Merry Christmas from the Anxious Ambler!

Isn't there just something about this time of year that makes you sentimental and nostalgic? That makes you reflect on times gone by, on what the year has brought you. Of course, Hogmanay brings this too, and I'm already thinking about the highlights and the lowlights of 2011.

Most of all, Christmas is a time to be with family and loved ones; to laugh, to share, to eat, to drink. It is a happy, joyful time.

This evening we gathered, with the ever comforting fire on, the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights, and the gin and tonics in hand. On TV was The Sound of Music, not at all Christmassy, but a classic. 

I've decided that 2012 will be the year that I

Climb every mountain,

Ford every stream,

Follow every rainbow,

Til I find my dream.

It's cheesy - and I love it!!

Merry Christmas everyone! Have a good one!

Helen xxx

And finally! A walk!

I do have to remind myself sometimes that I intended this blog to be about two things: conquering anxiety, and walking. Or more specifically, Munro climbing. I realise the majority of my posts so far have been about the former, and perhaps less of the latter. Now I don't see that as a bad thing - we might differ in opinion over which is harder - anxiety, or mountain climbing. I find them both very hard - ESPECIALLY WHEN COMBINED - but both equally worth discussion.

I knew I picked a dreadful time to start Munro bagging. Or not bagging, as the case may be. September was reasonably pleasant in terms of weather, especially after an awful summer. Surely a good time to start some serious walking? Well, yes, if there weren't other commitments to fulfil. As the weeks have flown by (tempus fugit) the chances to climb Munro Number Two have come and gone.

Schiehallion is clearly not meant to be. After the wee bump, we planned to try again a week or so later. But the day we planned was - of course - the day Scotland decided to remind us we were heading full throttle towards winter. A forecast of 100mph winds at the top, snow, and a wind chill factor of minus 17 was just enough to put us off.

Just enough to put us off Schiehallion that is. Not enough to put us off the Pentlands. I think we - me, Mum, Dad, and Dave - were in the zone for a walk of some sort. Well, I think some of us were more in the zone than others, but thats understandable given the weather conditions of the day.

We set off from Ninemileburn, having left one car there and the other at Flotterstone. We went up, up, up, through the mud, fighting the wind. There may not have been 100mph winds, but they had to have been at least 60mph. However, the sky was blue, the air was crisp, the scenery was stunning.

There are a few themes developing with the walks that I do. They are always always so much tougher than I seem to be prepared for. They always test me so much more than I think they will. Mentally and physically they are extremely challenging. But, crucially, they are always worth it. There is an immense feeling, when you are struggling up a hill and you just don't think you can go any further, but you just have to focus on getting it done. And the relief floods through you when you do conquer that hill. It is a feeling that overwhelms you and consumes you and it is THAT that keeps you coming back for more.

We began with a relatively gentle incline up Braid Law, but with the Kips coming into view ahead of us, it became all too clear that things were going to get more difficult. Fortunately the wind was behind us, so as challenging as the conditions were, we were all grateful that we weren't walking into it. Although it seemed everyone else was - more brave than or us, or just more foolish. Both East Kip and West Kip were tough going. I found myself pondering whether it is more difficult to do one giant peak, or 5 or 6 smaller ones. I'm still not sure. They have different dynamics, and both have pros and cons. This was more of a marathon than a sprint, and there wasn't much opportunity to celebrate on the top of a peak (when is there ever?), because the wind was so brutal. We managed a great compromise though; trudging on over the top of each hill, down a bit...down a bit more...find some shelter from the wind (nigh impossible on occasions!) and then reward ourselves.

Kips conquered. Onwards to Scald Law, the highest peak in the Pentlands at 1898 feet. Just Carnethy Hill and Turnhouse Hill ahead of us...but the legs were already feeling weak from the downs, just as much as the ups. My memorable moment has to be powering up Carnethy after a chocolate break. Don't know where the burst of energy came from (well, presumably the chocolate, but it was out of character) but I ran with it. Not literally, but almost. The wind helped push us up and there was a big sense of achievement about it all.

Another memorable moment was the summit of Carnethy Hill. Made it to the top and found some stone cairns. Well, not really cairns, looked more like craters of stone. It was SO windy, so I plonked myself down in one of said craters, which provided a little bit of shelter. Mum, Dad, and Dave followed close behind, and we all sat. But the wind chill was so biting that it was impossible to sit for long without getting cold.

I got up, thinking the others would follow. The wind was so strong it was almost impossible to stand. When I looked back, this is what I saw:

I love it! Three wee munchkins sheltering in a crater!

