Run for the Hills

Jon and I have been somewhat absent from our friends and family of weekends lately. The house neglected, the garden hastily watered and the meal plans for the working week out of the window. The season of walking is upon us. Zoe ramps down her running for the summer, saving the hard effort for Big Marathon Training in the winter. Jon needs to train his pernickety feet for the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.

We head, weekly, for the hills. 'the hills'...which hills? We tend towards those which aspire to mountain status. Those whose paths are rocky, uneven, boggy, or steep. Those who spurn tourists with their lack of signposted car parks and cafes. If I told you where to find these I'd be afraid of losing the solitude ;) The Howgills, The majestic Carneddau, Mid Wales (or as we affectionately call it, Middle Wales) with it sparkling lakes and rolling green desert, or the wrong side of Snowdonia (see Carneddau).

To my friends, I apologise. To myself, I sing. Each weekend I return as one freshly laundered. Problems at work become small hillocks to climb. Emotional strain a stream to leap deftly over. A rainshower, a reason to wryly smile when remembering becoming trapped in a bog necessitating rescue by two strong and willing friends.

Jon and I share the worst which a couple could want on our treks. There is nothing more conducive to marital hatred than confinement in a small space together. Odours more magnified. Stepping on one anothers hands, feet and heads when exiting a damp tent in the dewy 5am chill. Fatigue which sets into first one, then the other, then the other, in a capricious cycle, and the pulling away from fatigue which requires both individual strength and team encouragement. Go team..
Of course, we return full of the joys, shared good times in the bank.

My final need for the Hills is the need for a new window each day. Waking up to new sounds. Peeping Oystercatchers, tumbling larks, or whistling winds. Or just a sheep with its monster munching next to your fuzzy damp snug head.
The first unzip on a clear day is the best of all. Yesterdays hill lying tame and exposed behind you. Today's lakes lying glinting, beckoning behind a rocky climb you know you'll detest..

Pass the Oat so Simple.