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THIS MONTHS WINNER
may have to become a regular feature - read on!!!

Hells Belles: The intimate confessions of a Nordic Walker
Prologue
Before we go any further here’s my confession. My name is Doris and I’m a Nordic Walking addict. Nordic Walking, you know, with the poles. I bet you’re one of the ones shouting ‘you’ve forgotten your skis’ as we speed past. Just for the record, that joke never actually gets funny, no matter how often you hear it. And you do. Often. But let’s face it; we English have always embraced eccentricity. It’s only a couple of poles. It could be worse. I could be a Morris dancer.
On the plus side this is possibly the most fun you can have standing up that doesn’t involve chocolate, (or skis, as we’ve already established). And there are other benefits. Last week for example I discovered that I had stomach muscles. Not a six-pack you understand, but when I breathe in it looks a bit, well, sculpted. I can’t say I turned into Cheryl Cole overnight, but I’m definitely fitter and more toned than I was, plus I don’t have to deal with being married to a scoundrel. What more could you ask for? That said, I hesitate to claim that NW will solve your marital problems, although we can offer helpful suggestions if you want, Cheryl.
And then there’s the joy of the great outdoors. Obviously there are times when it’s been less than joyful this winter, but it beats running on a treadmill, staring at a telly, plugged in to your ipod, wondering what Sportacus is all about. Believe me, I’ve done it. Plus you don’t have to be scantily clad in Lycra (although I can understand not everyone will think that is an advantage). There is just something about exercising outside in the fresh air that makes you feel really good.
The other great thing about Nordic Walking is that it’s sociable. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew as we go along, thinly disguised to protect the guilty, as you’d expect; but for now the most important person, our glorious leader. Tigger is a person with a boundless supply of energy and enthusiasm, whose guiding philosophy is that exercise (and indeed life) should be fun. And so it is.
So gentle reader, pick up your poles and step with me into the world of Nordic Walking ...


Hells Belles: Intimate Confessions of a Nordic Walker
Sunday 21 February
A little something for the weekend, sir?
It’s minus two degrees out there, and slushy under foot when I leave the house. Is it mad to be doing this instead of lying in bed for another hour with the Sunday papers and a hottie? Don’t answer that. Meet A, G and S in the usual car park. We do the warm up exercises. Fortunately there’s no one else around at 9.30 in the morning, we know it looks a bit odd. The rest of the group will be meeting in another hour at the pub, but we have decided to get into training for a 16 mile walk in May by doing some longer walks, so we will be walking across the fields for an hour before meeting up with them. We start up the hill out of town in a reasonably purposeful way despite the slush under foot, a couple of pauses to debate the best route and to exchange stick-related banter with an old boy using a walking stick.
And then it’s fields. Paws off. Paws you should understand are an essential part of the whole stick thing, a removable rubber bit on the end that stops your sticks clattering on the concrete, but they’re a bit of a hazard on snow, mud and grass when you need a really good stab into the ground. Stop me if I’m boring you with the technical stuff. The down side of the paws on, paws off business is the mud in your pockets, that and the temptation to say ‘paws for thought’ out loud.
A always walks in front, sometimes quite a long way. That’s because he’s a bloke. And probably much fitter than the rest of us, but mainly because he’s a bloke. G and I are following at a distance having a bit of a girlie gossip and S is bringing up the rear. S is living proof that you don’t have to be well coordinated to be good at Nordic Walking. He trips over his sticks pretty regularly today, and so it’s a bit like walking with Bambi.
In an hour we normally cover 3-4 miles – depending on stiles and detours. Plenty of the former today, made especially hazardous by a combination of snow and rickety construction. We’re passed by a runner with his dog who comments rather patronizingly, that we are doing a good speed. We passed him later running back to look for his dog that had run a different way. It doesn’t always pay to be a smart-arse.
At the pub we meet Tigger, Mr Tigger and two members of the group who have just completed the training course. My family scoffed at length when I told them there was a course. Actually Nordic Walking is one of those things that you can pretty much do after the first lesson, but it takes a bit longer than that before it feels like something you’re doing naturally. The newbies are going to be pretty challenged today as Mr T is leading. He likes to walk even faster than A. That’s because he’s even more of a bloke. Bloke with a capital B in fact. He likes gadgets and sport, thinks cooking is when you put something frozen in the oven and ignore it until you smell burning. Just to be clear I only have anecdotal evidence for that last one.

Hells Belles: Intimate Confessions of a Nordic Walker
Thursday 24 February
Beasting in the Park
One of the problems with an outdoor sport, is what do you do in the winter when the evenings are dark and cold. One of the answers is beasting in the park. Specialist equipment is needed for this, viz a head torch. After a couple of times, some of us discovered that it can be worn around your neck which has the advantage that it doesn’t mess up your hair, whilst not impairing the basic functionality. In addition I have a flashing finger torch, which is no practical use whatsoever, but looks funky; and Barty the dog has a red flashing dog collar, which I covet.
Given the fact that it was raining there was a good turnout. Tigger, me, G, A, Bambi and Mrs Bambi, plus a couple who come occasionally, as well as J and Barty the dog. Barty is a black Labrador which makes his presence somewhat challenging in the dark, that and his propensity to weave through the group as we walk. The flashing dog collar is all that stands between us and chaos.
The park is quite large but we can complete a circuit in about half an hour, so Tigger has introduced a range of drills, resistance exercises, bench presses and squats making use of park furniture that has come to be known as beasting. All done in the dark, and in this instance the rain, you remember. We do the exercises with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tigger encourages us with the promise that when the spring comes and the evenings are light, Thursday evenings will become a kind of Nordic Walking circuit training that will be even harder. Our level of enthusiasm at this prospect has yet to match hers.
There are also races. These have developed into Nordic Running for the more enthusiastic of us. This is because none of us can walk as fast as A and so the only way to beat him is to run. Competitive, us? By now the rain has turned from a drizzle into something more persistent and so we finish slightly early. The weather last week was apparently so foul that Tigger, Bambi and A, the only ones who turned up, gave up well before the hour. Apparently someone said ‘we don’t have to do this’. Shocking thought.