Finally, Turnhouse Hill, and views of the final descent. The wind was ferocious and at one moment we were crawling on hands and knees, unable to stand. I don't know how many times Mum reached for her camera and a glove blew away - but we always managed to retrieve it! Who knows what we lost in the Pentlands that day, but we also gained so much. I certainly did.

my canvas is no longer blank...

When I read back my previous post titled 'a blank canvas' part of me cringes and part of me is proud. Those were my feelings at the time, but it didn't take long for those feelings to change. I lost my confidence in the blink of an eye.

Nothing happened; it is as clear as this - one week I felt on top of the world, the next I fell right to the bottom.
And if I was a bit more disciplined about my blogging (curse you, low self esteem!!), I would've taken you on the rollercoaster of good week/bad week. Be glad you just got good week.

Bad Week was bad. I was teary, unconfident, low, and irritable. I talked about it, I opened up. Which helped to a certain extent. By the Thursday of Bad Week, I had done my fair share of soul searching and analysing (over-analysing?). I felt absolutely drained. It is amazing how tiring it is to look at yourself and ask yourself tough questions AND try to answer them.

And then. I came out of a tough talking session to find two of my car windows smashed. You can imagine how much of a low-blow that was! It felt personal, even though I know it wasn't. I was already feeling vulnerable and, in terms of my emotions, exposed. To see such a shocking act of violence (or careless driving??) in front of me like that was....well, shocking. And upsetting. And unfair.

But being melodramatic is something I know I am guilty of on occasions. So I have to be realistic. This wasn't something personal. I - or rather my car - was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whoever did it had no possible way of knowing that I was already having a Bad Day - not that that would have made any difference anyway!! So there is no point in me going over and over it my head, and over-analysing it. It is what it is. And what it is is £75 down the drain, but not. the. end. of. the. world.


Fortunately, after a good week and a Bad Week, this past week has been more normal. Not one extreme or the other, a wee bit of both. And thats ok. No one is happy all the time, and to be honest, I am just more relieved that I'm not down all the time. Life can feel like a real battle sometimes but so worth fighting. I am so so grateful for everything I have; I am a lucky girl and I know what makes me happy.

...and a wee bit o' walking!

Just wanted to share a photo of a fantastic walk from 2 weeks ago. Mount Maw is located near West Linton and rises to 1755 feet (535m) in the Pentland Hills. Best of all, it involved a two minute drive to base camp. Nae motorways, nae roadworks, nae wee bumps.

Just a relaxed walk in fantastic company.

a blank canvas...

I keep surprising myself with bouts of positivity these days. It feels unusual for me...and I kinda like it...

On paper, I'm unemployed. Unemployed and watching the news about the lack of jobs and unemployment rates being worryingly high...
On paper.

In reality, I am genuinely excited about what is ahead. Looking forward, thinking big, not stressing all that much about l.i.f.e.

These are all new feelings for me; I keep surprising myself, I keep enjoying the feeling.

A blank canvas.

Painting the flat has provided me with a neat metaphor for my life right now. A blue room is now white. The walls are - currently - stark and bare. Waiting for pictures to be hung. Waiting for marks to be made. Blank. Bare. Anything could happen...

It might be a cheesy metaphor but it is working for me. Whilst my life is hardly a blank canvas entirely, with experience and lessons learned, right now at this moment, I am just waiting to try something on.

And I like it!

Change. Personified.

Following my musings in my last post, it seems that the change faeries were well and truly listening...

The past few weeks have brought a job resignation, a car crash, and a whole host of challenging moments for the Anxious Ambler.

There have been a few ambles, but I'm afraid there still hasn't been another Munro. There has, however, been an attempt at another Munro. On November 5th (remember, remember), myself, Dave and my parents were on our way north to tackle Schiehallion. After much discussion since Ben Lomond (and consulting Steve Fallon's 'Easiest Munros' numerous times), it was decided that Perthshire's 'Hill of the Faeries' would make a good second 3000feet-er.

I have to say, the day did start oddly. Partly because I actually enjoyed my porridge for the first time (lots of milk), but mostly because the morning bulletins brought terrible news of an awful car crash in England. Perhaps hindsight is telling me that I felt unsettled that morning; perhaps it was understandable given the foggy conditions.

The fog lifted. The road was wet. The motorway wasn't flowing very smoothly. The sun was beating down. All of a sudden, a car in front (out of sight) braked suddenly. And thus began the braking effect...like a ripple, or a concertina, all the cars behind that one braked sharply. Whilst the original braking fiend drove off into Saturday's sun, we were slamming into the back of the Range Rover in front. Which had totally blocked our view of the original braker. Anyway, to cut a long and quite dramatic (and lets be honest, traumatic) story short, Dad's car was totally written off, the front airbags exploded in all their smokey, dusty glory, and the police and paramedics were in attendance. Luckily we all escaped with very minor injuries...a few sore wrists, some bruises, and achy muscles. I got a fat lip (and later, a scabby lip), and a sore nose from hitting the headrest of the passenger seat in front. Most of all, my first experience of shock, what shock can do to you, physically and mentally, and just how shocking shock is.

