Day 4: Mallow to Croom

Gavin Kane, hottest guy in BESS, is probably the man suffering least on the walk so far. This may be partly as a result of his inhuman attachment to stretching, which had ladies from Bantry to Buttevant doing double takes as the Mission's Safety Officer, resplendent in luminous yellow vest, psychedelic shades and shorts riding just above the knee put himself through various fantastic contortions.

Even following his example couldn't save Fitzy and Aoife from being hit by injury and being forced out of Day 4. Aoife, sporting blisters the approximate size and ferocity of a cornered raccoon, traveled to Croom by car (well in, Dennis and Margaret) alongside Fitzy, whose calf veins had turned a rather fetching shade of black. Only seven were left to pound the hard shoulder due north along the N20 on yet another 40k+ day. Fortunate yet again with the weather (the farmer tans are coming in nicely), the early stint to Buttevant via New Twopothouse was without incident, although vigilance along the road was essential.

The haul from Buttevant to our lunch stopover in Charleville in the mid-afternoon heat was tough going, requiring two stops along the way. SuperValu rolls put new heart into us, though, and at 4pm we set out afresh. It wasn't long until we hit the first county border of the Mission. Reflecting on our time in Cork, on the hospitality of the people, and the beauty of the countryside, and the soul-crushing distances, and the strength-sapping hills, we railed against the inadequacy of human language adequately to give expression to such a range of conflicting emotions, and we said "Fuck you, Cork", and on we went.

Barry took the lead, with the smell of the auld sod in his nostrils as we sought the santuary of the Flinn residence just shy of Croom. Driven on by the thoughts of a home-cooked meal and the pampering of Mammy Flinn, we set a decent pace for the first few kilometres but soon slackened off. McKeating, hellbent on infecting the group with the Wasp mindset (see post for Day 3), allied with Tim (shoes off at the first sign of a halt) in forcing break after break in the latter stages of the march. They both had good excuses, mind, given that McKeating simply should not be walking on his ankle ligaments ("Worst case scenario, I end up with a mild Nurofen addiction. I'm willing to take that hit.") and Tim was increasingly discomfited by toe problems. With Barry registering his first blister of the trip and Grennan sporting a nice rash, it was no surprise that even Smodge was limping by the time we reached our destination.

Where there were food, showers and real beds. Totally worth it.

Distance Day 4: 44k approx

Theme of the Day: Nurofen

Word of the Day: "Morale"