Sun, stardom, and screaming

My feet, Lyall Bay, this morning

Wellington is still experiencing some of the finest weather EVER in the history of Wellington, but yesterday me and Taylor would not have known it. We walked from Owhiro Bay Road up to Hawkins Hill, across to the Wind Turbine, over to Wrights Hill and over to the Skyline Walk. It was chilly. On the way to Mt Kaukau, the wind was so strong and cold and horrendous that at one stage I was sure I was going to get blown over. Huge mists were screaming over the hillsides. My pony tail was whipping into my face, I was having trouble going forward into the head-on northerly and we decided to pull the plug just after passing Crofton Downs. So we walked down off the ridge into the suburbs, through Otari-Wilton's Bush and back to Taylor's in Brooklyn. Once we were off the ridge we discovered what a flippin' glorious day it was. People were out doing their gardens and washing their cars and going to birthday parties. I was shattered at the end, and wondering if I can really do this thing. My knee was pretty sore, and my hips were screaming.

Sweeney, with his latest acquisition (his four teef) being very cosmopolitan at the Maranui Cafe

Today, I did my first cafe review. Seeing as it was another glorious day, me, Ange and Sweeney (who is nine-months-old tomorrow) went to Maranui Surf Lifesaving Club at Lyall Bay. I am pleased to report the hollandaise was very tangy, and my eggs were soaking in it.

"I really think the government ought to be putting more money into health care benefits for cats. Specifically, more meat. Preferably fillet steak," Charles Rothwell of Vogeltown told Radio New Zealand News today.

After hollandaise bliss and a bit of perving at the boy with the Side-Show Bob hair at Maranui, we went and bought a lemon tree and a blueberry bush. I planted these in our garden and Bramwell interviewed me as I dug the hole to plant the bush in. I am quite useless at digging holes, and was convinced that there was a layer of concrete just under the surface. So in the audio I am puffing away like a chain-smoker as I talk and dig . Bramwell is making a documentary for Radio NZ about carbon neutrality, and the reason I planted the trees is to offset the carbon emissions made during the two flights I've taken this year. The documentary will be played on April 15, but I don't know what time. Stay tuned, listeners.

The last bit of decent writing I did

Now that I'm editting, I don't get as much time to write, and it's actually quite nice to have a break. But I managed to bash this out for yesterday's Life section in the paper, and although I thought it was cheesy, it brought Sarah my divinely talented and patient colleague to tears.

Kimberley Rothwell goes from zero to 100 in three months - taking on the Oxfam Trailwalker challenge in which she and three teammates will walk 100km in 36 hours this April. The girl who didn't even own a decent pair of trainers reveals how she's doing it.
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AS I PLOD along another walkway on a weeknight, pop another blister that has sprouted on my heel, inhale another meal of pasta, I ask myself what is the point of walking 100 kilometres?
I thought it would be easy _ it's just walking after all, and anyone can do that. Walk 100km in one go and raise some money for a good cause. If others can do it, so can I. But it's a grind, this training. It's grinding away at my feet, my knees, my spare time. It's not like the 40-hour famine in which you watch movies and eat barley sugars and groan when food ads come on the telly, then eat an entire cheesecake the next day. It's step after step after step for hours on end.
The Oxfam Trailwalker has been going for 25 years and involves teams of four walking the entire 100km course in less than 36 hours. The course is set north of Taupo, taking in Huka Falls and Craters of the Moon geothermal area. It's gentle country, not like tramping in the Tararuas or climbing up the Red Rocks track. At least, that's what I'm banking on. We also have to raise $5000 for Oxfam, primarily through people sponsoring us on the walk and donations.
When I think I can't do it anymore, when getting up at 6am on a Saturday to do another walk just seems too much, when it's raining and there's something good on the telly, I think about Cambodia.
In Cambodia, people sit atop piles of bricks on the backs of trucks for many kilometres over dusty rutted roads. Barefoot teenage boys walk along those roads carrying huge lumps of ice in their hands.
The stories of people who walked hundreds of kilometres to the Thai border to escape the Khmer Rouge are mind-boggling. They didn't have comfy walking shoes or water bottles or scroggin. They just endured.
It's ironic that it should be those images spurring me on as I stuff another protein bar in my face because some of the $5000 could end up in Cambodia.
But it doesn't stop my feet hurting.
Before I started all this, I hated tramping. I hated sandwiches and scroggin and the thought of eating chocolate for anything but pleasure was unknown to me. I just wanted to raise a lot of money for Oxfam, the 100km came second. But it's quickly taking over my life.
I have become an expert on which brand of tape and plaster will go on what shaped blister, and Nike shareholders can all pay off their mortgages on what I've spent in sports socks.
My diet has changed considerably since I've started training. I used to be the girl who ate half of what everyone else had. I considered deep-fried foods a complete food group. Now I eat everything, including the pattern on the plate. I almost swallowed my fork the other day. Nuts, bananas and water have become close friends.
A Vogel's sandwich with leaves and tomato and mayonnaise after a good three hours in the hot sun up hill and over dale tastes really, really good. I don't feel guilty about all the barbecue sausages I've been scoffing. I'm an athlete now, you see.
The next challenge is the weather. As summer ends abruptly with rain lashing the windows and wind toppling small children, I expect my training will turn into trudging.
I expect mud will replace sunburn. My sandwiches will get soggy in my pack. My iPod might get wet. I will spend more time thinking about the needle-like rain in my eyes and my waterlogged feet than anything else.
But then I will think about those people sitting on the trucks, just enduring what they have to endure. And I'll keep walking.