We are all wired differently, and we will all react to situations differently. My wires are fairly tight, and panic and anxiety are always close. A situation like that - although minor in the grand scheme of things (oh! life's great tapestry!) - caused me a lot of panic and anxiety.

But time truly is a great healer. Sorry to use another cliche. It just gives you that perspective you need; that ability to step away from a situation, as literally time takes you further from it. It was shocking for us all, the four of us involved and also the wider circle of family and friends.

Shock, panic, relief, inconvenience, discomfort, pain, anxiety, relief, comfort, love, relief.
Lessons learned.

So the second Munro didn't happen. But it will. Now nine days has passed since the crash, and things have got back to normal for the most part. Perhaps it is time to reconsider Schiehallion...

The change faeries got their timing bang on, putting me in a car crash around 15 hours after I posted my resignation from my job...you'll get this irony if you know my job involved driving a bus. Any uncertainty or doubts about this decision were banished by a minor - but significant - accident.

I am excited to see where life takes me next. I have no immediate major plans, and I am embracing that. Trying to.

Come on world, what have you got for me?
I want to write, I want to walk, I want to show the world of Scottish tourism what else I've got, I want to enjoy life, and not worry about things too much. I can dream big, I just need to put it into practice. I've made some big steps this year, some big investments in my future, and some positive changes. I'm now mid-twenties and learning more than ever...

A bruised nose is a good reminder of what life can throw at you, and how you deal with what comes your way. And if life is about to launch you into a headrest...well, just shut your eyes and hope for the best.

I wish to the faeries of life to keep me and my loved ones safe.

There's something in the air...

Ooooops.
And three weeks passed without me being here. Unintentional, and there has been plenty going on. Well, I say plenty; there has been plenty of thoughts floating around my head, but I haven't necessarily done anything about them.

I've been to Skye a few times which has been fantastic. Some wonderful people, some crazy weather, and some fabulous sights. I've seen more sheep than I wanted, but also highland coos, seals, mice, stoats, black guillemots, and lots of other exciting creatures.

The Skye air helps clear my head but it also fills it with so much. I found myself sitting on a rock out at Neist Point (the most westerly place on the island) on Tuesday, being battered by the wind and watching the waves crash off the rocks. There was nobody else in my line of vision; only more rocks, the sea, the sun setting, and a glimpse of the Uists in the distance. Wonderful stuff, and I felt happy.

But I had to drag myself away. It wasn't my time - I was there to work. I had a lovely group of passengers on my tour with me. Six people who were all very chilled out and happy with whatever I showed them. But again, it was work for me. It was not my time, it was not the real me.

There is change swirling like mist around me. Sometimes it embraces me. Sometimes it terrifies me. Change can be a good thing, a bad thing, a blessing, a curse. I have no idea what kind of change this is but it mostly feels okay. Maybe I need to go with it, to learn to move with the winds of change, to let it encircle me, to surround me, to take me to new places...

Change.

Ponderings of a graduate...

There is a quote from The Great Gatsby that has been rolling around my thoughts a fair bit recently. Which in turn reminds me of my second year of university when we studied the novel in, appropriately enough, an American Literature class. In the tutorial group, we each had to give a presentation on one of the novels on the reading list. Two things happened immediately in my head at the same time. One: blind panic. I hate presentations! I hate talking in front of people! I can't do this!! Negative negative negativity. Two: I shotgun Great Gatsby. It is mine. And I got it.

I don't think I had even read it at that point, but it had, of course, been recommended to me by various people. Lecturers in my American Studies degree had proclaimed it their favourite American novel of all time; it had been described to me as the quintessential American story. It was perfect.

And who cannot love the way that Fitzgerald writes. Such compelling characters, and some truly remarkable metaphors. His critique of American society at the time and the demise of the American dream is profound. I greatly enjoyed reading the novel, learning more about it, and viewing the 1974 film. I await with trepidation the efforts of Baz Luhrmann; a modern version of the film is underway in Australia and due to be released around this time next year.

It saddens me that I seem unable to remember a whole lot about my degree these days. I should surely be an expert on American history and literature, having studied them both in great detail for four years. I mostly blame the education system; that we learn and learn and learn in order to pass our exams, and then we do not retain the knowledge. You are taught far more about the style and technique required to write passable essays rather than the knowledge and information that should be going into them. I became well equipped to pad out my essays with the necessary turns-of-phrases. Just like my big brother, who would always go for 'on the other hand' rather than 'however', because four words instead of one got you far closer to the word count.

