So, I’m back. 4 days, 41 miles, and an inordinate number of bug bites later, I have finally climbed the Black Mountains. I’m feeling much better than I did at the time, but my ankles are still shot, and I can’t help feeling exhausted. In some strange masochistic way, it was great fun, but I’m not glad about what happened to my shoes. Or the subsequent effect of that on my feet – trenchfoot is not a word one likes to hear in general conversation.
After having visited half the countries I visited, and been on half the flights I’ve made, as well as having been worn in week after week during my the majority of my brief employment history, my walking boots have died. They have perished. They have ceased to be. Had I not thrown them in the recycling box, they would be pushing up the daises. I mean, to be fair, they had been on the way out for a while. And I did by them for about a tenner in Aldi.
So now it’s time to begin the ominous task of buying a new pair. I know it shouldn’t be that scary, but I hate shoe shopping – it’s not my fault that my feet are rarely the same size. Seeing as I want these to last, I’m probably going to be unbelievably picky about them. They need to be leather, for example – even though my last pair weren’t. (Leather shoes are far more waterproof, and generally easier to maintain). They need to have pretty solid ankle support – because my right ankle has never quite been the same after a black ice incident about 2 and half years ago. They need to have laces that don’t fray – and are easy to replace if they do. They need to have some sort of guarantee. And ideally, they wouldn’t cost me too much money.
Remind me again, why are people supposed to like shopping?