mountain Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

“It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves”

Anna — Tue, 02 Aug 2016 18:21:00 +0000

I ONLY FLIPPING DID IT!!! Seriously, I did it. It took 6 hours 20 minutes, (EDIT Rory’s fancy watch tells us we did it in just over 5 hours!) one almost panic attack, one cry, one toilet break, a banana, a cereal bar, water, chipped nail varnish, a lot of “sorry”, “shit” and “Whoaaaa ‘king hell” and one massive “SHIT ON IT” But I did it. Firstly, I would like to advise anyone planning a jaunt up Snowdon that 7am is NOT early enough to get a parking space. Despite my best laid plans, that mountain was flipping busy at that time and the car park was full! Climbing folk are a REALLY eager bunch. I barely slept the night before, I was proper awake from 5am, clearly VERY excited to get my PE kit on (the most uncomfortable outfit I’ve ever worn). I got up, put on my super glittery shoes and was ready to rock. It was these laces that got me through. We decided to follow the Miner’s track, I was sure I had read this was an easier route. That wasn’t the case! It started beautifully, a gradual incline, past a couple of lakes. We could take in the views across the valley. There was a pretty waterfall. Perfect! Then I noticed some people up there, WAAAAAAYYYYYY up there. “Is that where we’re meant to go?” “Yes” ‘Hmmmmm’ I wondered ‘How will we get up there? Maybe the path swoops round and up or something’. No. There was no swooping. The track stops at the bottom and it becomes “a hard climb over scree” (wish I’d read the Internet properly before) I don’t know what scree is, I’m guessing it means ‘lots of rocks and difficult stuff’. Now I knew it was going to be hard but I think I had convinced myself it would be a tough uphill walk on uneven terrain, I don’t think I’d realised I’d have to do actual climbing on actual rocks. The worse thing is they just let anyone pootle on up and try. I’m sure that’s a health and safety issue or something. I’m not a big fan of heights, I couldn’t look up to where we were headed as it made me start to fall over backwards (no idea WHAT that’s about, it’s this weird thing that happens when I look up at high things) so I just had to focus and push on. All the while Rory was super patient and brilliant. After a few hair raising moments I made it to the top and…… It was misty. I couldn’t see a sodding thing. I didn’t feel a sense of elation. I don’t know what I expected, I think it was such a big deal to me that maybe I hoped the clouds would part, sunlight would stream down onto me and choirs of Angels would sing Alleluia. I’ll be honest, I REALLY thought Rory would propose to me once I’d made it to the top. He’d be so proud of me he’d just have to marry me! Instead it was grey, cold and wet and I was petrified as I didn’t know how I was going to get down. I have this thing where I can get into a loft or up a tree just fine but I can’t get back down once I realise how high up I am. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do the scramble down if I could see how high up I was so I did what any self respecting, middle aged woman would do. I cried a minute then rang my mum (bizarrely the best mobile reception I had in Wales was atop that mountain) then I pulled myself together, or rather Rory presented me with a badge and spoke to me in his ‘serious’ voice. The badge I didn’t go to the actual summit (it’s like a stone staircase to a nubbin on top of the mountain) as it was very small and I was sure I’d fall off. I was also really pissed off that the summit was full of people in white trousers, sun hats and Birkenstock’s who had taken the train to the top and were taking victorious pictures on the summit as if they’d actually climbed the sodding mountain. I’d done blood, sweat and tears. They’d got a train. Theirs was a victory of LIES. Me at the bottom of the summit whilst those who got the train took photos of fake glory. #notbitter After some encouragement from Rory, I made it back down the mountain in one piece and even managed a chuckle to myself when I realised that on the way up I was all “Ohh look at the lovely lake” and on the way back I was all “FUCKSAKE HOW BIG DOES A LAKE NEED TO BE?” But I was a bit sad because I didn’t feel proud of myself. I felt cross with myself for being scared. I felt cross with myself for crying. I felt cross with myself for not thinking the (cloud obscured) view was worth it. I felt cross with myself for not doing it faster. But I didn’t feel pride. It was done, the thing I had been fretting about and looking forward to and dreading was done and I felt nothing but tired. On Sunday I told anyone who asked that I hated it, it was the worst thing I’d ever done and I’d never do it again. I think I even declared it worse than the 31 hours labour with Aoife (and that was a pretty shitty time). We went for a self congratulatory meal and well deserved beer, then continued our minibreak in the way that normal people do. Celebration drink, I discovered Snowdon Craft Lager and fell in love. A ride on a steam train, talking about the children, talking to the children and looking at pictures of the children. As we came home today, Rory drove past Snowdon, we couldn’t see it for the mist but it happened. I felt a twinge of pride. “BLOODY HELL I CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN!” It suddenly washed over me, I was proud of myself and I had the right to be proud of myself. It wasn’t a cure for cancer. It wasn’t a selfless act that helped thousands of other people. It was something that many other people have done. But it was my challenge and I overcame it and now I was proud. I even caught myself saying to Rory “Next time we do it I’ll…….” I walked from the hill at the far right of the picture, Past the lake, Yes that is MILES. Unfortunately, this pride seems to be manifesting itself in me pointing at ANY peak, within England and Wales, and saying “You see that? I climbed higher than that”. It’ll get boring quick. For everyone else. Not me I climbed right up that. RIGHT UP IT