I partly blame myself; for allowing myself to slip into bad habits in order to pass exams, rather than fighting the system and actually ensuring that I learn. I should be proud of my degree result I am but I can't stop myself from occasionally thinking I could've done better.

However, or should I say on the other hand, I took things from my four years at university that are invaluable. I suppose it is a cliche, but I learnt important life lessons. I will always be glad and grateful that I did my degree; no, I may not be the expert in all things American that perhaps I could've been, but I would never change the experiences I had. Travelling to North Carolina for a study abroad year will always be one of my biggest achievements, and a clear winner (so far) of the acclaimed title of best. year. ever. Crediting myself with bringing "ya'll" and "awesome" to Scotland is something I am very proud of. Treasuring the relationships and friendships with some of the people I met there cannot be underestimated. Friendships that have in turn taken me to some wonderful places in the world, and I am blessed to have made these transatlantic connections.

There are many things that stick with me today - seven years after I hesitantly stepped foot into the Real World - from my time at university. And one of those, perhaps a silly example, pops into my mind occasionally, especially very recently.

During a walk on Gullane beach, a favourite of mine and Daves, we met with some terrifyingly Scottish weather. The wind and rain were behind us as we strolled; the wind louder every time my head turned slightly, the rain unfelt but heard, hitting the back of our jackets. We kept going, aware that the moment we turned for home we would be walking straight into this weather. Eventually, inevitably, that moment came. Still with our backs to Scotland's finest, we zipped every zip and fastened every button we could. Scarves were tightened, hats were pulled down firmly. A quick hug, then hands thrust into pockets as we turned.

The force of the wind in my face instantly brought to mind this quote from The Great Gatsby, and consequently all the thoughts in this post. I know it is a favoured quote of many.

And, by the way, my presentation went wonderfully.

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

a wee Skye selection

Me coming up from Lealt and its ruined diatomite factory

found some sand down at Neist Point!

in preparation for my arrival?!

the Old Man of Storr, and the road I love

not Skye of course, but enroute...Glencoe and its mist

faerie castle and thistles

just the simple things in life...

Still haven't bagged another Munro. Definitely still basking in the glory of the first, despite the fact it was almost a month ago. What do you mean, which Munro are you climbing next? I've climbed one, isn't that enough??

Plus we've had an almost heatwave here in Scotland, and I definitely don't want to climb mountains in the sunshine. Heaven forbid, I might get views!! Nah, I'd much prefer to wait for those perfectly crisp fresh chilly Scottish days. And we certainly get plenty of those at this time of year.

I spent a fantastic few days on Skye last weekend, where the air was hazy and there was a distinct chill that you could feel right to your very bones. The kind of days that make you long for bowls of hot soup and to sit by a fire somewhere. It was simply perfect. Whoever said "Skye is not an island, but an intoxication" had it spot on.

The past few weeks have been quite quiet. I've filled my time (and the freezer) making endless pots of soup. Totally prepared for the winter. Itching to make more but I've run out of tupperware boxes!

I've been walking walking walking. Wee walks, and longer ones, just to build up my fitness for the potential Munros to come. I have enjoyed walking along the Union Canal near my flat, as far as I feel like going, and then back again. There is always something different to see; whether it be the Edinburgh schools out rowing training (endless entertainment as they struggle not to crash into each other), or just watching the exhausting varieties of people; walking, cycling, rowing, sitting, running, looking.

You pass through numerous different parts of Edinburgh, and you can feel the transition between them. The sights change, the people change, the feelings change. One day I instantly felt that I'd walked too far, mostly because I had absolutely no clue where I was. (And still don't).

Ever so occasionally people will nod at you as you walk past them. There is a lot of etiquette involved in canalside walking, especially as cyclists try to manoeuvre their way round you. Sometimes you will get a thank you, mostly you will not. But my favourite moment of last week was passing an old gentleman, who looked like he was probably a fantastic grandpa to his lucky grandchildren. I just got that feeling. He was walking slowly, oblivious to the bikes whizzing past him. I could tell he, like me, was tickled by the rowing efforts of the kids out on the water. The sun was shining, it was warm, yet he still had has jacket and hat on. As we passed each other, he acknowledged me. It was flashing through my thoughts to acknowledge him, just as he nodded to me, and said 'lovely day'. It just gave me such a feeling of warmth inside. I can't describe why, but if you know the feeling you will know exactly what I mean. Perhaps I felt glad that this elderly chap would have his faith restored in the 'youf' of today, that some of us are actually quite nice and respect our elders. (Can I count myself as'youth' at 25? I hope so.) But mostly I felt, and this is probably quite a deep thought for such a minor exchange, that it was heartwarming, in this cynical world where everybody is so busy in their own lives, that two strangers could pass each other by a canal and say hello.

