more than 15 miles
making a total of more than 40 miles or a little over 2/3 of the entire route. It's not 60, I know, and I hate to disappoint but 40 miles ain't nothin' to shake a stick at. It was hard, man, and I got the purple feet to prove it.
I'm feeling a lot better now, though, after resting all day. My leg muscles are pretty much back to normal, my knee--which I'm pretty sure I sprained--is still a little on the ouchie side but only when I put a lot of pressure on it (I'm definately Ace bandaging the buggar before karate tomorrow night) my back's still a little sore from the weight I carried but mostly it's my feet that are a mess. Huge purple bruises on each instep, calluses that could cut glass, a couple of blisters (and I lucked out there, not getting any until yesterday) one of which I ripped right open when I tore the tape off my feet last night and a toenail that I have the sneaking suspicion is only being held on by the bandage I stuck on when I couldn't bear the thought of seeing my toe nailless Saturday afternoon.
The plan is to shower before I take off the bandage, just in case Mr. Toenail comes off with it. Then to bed, up to pee, back to bed, up to pee again and then MAYBE some actual sleep. I can't wait to get my body used to less liquid flow. There are stairs between me and the potty. Stairs that clearly hate my feet.
More stories to come. And pictures. And maybe some journal entries, although just to warn you, many of those entries are about my courageous attempt to overcome my trepidation about the big blue boxes...
posted by Wendy @ 10:56 PM
1 Comments:
At 4:03 AM,
Anonymous said…
40 mile is definatly something to shake a stick at!!! I'm so proud of you! Although, if you'd still hurting before karate, you might want to hold out till the next session, wee ninja. Walking 40 miles is like running a marathon. It take a long time to recover from. Take care of yourself, eat well (all of the food groups!) and keep drinking water. Your body will even out again. Again, I'm so proud of you babe!!!!!!!
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