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Walk the Test Way with Rotary
St Mary Bourne to Romsey
October 11th 2009
It was the day before and I was cleaning my walking boots in preparation for the walk tomorrow. A thought passed through my brain, supposing it was raining tomorrow, I don’t fancy walking twenty six miles in the rain but then I thought I don’t know if I fancy walking twenty six miles in any weather actually!
I didn’t know whether it had been an act of bravado on my part or I had been drawn in to the whole sponsored walk thing but tomorrow I was going to attempt to “Walk the Test Way with Rotary”, from St Mary Bourne to Romsey, a total of twenty six miles.
Foolishly I looked on this as something that I would be able to do without any training, after all it was a “walk” and why train to do something that I do everyday?
I was well prepared as far as my kit was concerned. My back pack contained two ham and cheese wholemeal rolls, two apples, two bananas, two cereal bars, two bottles of energy drink, a two litre platypus hydration system, numerous sticky bars, chewing gum, first aid kit and waterproof. I was also going to carry a map of the walk and mobile phone “just in case”, although I was assured that the route would be marshalled and well sign-posted.
I decided that no matter what the weather was going to be like, I would wear a wicking vest, walking trousers, walking socks, walking boots and a lightweight thermal fleece. I was ready!
My alarm went at 5:30am the following morning, why on earth 5:30? Well, I had to be at the Crosfield Hall for 7am, which meant I had time to get myself ready, have a bowl of porridge and take a gentle walk to arrive in time for the start of registration.
At the Hall, the enormity of the organisation became apparent. Signs directed the walkers to their particular registration area, where an army of volunteers from the Rotary Club of Romsey Test and The Inner Wheel were waiting to issue each person with two tags. You attached one to your person or kit and the other allowed you on the bus that would transport you to the start of the walk, twenty six miles away.
The actual number of people in the hall was amazing, they had come from near and far to walk in order to raise money for their chosen charity. Spirits were high and people of all ages talked to each other about the route and the day ahead. Many had done it before and were regular attendees at the yearly event; others like me were beginning to wonder why they hadn’t chosen a sensible distance, like ten miles!
The call came to start making our way to the mini-buses that were parked outside on the road. I got on to Bus Number 1 and off we went, only to be overtaken later on the A34 by Bus Number 2.
The morale on the bus was high, hardened walkers were discussing the walk in depth, those that had done it before were deciding whether to stop at the tea rooms if they were open or the pub at lunchtime. I sat and listened and watched the countryside going by, the light rain on the windscreen and thought about why I was there.
In a couple of weeks our darling George would have been gone a year and it still feels like yesterday, I will never know or understand why he was taken from us for as long as I live.
As I was looking out of the window, I became aware of the quiet that had descended inside the bus; somebody was saying that we must pull off the road soon.
We had passed Bullington Cross and were currently heading for Newbury! However when the turning for Whitchurch appeared, we did indeed turn off and wound our way to St Mary Bourne.
The bus that overtook us was there and the walkers were making their way towards Romsey when we pulled up. I got off, put on my pack and with words of encouragement from the marshals I headed towards Romsey.
The beginning of the walk started with a climb to get up on the top of the downs from the road, not that difficult and it was a good way to warm up the muscles. I had read the information leaflet and knew that from now on the walk gently dropped in to the valley, how naïve was I?
After I had been walking for about twenty minutes I passed a marker by the side of the road with the words “Romsey 25 miles” written on it. At first my fellow walkers and I didn’t think much of the idea of countdown markers but actually I found them to be a true help. Especially as after an hours walking I had covered three miles.
The question was of course; could I keep up a rate of three miles an hour? I had estimated completing the walk in around ten hours without stopping and the current speed I was doing it at although by no means fast, was fast enough for me!
However I found my rhythm and kept punching out a rate of three miles an hour. The markers became a target; I consciously tried to put a little more effort in each time. Until eventually on the stretch between the river at Chilbolton and Stockbridge, along the disused railway track that travels through Leckford, I managed to cover four miles in an hour.