It is the simple things in life.

Like putting cards in the post for scattered friends.

Or that first bite of your haggis burrito.

Like walking on the beach with the rain behind you; you can't feel it but you can hear it hitting the back of your jacket.

Or singing along to Fleetwood Mac (who you have only recently discovered are fantastic) with your boyfriend.

And best of all, simply breathing in - and being intoxicated by - that Skye air.

That's where I'm spending this weekend too....

a slower week

Definitely been in a funk this week. Unsure of exactly why, which in turn means it is always harder to shake off. Partly I want to blame being tired; but I don't want to whine.

Hold on a minute, this is my blog. I can whine all I want to. (I re-read that in my head to the tune of 'It's my party and I'll cry if I want to' - thanks Mum and Dad for always having a song for every occasion).

Last week brought a post-Munro glow which meant I could justify any lazy moments; comforted by the knowledge that I had conquered the 184th highest mountain in Scotland.

I did go swimming, but was almost bullied out of the pool. I really don't want to rant but I go to the pool based on the schedule they provide. I avoid times when there are school lessons, because the lanes are removed and it becomes a 'free for all'. Last Monday, a bunch of spotty school kids turned up who weren't on the schedule (cue tutting and sighing from those of us in the pool. I do take pride that I can swim - albeit slowly - and be visibly pissed off at the same time). The staff - who obviously were aware of the planned lesson - thus removed the lanes, and the real fun began. I stayed right to the edge of the pool, and was quite happy going up and down. But as more and more people joined the fray, what should've been an exercise in relaxation and, well, exercise, became socially aggravating. People just started swimming towards me!! I thought I was being helpful sticking to the one place and keeping my imaginary lane; turns out everyone else far preferred the fun of dodging each other and seeing just how many feet they could touch on each length (hardly a length - more of a squiggle). Infuriating. And hard as I tried to keep my territory through will-power and sheer determination (unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it is just not the done thing to pee in pools anymore), I got plain fed up of having to dodge people. I was out.

But it was okay. I could justify a 40 minute swim (instead of the hour I was aiming for), because I had climbed the 184th highest mountain in Scotland just a few days before. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I at least thought I could shout it loud enough so the cellist through the wall could hear me.

I met my cousin, his girlfriend and their gorgeous baby for a delicious tapas lunch (baby did not join in). I met with my boss. I met with my good friend from North Carolina. We enjoyed a delicious lunch at Mum's (formerly Monster Mash) on Forrest Road, complete with haggis, amazing strawberry cider, and good conversation. I went to a few appointments. I filled my week, I felt positive.

But this week has been far quieter, far slower, and although I wouldn't say it was a necessarily a negative week, it has been far less positive.

I did bask, for a short time, in the glow of another walking achievement. The forecast for last weekend was dreich; wet, and wild. So it was decided, a walk along the coast would be perfect. The route was set; Crail to St Andrews, a mere eleven mile walk. Off we set, around 10am on Saturday morning from a sunny cloudy Crail; Mum, Dad, a few of their good friends (good walking company!), and my man and me.

A reprieve for the Anxious Ambler - not a mountain in sight! But the walk brought its fair share of anxiety for me; from walking alongside some fine Links golf courses on the Fife coast, desperate not to disturb that rare angry beast we could see doted all over - the native golfer, to the injured cow passed out with tongue lolling on the sand. I was anxious that I'd come prepared for the awful weather, yet it was strangely warm, and the sun beating down on us made me sweat even more in my wet weather gear. Now I understand why Helly Hansen is known to most as Smelly Hansen. I was anxious that I'd started the day on two croissants (obviously saving the porridge for serious walks), and now it was almost lunchtime with no sign of St Andrews and no food - apart from a few Werthers Originals rolling around in my pocket. And all that was before we reached the sign that said 'St Andrews: 7 and a half miles'.

It truly was a lovely day though, so on we went.

Though it was tough walking along the sand, we appreciated even more the interlude into the woods, near Boarhills, and our pace quickened. Hunger pangs and the threat of dark clouds also increased that pace...

The toughest part came near the end. With St Andrews almost in sight, like a cruel mirage in the distance that taunted us at the same time as it beckoned us towards it, we trudged up wee - but steep - hills, and back down again. It rained briefly, but we also had a lovely rainbow. Which of course reminded me of one of my favourite bits from The Office, where Ricky Gervais (as David Brent of course) quotes Dolly Parton: 'If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.' Not just a quality quote, but made even funnier by Brent's quick-witted description of good ol' Dolly, as Office fans will know :)

Around six hours after we left Crail, we finally arrived in St Andrews. Not eleven miles, but in fact fourteen and a half. Much like not being able to see the top of Ben Lomond, I was glad not to have known the full length of the walk prior to setting off. That extra three and a half miles would have made it a totally different ballgame.

