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For those of you who have never heard of this sport, it involves copying a route from a master topographic map to your own map, then running round your particular route stopping at 'Controls'. These 'Controls' are hidden in the bushes, behind rocks, in ditches, etc and are marked with a red and white flag. At each Control Point, you stamp your card to prove you've been there. So, it entails a mixture of running, map-reading and treasure hunting. All ages and levels of fitness are catered for, from people with children in tow to 'seniors' with courses laid out appropriate to their ability.
Obviously, a compass is essential and it is also insisted upon that you carry a whistle, in case you get totally lost. So … compasses and whistles were duly purchased and we were off. Sunday mornings were spent getting hopelessly lost in woodlands all over the south east of England and afternoons lolling exhausted on the settee to groans of 'Never again!'
As anyone who has ever spent any time with me will know, this was perhaps not the sport that would first have come to mind – considering my foibles. My chief foible is that I have absolutely no sense of direction. Ever! Even when I have traveled the same route many times, I am still very likely to take a wrong turning. Whenever I come to a T junction, I know that I will always take the wrong road. Always! Even if my instinct is to go right, I sometimes try to double guess my instinct and deliberately go left -- but it still turns out to be the wrong decision! I have never met anyone who has even come close to being as badly disorientated as I am.