Walkers came and walkers went, names and pleasantries exchanged, conversations about how people were feeling, where have you walked from, what cause or charity are you walking for. Everyone had a dogged determination that they were going to make it to the finish at The War Memorial Park in Romsey.
Depending upon your fitness level or to look at it a different way, depending upon how daft you were, there were numerous places you could walk from. I had set myself a target that I wouldn’t stop for an actual break until I had reached Horsebridge, ten miles out from Romsey.
It’s on walks like this that you realise the beauty of nature and the English countryside. Walking through open fields, hedgerows decked with berries, the golden leaves of autumn glistening in the afternoon sunshine, spiders’ webs stretched between the hawthorn twigs, rabbits scurrying away across the disused railway and the cows, pigs and sheep that take no notice of you as you walk by.
I had walked seventeen miles non-stop when I reached a bridge over the river at Horsebridge and decided to stop for lunch. It had just gone 1pm, it had started to rain and I was happy at the rate I was walking at as it meant I would be back by 4pm, I only had nine miles to go. I chatted to other walkers who had stopped to grab a bite to eat and after fifteen minutes decided that I had better get back to it.
It was only when I tried to get going again that I realised how much pain I was in. My feet felt as if someone had pummelled my heels with a hammer and I knew I had got blisters as I could feel the skin moving against my socks. The back of my legs were taught, so much so that it felt as if my calves were going to snap or I was going to have an acute attack of cramp.
I took a couple of pain killers and stumbled through the next mile until the pain had turned in to numbness. The rain kept falling and the mile markers now seemed to get further apart. I climbed the hill across the field in to Mottisfont on automatic, not daring to think about the state my feet were probably in.
The Test Way is a glorious walk through picturesque and peaceful scenery, however as the walker gets nearer to their goal, instead of a gentle flat stroll to the end, the countryside becomes moulded as if pushed from both ends by a great pair of hands.
It seemed that whoever had invented the stile had used the area within the last five miles of the Test Way to test out all of their designs. I lost count of the number of stiles that you have to climb between Mottisfont Church and Romsey.
Marshalls continued to make sure you were feeling ok and continued to encourage you with witty banter and promises of “only a few miles to go, keep going, your nearly there, well done”
I remember walking past a field of very large pigs the other side of Kimbridge, knowing that I only had three miles to go, looking up and there it was – the wall!
To call it a wall is an understatement, to me it was a block of flats and it was in the way. It was at that moment that I could have cheerfully given up, everything inside of me, every fibre of my being was screaming enough’s, enough. Tears of physical and emotional trauma rolled down my face and I struggled hard to stay focused. After what seemed to be an eternity, I found myself talking to George, not in my head but out loud as I knew that he had been there with me every mile of the way.
As parents, you like to think that your children look to you for encouragement, praise and guidance. Well I looked to George for those things at that precise time and with his help I fought through the wall and continued painfully onwards.
There was a group of walkers in front of me that I had been using as a target to keep up with and no-one behind except the marshal at the last check point.
I started down through Squabb Wood, it was muddy, slippery and wet underfoot after the rain that had fallen. Slowly the trees began to fold back and the sky appeared through the leaves as the edge of the wood came closer.
Once out of the trees and in to the open again, I seemed to find my rhythm again and soon passed the “1 Mile to Go” marker. I recognised the back of Saddler’s Mill in the distance and knew that once I had cleared the last kissing gate I would be on The Causeway, past Salmon Leap and onto the “Front Path” and in to the park.
Arriving in the park you were greeted by all and received a medal commemorating your effort. Supporters and friends offered words of congratulation and advice as to the best way to get rid of your aches and pains.
The pain had returned to my feet and legs and my body was seizing up as the minutes ticked by. I would definitely regret this in the morning and for a few mornings after that no doubt.
I for one though, felt a tremendous surge of personal pride that I had managed to complete the distance of twenty six miles in eight hours.
I had done this not only to raise awareness and funds for George’s Trust but also for George, because he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing the same thing for others less fortunate than himself.
Joe O’Brien
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