A grand day out. Good company, good weather, good views. Yes, a certain amount of anxiety, and a wee bit of rain, but as always, a large amount of achievement. And also a large amount of pain.

A full twelve hours after our 2 croissants, a delicious Indian takeaway and a few beers were enjoyed. There followed a fairly solid sleep, punctured occasionally by moments of what felt like agony, and then a perfect dreary Sunday spent watching Casablanca whilst curled up in a blanket. Here's looking at you kid...

But a sore back and sore hips has plagued me since, and I've felt less motivated this week. It is amazing how much tiredness can affect one's mindset. Or am I just whining...

After all, if you want the rainbow...

a favourite photo

Taken on the way to St Andrews (see next post). The remnants of a long-lost pirate ship perhaps...

one down, 282 to go!!

I think it is important for me to mention that this is absolutely not a blog about Munro bagging. That being said, I will be writing about each Munro as it happens...but nae technical stuff mind, just the Anxious Ambler's authentic experiences of each mountain.

Think of me as a blogging bagger, not a bagging blogger. And now we've cleared that up...

Last Friday (the 9th of September) I bagged my first Munro!!

Awoke early feeling groggy, and achy. My hips were sore; I blame swimming and possibly lugging luggage up into Edinburgh's old town a few days prior, helping a good North Carolinian friend who has moved to this fair city. But there was also a hint of excitement in the air, of nervous energy, of, dare I say it, anxious anticipation...

I started the day as I'm sure all Munro climbers do. Breakfast. I mention it because I'm not really a breakfast kinda gal. But even I know that you need fuel in the car when you're going up a 3,000foot mountain. It had to be a Scottish breakfast - no, not an unhealthy fry-up (who said Scotland has a bad diet??), but the food of the gods - porridge. Microwaveable porridge, no less. Only it was so hot I couldn't eat it for at least 10 minutes. And I won't lie, mid-way through the bowl I really had to force it down. I kept thinking to myself, its mountain fuel, its mountain fuel. I think me and porridge will have to work really hard on our relationship...

Met Mum and the wee-est brother Ross at Hillend, before making our way 'oot west' towards Loch Lomond. I told Mum to drive fast, before the porridge wore off.

It was a horrible day. Misty, wet, or to use a better word - dreich. I love how the Scottish language (as it is, after all, a language, nae a dialect!) gives you such appropriate words, that really sound as they mean, and mean as they sound. Dreich. I love how the Scottish weather presenters use it. I don't love how frequently they use it, but it truly is perfect. And thats what it was that day, pure dreich.

It took us about an hour and a half to get out to Rowardennan, the start of the walk. The forecast was optimistic, the mist was to clear later in the day, and we felt that after travelling all the way out there, it would be foolish not to attempt the climb.

And off we went.

It was hard. I was under no illusions that it was going to be easy, but it was far harder than I had imagined. I'd heard a lot about Ben Lomond, about the tourist track to the top, how it was a "motorway of Glaswegians" all the way. I was also aware that for many people, it is the first Munro they do. It is the most southerly of them all. So perhaps with all these thoughts in my mind, I thought I'd find it easier than I did. But, to give myself credit, I'm not fit, and regardless of how "easy" the terrain is, Ben Lomond is still a mountain over 3,000feet, and you're not that far from sea level either.

Thank goodness we could not see the summit at any moment of the climb. There were a few hilarious moments where we thought we were further up than we were ("this must be half-way!!"). Mind you, we only realised how wrong we had been on the way back down, when visibility was more than 3 metres. Had we realised how much was still to go, how much was still ahead of us, and how steep it was...well, physically and mentally it would have been tough. As strange as it may seem, I was immensely glad we couldn't see very far in front of ourselves.

Most of all, I was very aware of going through different phases of the climb. Not just physical things, like the change of terrain, the change of weather that occasionally enabled us to have some views, or the change of gradient, but also changes in the way I saw the climb. Emotional changes, from feeling up for the challenge, to feeling demoralised by the seemingly never-ending effort it required, to ultimately the feeling of...I can't give up, I just can't. But should I be this out of breath? This sweaty? This unfit??

The moment a strand of hair brushed my lips and I tasted salt in my hair I knew I was really struggling.

It seemed like it would go on forever. Two hours had passed since we left Rowardennan, and still no way we were even close. Needless to say, there weren't many people on the mountain that day, but those we did see were very encouraging. The mountain camaraderie is something not to be underestimated. The banter mainly centered on the tremendous "views" we would certainly not get from the top.

