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...
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