Jeremy Clarke on his Low Life
I was looking at trail running shoes in a specialist running shoe shop, intending to buy. The young woman who sprang forward to assist was fit, lean and agile. She exuded tiptop mental and physical health. Helena she was called. She was Czech. I, on the other hand, was crapulous and reeked strongly — even to myself — of the odours of the tavern.
‘How far do you think you will be going?’ she said. ‘Between 50 and 100 miles,’ I said. ‘Running?’ she said, impressed. ‘Walking,’ I said. ‘Along long-distance footpaths in the south of England with a rucksack.’ She looked disappointed. Obviously one of those fanatical runners, she found it incomprehensible that people walked when they could be running. ‘Won’t you feel like running — even just a little bit?’ she said. ‘For instance, when you come to a nice downhill field?’ I told her I doubted it.
We studied the shoe-lined shelves in the shop together. We started off, at my suggestion, with the lightest pair of shoes in the shop. A new generation of technologically advanced camping materials on the market means you can equip yourself with tent, mat, cooker, sleeping bag and rucksack with a combined weight of less than David Blunkett’s diaries. The same applies to walking clothes and footwear. You can buy a windproof jacket weighing 80 grams, and sturdy, waterproof trail shoes weighing no more than a pair of carpet slippers.
After reading the advertising literature for these ‘ultralite’ products, your main worry is being blown off course by a puff of wind. Helena looked sceptically at the fluorescent-blue ballet-style shoes I’d chosen. I travel light, I told her firmly.
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