The last bit was the hardest. Every person we passed said we were close. Yet we couldn't see anything more than a few steps ahead of us. How would we know where the summit was, and when we would get there?! It was the most surreal experience, but what a buzz. And then eventually:




the summit of Ben Lomond, my very first Munro

 We did not spend long at the top. You couldn't see a thing. But what the hell, I already know what Loch Lomond looks like. It seemed unfair and disproportionate to have taken two and a half hours to get to the summit and then spend less than two and a half minutes up there, but the swirling mist, wind and rain made me cold to my very soul. Plus, we still had to have lunch.

So off we went back down! The descent was tough going. Buoyed slightly by deliciously squished sandwiches, a few swigs of Miller (ok not quite champagne but indeed the champagne of beers...or so they say - they being Miller of course), and the sense of achievement, we made our way down. It took about two hours to get down, and it was utterly miserable. The sheer pain; in the knees and the hips most of all. They were like jelly. I longed for it to be over.

Thankfully, we got some amazing views on the way back down (typical!). I just love the clouds in Scotland. They do such different things every single day, and so no view is ever the same. We got some particularly nice cloud movements on the descent:

Five hours after we had started, Mum, Ross, and me made it back to the car. We ached all over. We were wet; through equal measures of sweat and moisture from the mist. Our feet hurt, our boots were muddy. But we'd done it.

Despite the fact it was so hard, and so miserable at so many moments, the feeling of getting to the top was a buzz like no other. It must be what gets people hooked on this.

Pain, but lots and lots of pride.

The Munro Plan

I've had a lot of time to think recently. Sometimes I go round in circles; sometimes I make some progress.

I'm determined to "kick the habit" and the habit for me is anxiety. I have never known how to define my way of thinking, until recently, when life has taken a totally different route than the one I thought I was on.

It is a good thing though. I finally feel ready to do something about it.

So I've been filling my time: sleeping, reading, baking, swimming, walking, meeting friends.

And wanting, more than anything, to write.

I've always been unable to write the first sentence. The first sentence is my Everest. I don't know why it is so difficult; probably because there is so much I want to say and yet I don't know where to begin.

Blogging is something I have always wanted to do. I hope to write books one day, and I'm starting here.

So that explains the blog, and the anxious part of my title. But the ambler? Well, a couple of weeks ago I woke up (always a good start), and my activity for the day was climbing Arthurs Seat in Edinburgh, an extinct volcano that dominates the skyline. Mum and I were planning lunch at the top (you just cannot beat squashed sandwiches). The day before, I'd just finished a hilarious book called The Hills are Stuffed With Swedish Girls, by Richard Happer. It is all about walking the West Highland Way; a challenging 95 mile walk from just outside Glasgow to Fort William. I sometimes feel very lazy, and feel the need to challenge myself more. So I thought about making my blog about my attempts to climb the WHW.

But thats just one walk! Sure it would take me over a week to do, but it would be the shortest blog in history! So I needed something more challenging, with a bit more blog-able longevity. And so my thoughts went immediately to....Munro bagging.

A Munro. A mountain in Scotland over 3,000 feet (914 metres) high. Named after Sir Hugh Munro; who never actually climbed them all, but published an initial list in 1891. There are 283 of them, the highest being Ben Nevis - at 4,406 feet it is the highest mountain in Britain. Actually until recently there were 284 of them; they are constantly being re-evaluated and re-assessed. So now one has gone from the list, I figure this is as good a time as any to start bagging them.

I am quite unfit, despite the fact that in my younger days I was, as my family will tell you, a keen runner. I used to play volleyball, hockey, and badminton. But then I got lazy. The pursuit of beer, boys, and broader horizons seemed more appealing (sorry Mum). I always feel guilty that I lost my fitness (lets be clear though, I was never that fit, I was always the red-faced sweaty girl).

And so, in an effort to challenge myself, to get fitter, and to have something to blog about, the Munro Plan was born.

Many people have done many Munros. But I wonder if anyone has been quite as anxious as me about them. I intend to amble up these beastly beautiful mountains, no doubt full of anxiety, until I've had enough. Now that be until the day I am cured of my anxious thinking (well, I've got to think positive, there's a cure...right?); or that may be the day I've done them all...but I rather hope it is the day I become a world famous published author and I can retire. I almost wrote 'retire to a villa in the south of France'...that may be the dream of some, but Scotland is my land. And I intend to stay here, in this beautiful, wonderful country.

But maybe I'll take a helicopter to the top of Ben Nevis....

So come with me, the Anxious Ambler, on a journey around Alba, to far flung places with insane weather. Walk with me, sweat with me, struggle with me, and make it to the summit with me.