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Off up a mountain, BRB

Anna — Sat, 30 Jul 2016 18:20:00 +0000

After a lengthy trip from North Yorkshire we have arrived in Wales! From the minute we crossed the border I’ve pointed to pretty much every hill and said to Rory “Is that it?” None of them have been it yet but they’ve all been pretty frickin’ big, apparently it’s bigger. EEEEEK I know I’ve gone on about it a fair bit but this is my blog and I can do what I want, also this going up a mountain lark IS a big deal to me. Some people have implied I won’t make it up, others have implied it’s a piece of piss and not that big a deal. But to me it’s massive. Not just literally. I’ve admitted before, I’m fat. I’m fine with that. Well I’m not, I hate it but that’s what I am right now and I’ve got to live with it until I can change it. I’ve always been fat, for as long as I can remember, even when I got down to a size 12 I thought I was really fat. I don’t think there’s any pleasing me. Anyway, as much as I know folk have so many better things to concern themselves than me, I’ve always had this weird kind of hang up. I don’t like to eat in public. A restaurant isn’t so bad but I’d never pick up a sandwich or cake from a bakery and eat it in a public place. Why? Because I honestly think that people will look and think “she’s so fat she doesn’t need to be eating that” In the same way I’ve always pretended I’m absolutely not interested in running or doing active stuff. It’s ‘not my thing’ but in reality I’d really quite like to. I often think it’d be nice to run or play a sport or frolic in a meadow, the problem is I go a shade of red when I exercise. Not just red,more a maroon colour! Not only am I fat and wobbly but I’m bright red too, like a beacon. Not a good look. Now I know, I KNOW other people aren’t looking at me but my brain tells me otherwise and I am so scared that someone will say something mean and I’ll feel so ashamed of myself and so I avoid this scenario. A few weeks back, I went paintballing for my brothers birthday, I wanted to go but I also really didn’t. I thought I’d end up sat in the middle of a forest being shot as I was the easy target. It was actually brilliant fun. I loved it, (to my surprise). I had to draw the line at Go Ape for my best friends birthday though. Ropes can break with too much weight, I’m not a fan of heights either. Anyway, I digress. Paintballing was so much fun I opened my mind to doing other active stuff and that’s how I’m sat here in Snowdonia, drinking wine, putting glittery laces in my ugly shoes (thank you Lilpot) and preparing to climb Snowdon tomorrow. We will be heading up that bad boy at 7 am in hope that it will be pretty quiet. I will wear a face full of make up, not because I’m vain, but because I feel so shockingly fat and uncomfortable in the walking ‘gear’ that I need to at least feel like my face is it’s normal self. I will struggle to do it because I am unfit. I will moan and whinge all the way because that’s how I roll. It will be a massive challenge for me, psychologically more than physically. I know fitter people than me will trot up like mountain goats like it’s a mere blip on the horizon. But I WILL do it and I will try so hard not to listen to my brain telling me that folk are looking at me a judging me when they’re not. And if anyone DOES have the lack of manners to say something mean, I’m going to push them down the mountain and pretend it wasn’t me…..

