Despite my good intentions, I’m now 6 days from the first big walk through the Pyrenees and I haven’t really done any walking practice. I discussed this with Creagh and he reckoned that as walking was basically putting one foot after the other I should be able to master the technique quite quickly. I’ve also watched a YouTube video on using walking poles so I am sorted on that front.
Whilst moving vast amounts of stuff out of our bedroom on Sunday night (ready for the builders to start work the next day) I managed to stub a toe on my left foot really really badly. I hopped about a bit and then forgot about it until the next morning when Dara screamed “what have you done to your toe”. It was admittedly a pretty spectacular black and red mess and when I tried to move it was completely locked in a strange position. It had made a bit of a snapping noise the previous night so the probable news is that it’s broken.
The good news is that it is the middle one which is as much use as an appendix and while a bit painful, there is no point seeing a doctor as, with my allotment of 9 minutes, they won’t actually do anything. As my left knee is stuffed as well I’m hoping that in some strange form of mechanical counterweights that everything will sort of work out.
Confidence among the family is dropping fast. Saints are playing London Irish on Easter Sunday, five days after I fly out. Over dinner this evening Dara and Creagh discussed selling our tickets to the game but Creagh persuaded Dara to hang onto them as “dad may well be back in time”.
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