Sirens and seagulls...

On another anxious day, I was sitting in my flat trying to read. I can't remember whether I was attempting my Overcoming Anxiety book, or whether it hadn't yet arrived in the post.

Anyway, each passing minute brought new and different noises. I have noticed recently in Edinburgh that it is rare not to hear a siren going off somewhere in the city. Not necessarily near me, as it is a fairly quiet part of town when it comes to crime *touch wood*, but just somewhere close enough that I can hear it.

Then comes the barking. Someone from a nearby flat appears to be attempting to train a dog in the communal patch of grass outside. Dog objects to being raised in residential Edinburgh...

The seagulls start their merry music. Sqawk....sqawk....SQAWK, as they soar over the rooftops. And when I say soar, I really mean scramble. There is nothing majestic about seagulls. They are loud, and they are annoying.

Through the wall, a cellist plays. Now this is interesting, because they are in the building next to us. So I have no idea what sex this person is or what he or she looks like. They are a faceless neighbour. And they really love their cello. Whether it is 9am on a Saturday morning, or 10.45pm on a Tuesday night, the cello gets action. And whilst you may think this would be enjoyable to hear, it has become extremely tiresome. I can hear it right now.

Above me, the sound of heavy feet clomp over the new oak floors in the flat above. A year of noisy noisy noisy renovation (and our kitchen and bathroom being flooded) and the guy upstairs has chosen to forego the friendly traditional carpet in favour of the new trendy barenaked wooden effect. Stylish, sure. Noisy, yes. I don't particularly need to imagine where and why he paces.

So I thought to myself, when was the last time I heard actual silence? All these noises individually are short-term and not that annoying. Yet all at once, altogether, when you are just trying to read in peace, are incredibly frustrating.

And ok, I'll admit it, they make me anxious.

It was during a talk by photographer Colin Prior in Kinross earlier this year that I first thought about actual silence. He asked the question; when was the last time you had literally no noise in your life? Nothing. No outside noise, not even wind, just pure and unspoiled silence.

I realised how rare that is these days, and how underestimated it is.

I sometimes find it here.

Who knew shopping for a book could be so stressful?

Imagine you are about to buy a new book. Quite an exciting event for many, including me. You anticipate its untouched pages; just waiting to be bent out of shape, to have its corners folded over, to be smeared with your fingerprints, to have rings from endless cups of tea and coffee imprinted on its cover. There is just something magical about buying a new book. Shiny. Crisp. Yours.


Imagine that new book has been recommended to you. The anticipation builds! You know it will be worth buying. Useful, thought-provoking, hopefully enjoyable!


Imagine you have searched online and the shop you are heading to has that book available! Oh, the wonders of modern technology; you know before you get there that the book is in stock. Those magical words. It is there...waiting for YOU.


Sure, you could order it online. But you want it in your hand, that day. Hey, the shop is a mere half an hour walk away. You need some fresh air. You can be reading your very own copy of the book this very day!!
Off you go.


And when you arrive at the shop, having fought your way through crowds of people (August, Edinburgh, busy), you have to catch your breath before you enter. It is a rather large shop. But you know from past experience where the section is you are looking for. It is upstairs; not just one set of stairs, but two. Worth it, worth it, worth it, you chant to yourself as you pant on the uphill climb.


You get to the right section. Breathe, recover composure, find book.


But imagine the book you are looking for is nowhere to be seen. You search nearby shelves; certain that its catchy title will, indeed, catch your eye. Nothing.


Frustrated, you seek help. You approach the nearest desk and, flustered, you muster the following words to the reasonably helpful-looking member of staff:
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a book, I searched online before I got here, and you have it in stock, only I've got here and I don't see it, and I wondered if you could help me, and maybe find the book, and I'm sure its here, thanks, cheers"
"No problem, what is the title of the book you are looking for?"
"Ah, um, well you see, its called, um, Overcoming Anxiety"
"Ok, I'll just have a look for you......yes, it seems to be in stock, follow me and I'll get it for you".


Reasonably helpful member of staff then takes you right back to where you were and proceeds to search in exactly the same way you did, just those five minutes ago. And despite his super insider member of staff knowledge, he can't find it either!!


"Oh. I'm very sorry, it seems to have been moved from where it should be. It is definitely in stock, it must be in the store somewhere. There's no way of knowing where exactly it is. You should probably order it online. Sorry."


And off he goes.


Feeling frustrated? Annoyed? Wanting to start hunting round the whole store to find who the hell has your book? Perhaps even slightly anxious? Where is the book????

Imagine all those feelings. Then scroll back up this post a bit, and re read the title of the book I was searching for that day.
Overcoming anxiety.
Test number one: spectacular fail.