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“Blessed are the curious for they shall have adventures”

Anna — Tue, 26 Jul 2016 18:21:00 +0000

We’re two days into the school holidays and I’m actually quite looking forward to climbing that mountain at the weekend just for a bit of bloody peace! Aoife is tired, I think she needs to sleep for a week. As we’ve learnt, a tired (or hungry) Aoife is a grumpy Aoife. She is talking a lot but saying very little and on the rare occasions she has run out of things to say she just makes noises. Or sings. It’s constant! She starts asking for lunch at 8.30 am (after her two and a half course breakfast). She starts asking for dinner before she’s even finished her lunch! Then “What can I have on Thursday?” “On Thursday?” “Yes on Thursday, for dinner” “Aoife man, we’ve not finished Tuesday yet!” Aoife is also spending a lot of time next to me. Like RIGHT next to me. Like ‘I can’t move one side of my body as she’s attached to me’, next to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddles with her and that she wants to be with me but I get a little claustrophobic when she’s RIGHT THERE. “If you’re happy and you know it tap your head….why aren’t you tapping your head?” “Because I’m making you more flipping food!” Meanwhile, Seth is becoming increasingly frustrated because he is still a boy of very few words and I’m a Mummy who sometimes just can’t guess what he wants. I have come to realise that a plastic cup thrown at me means “Mummy, could you kindly fill this receptacle with a beverage for I am rather thirsty”. Being shoved towards the kitchen means “Could you be a doll and prepare me some dinner please?” At the dinner table, a shove or kick of my right elbow translates as “Please put more food in my face”. Unfortunately I still don’t know what ‘shrill scream’ means and I can’t change a DVD quite fast enough for his liking. Both of them think that because there’s a lot of me I make a terribly good bouncy castle/ trampoline/crash mat so I’m constantly being dived on. I tried doing a workout with them around, they seemed to think that me doing sit-ups meant “Please, one of you sit on my throat whilst the other elbow drops me in the stomach” And a push up is clearly an invitation to pretend I am a bridge. As I said, that mountain looks VERY appealing and I’m strangely looking forward to it now. We’ve booked a lovely little cottage, right in the middle of a field. It looks gorgeous and cosy. The kind of place that a British horror film would be made, you know the one. Lovely, peaceful surroundings. Calm and relaxing. The children aren’t there, the silence is deafening. You let your guard down, there’s no one around. You leave the door open to let in a breeze…. NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM. That kind of place. No children though. Perfect. On Sunday I put on my ugly shoes to ‘wear them in’, a professional walking term I believe. I got them on eventually after tripping over them and nearly putting my hip out (seriously, I’m getting injured before I even leave Leeds, I wasn’t feeling positive)! I feel ridiculous in them, like the love child of Herman Munster and Wreck it Ralph. It’s like I lose all control of my feet and crush everything in my path. My PE kit is all clingy and unflattering to anyone with a wobbly bit (of which I have a few) I’m hoping this works in my favour and will make me move faster so no one will see me. I ordered everything in black so I’d blend in but now am secretly worried that I’ll fall down a crevice (or canyon would be more my size) and I’ll blend in too much and no one will find me. I can’t imagine Vodafone has great mountain coverage. My mum is lending me a waterproof jacket to complete the sexy mountain ensemble and I’ve absolutely drawn the line at a ‘fleece’ *retch*. Rory says we don’t need a compass as neither of us know how to use one anyway. I hope he’s right or the poor lad will be getting in the ear for ETERNITY if he loses me. Or maybe that’s his hope. I’ve dyed my roots, painted my nails and dug out my waterproof eyeliner. I’m ready to rock and roll (hopefully not literally). Do me a favour, if I’ve not updated my blog by Friday 5th could you please alert the relevant authorities. I’ll probably be up Snowdon, blending in in black and weeping, send one of those wine dogs!

