Sneaky Pete compared walking -- not the hike itself, but walking in general -- to certain unpleasant experiences from his prison days. Lucy surprised us with her Stimpy-like ability to remain spry and bubbly. Matt started and finished strong with military-march-like precision and cadence.
And, in an unfortunate turn of events, Scott re-aggravated a recurring foot injury and has been told by doctors this morning that, under no circumstances, can he compete in the orienteering phase. Gutted. As unlucky as it is, Scott's combination of strength and slight build will be invaluable for us in the kayaking and climbing phases.
Myself? Well, about 8 miles in, one word kept repeating itself -- at first only a whisper -- in my psyche. By mile 15, the whispers had become screams. That word: Vaseline.
Because all of us in the blogosphere are still getting know one another, I'll choose my words carefully. But, at the end of the day, we're all adults.
Imagine 80 degrees. Hot. Dry. Sandy. Now, insert 15 miles of friction -- not the quick burst friction created by running but the slow, methodical, chafing friction that makes each step an excruciating reminder of how far you've walked and a dreadful realisation of what's still to come.
Some athletes get it bad under their arms. Unless they've used band-aids for cover, some guys get it particularly bad on their nipples. The sensitive skin on the inner thigh where legs sometimes rub together is another danger zone. And, of course, regardless of gender, one's posterior is particularly problematic.
Dealing with this type of friction is second nature to most endurance athletes and, truth be told, I've got three sticks of Body Glide at home (courtesy of my very wise girlfriend). On last night's walk, I simply forgot. And, especially as I sit at my desk, I'm paying the price for my carelessness.
To my team and anyone else looking for a top tip: Don't hesitate to lubricate
Was that not also a lesson that Pete learned early back in those prison days?
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