2004

Ok, where to start?
I suppose every story has a beginning and I have been asked quite a few times why I was tempted to enter the Parish Walk for the very first time.
As briefly mentioned in my last post, I was a late developer as far as sport is concerned: until 2004, I did no sport or physical activity whatsoever. I was a common or garden couch potato but it was a work in progress and I was fairly good at it with a number of years' practice under my belt.
I was aware of the Parish Walk but it held no interest for me and I didn't know many people who had attempted it. The thought of walking 85 miles in one go perplexed me as I couldn't comprehend why anyone would want to do it.
In February of that year, my best friend, Rob Greatbatch, very sadly passed away after fighting illness for some time. He was 39.
Up until that point, I had been living day to day with absolutely no focus or ambition whatsoever. Rob's untimely death brought me down to earth with a bang.
A mutual friend and fellow couch potato asked me that March if I'd like to join him in having a go at the Parish in that June in memory of our friend who had himself walked the Parish to Peel some years earlier. The plan was to raise money through sponsorship for two worthy charities.
I immediately said 'yes' without really thinking about what I what I was about to get into.
So, training began in an old pair of fashion trainers, swimming shorts and cotton t-shirt. I had no idea what I was doing (some would say that's still the case) but I now had a focus and a hitherto unknown need to finish something I had started.
I remember one of my first training walks was from home, just off Peel Road, Douglas to Marown church and back - a distance about seven miles. I did this and felt completely brilliant. This walking lark was easy! I had never walked so far before and I wanted more.
Over the next couple of months, I mostly trained alone and, by the end of May, I was regularly walking up to 15 miles at a good old pace.
As June approached and Parish day loomed, the conviction in my mind that I could complete it on the day was unwavering. After all, I had been training regularly for almost four months. Surely more than adequate preparation for what lay ahead?
Someone leant me a Camelbak (literally a bladder in a rucksack into which you can store liquids which has a tube attached to drink the contents) which I sensibly filled with some sort of isotonic powder/water mixture. Being über sensible, I decided to ignore the manufacturer's directions and add an extra scoop per litre of water using the logic that more is better and my body will welcome the extra nutrients as it powers on towards the finish line in Douglas a mere 85 miles from the start.
Finally, the day arrived and I was well excited. I had done literally squillions of miles in preparation (in 4 months!), was wearing suitable sporty clothing (the same old fashion trainers, etc.), had my three gallons of isotonic rocket fuel and boundless enthusiasm. And some sandwiches.
I was as ready as I could possibly be!
I'll reveal how my debut event went next time.