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“I am a mountain, I am a sea, You can’t take that away from me”

Anna — Tue, 05 Jul 2016 09:11:00 +0000

Something strange is happening and I don’t like it. Not one bit. It started a few weeks ago, I noticed that my hair was starting to thin on one side of my head. DEVASTATED. I don’t have much going for me but I really liked my hair. And my nose. A week or so later my brother and his girlfriend got engaged. HOORAY. I was so happy for them, they’ve decided to get married in 2018 which is brilliant. ‘I’ll be 40 then’ I thought. 40. I’ve already mentioned in previous posts that I’m not one of those slim humans. So, this realisation over a couple of days made my brain go “You’re approaching 40, you’re fat, you’re balding and you’re unmarried. Well done love” (my brain is a hateful thing) FUCKING FUCK. Needless to say I had a few days when I was in a bit of a funk and I think it’s around this time the ‘thing’ happened. Every Wednesday evening my friend and I go for a walk. An attempt to do fit type activity and an hour away from the house and children. We call it ‘Walk it Wednesday’, catchy right? One particular WiW I found myself saying “I saw there’s a 5k colour run on October 1st, shall we sign up?” Now, here’s where E was meant to say laugh hysterically and say “No, fool.” But she didn’t. She said “Yes” Gutted. I hate running. And physical activity. And sweating. And people throwing stuff at me. I went home and signed us up, cursing my mouth for being louder than my brain (which was currently going “WTF Anna?! Not your brightest idea). Rory was delighted. He’s one of those terribly sporty types. He gets grumpy if he doesn’t play football or go for a run a few times a week. If we’re in a park and people are playing football you can see him pulling at an invisible leash, wanting to run over and join in. The look of delight in his face if the ball comes near him is wonderful! The glee as he kicks it back to the group! He is diametrically opposite to me. So if I announce I’ll do something exercisey he is over the moon and I feel obliged to see it through. My parents have offered to have the children for a few days at the start of the Summer holidays. BRILLIANT. We decided we’d definitely take a well earned, long overdue mini break, just the two of us. We threw lots of ideas into the pot. Rome, Greece, Italy,Croatia, Germany… Lots of far flung places. Then last night, just as we were falling asleep… Mouth – “For our mini break we could do one of those three peaks things you do” Brain – *wakes up with a start* “WTactualF? We were going to sleep!” Mouth – “We’ll have to do it slow, like over two days” Brain – “JUST STOP TALKING, CHRIST MAN WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT!!!” The damage was done, in the dark I could hear Rory’s eyes light up. He started saying things like “Ben Nevis” and “Snowdon” they sound like proper mountain names (neither are in the Lake district as far as I’m aware). Ben Nevis. OK,maybe not but I should imagine it looks a lot like this. Then he started talking about ‘proper walking boots’ and how cropped jeans wouldn’t be appropriate walking attire. My whole self was awake now. Not only do I hate physical activity, I also hate hills. HATE THEM. I like looking at them. I like being up the top of them. I like the view. I just hate getting up them. I also hate ugly footwear. I hate Ugg boots, Crocs and gladiator sandles. I certainly hate walking shoes. No one ever in the history of humankind has said “You know what would complete that outfit? A nice pair of walking shoes”. Rory also said that I had no appropriate tops. I’d need *wretch* a FLEECE!. A fleece! A fleece! I did a sick in my mouth just looking at it. I’m not professing to be the most glamorous or stylish person by any stretch of the imagination but I DO Know aesthetics and what is pretty. A fleece isn’t pretty unless you’re a sheep. I AM NOT SHEEP. Instead of looking for sunshine, culture and cuisine, I am now looking for a hotel or lodge near a mountain. Hopefully with a bath and a seating area for Rory to dump me in the following day when I can no longer move. So, to sum it up. I’m apparently having a midlife crisis. I’m suggesting exercise activities in a ‘fun’ capacity. My wardrobe is going to be adjusted to include ‘functional’ and ‘practical’ clothing that will, without a doubt, look middle aged and serve to make me feel older and frumpier. We’ve also established my brain and mouth are no longer connected, indicating that I’m heading to that time in old age where I will say stuff without censoring myself. WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE SEND HELP. AND WINE. AND PRETTY SHOES. EDIT – If you’re at all interested in ‘enjoying’ the full ‘adventure’ (for I’m told that’s what it was) check these out “Blessed are the curious for they shall have adventures” Off up a mountain, BRB “It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves” The Tale of Mummyhood

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