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It’s surprising how fast winter comes in this part of the world.
First it was park-lounging summer at 9pm, then all of a sudden it’s hat and gloves-wearing and toes-chilling winter. Was autumn even here at all?
I realise I’ve been walking A LOT faster lately.
My normally half-hour stroll to the train station in the morning has become a 20 min power walk.
Not that I’m always running late now. It’s just that pumping my legs is the only practical way for me to warm up on these cold mornings.
Cycling, I’ve always enjoyed peddling at a slower pace, esp. if I’m cycling into town, so I don’t end up being hot and sweaty in my (relatively) nice clothes.
But now, because of the cold, I can cycle faster without being too hot, plus I need to cycle faster to warm up and more so that I can get wherever I’m going to get indoors quicker.
Nothing propels me faster than the cold and the darkness. Cycling along the canal is when I peddle the hardest. It’s pitch black on many stretches and isolated stories of random bike robberies and D-lock beatings haunt me home.
People say they exercise and get fit during the summer. But who wants to run around and be in pain when you can lounge about in parks until 10pm?
Conversely, I think my cardio fitness just might make an improvement over the winter. Either that, or I end up gathering fat huddling under the covers. Let’s see how it goes as the world around me starts to freeze over.
I have never been partial to hiking.
To me, hiking conjures up images of middle-aged men with sticks or pretentious people in unnecessarily expensive gear walking up hills in show-off hiking boots.
Hiking is one of the biggest outdoors activities in Hong Kong, and yet I’ve never done it.
I went “trekking” in Nepal once with a group from uni., it didn’t impress me very much. Perhaps it was more to do with the people I went with.
I’ve always found hiking to be a needlessly long, hard, uphill slog; unlike the thrill of beating your opponent to the ball on a pitch, scoring a goal, or saving a few as a goalie. I like being part of an organised strategy, spurts of activity, clear objectives, and elbowing the opponent if need be.
Nasty, Nasty’s dad, and Nasty’s brother (boy,I make them out to be the Nasty Family don’t I?) rented a cottage in Ambleside and spent a week adventuring in the Lake District, north-west England. Encouraged by the thought of free accomodation, I packed my bags and joined them for a 3-day weekend.
They spent the week hiking, scrambling, climbing and mountain biking.
I really wanted to see the hills and lakes of this famed English country-side and if not for walking, I don’t know how else is the best way to see it. I was convinced that my winter duck boots would do the job, but the boys shook their heads and I was dragged to one of the many outdoors gear shops in town. Home to THE largest outdoors shop in England, every other shop in Ambleside is an outdoor clothing/camping gear/climbing gear shop. I would probably not believe you if you tell me there is a higher concentration of such shops elsewhere…
I forked out £40 for my first ever pair of hiking boots, put it on immediately for the hills and braced myself for pain and blisters for the rest of the day. I consoled myself with the fact that they were on sale: down from £80! Woohoo!
For all the action we got that day, not only did it not hurt or give me blisters, it worked perfectly fine! I was very very impressed. No breaking-in needed at all!
If for some reason you are as freakish as I am and think hiking boots is just a gimmick, they made all the difference because they saved me from spraining my ankles at least 15 times. Knowing that you can trudge through bushes, mud, water and rocks without getting your feet wet or cold, or slipping and falling, they give you all the confidence you need to not have to worry all the time about what or where you’re stepping into and can instead focus on enjoying the scenery or even skipping through the fields a la The Sound of Music (which I did try to do, until I realise I was skipping onto piles of sheep poop.)
Over the weekend, I’ve realised that the form of hiking I hate is the continuous tromps through more or less smoothed paths. I get tired, and they bore me to tears. Just a constant never ending repetition of putting one foot in front of the other.
The reason I have been converted this time round, is the fact that the trails were anything but smooth. It was a constant negotiation up and down rocky paths, going on your hands and knees up and round boulders, crossing streams and puddles, avoiding sheep poop but stepping into mud holes, scrambling up rock faces and trying not to look down and realise that if I lose my hold, that just might be the end of my life.
It rained, I was hot, I was wet, my hands were cold, and I was tired. It was certainly uphill, but I wasn’t bored. It was challenging and you get a sense of acheivement from reaching the top in ways you never thought you could.
I’ve never scrambled before, and didn’t know it was an activity on its own until now. A sort of middle ground between hiking and actual climbing, I think of it as something like crawling up hill. Hmm.
I think if my hike involves some sort of scrambling, then I’m a happy bunny. Or sheep.
My first brilliant hike though, eventually turned into the Hike From Hell when we couldn’t find the trail down. Nasty’s dad abandoned us thinking that we’ve made our way down and the three of us were left lost in the mountains with a million sheep, Nasty yelling obcenities into the air, the brother declaring that it was the worst day ever, and me thinking we’ll all need a shot of vodka each when we get down.
Trying to find the trail, we clambered up rocks and pushed through knee-high bushes along the sides of the steep hills, which effectively killed my knees and ankles, at which point I was in quite a bad mood. A planned one-hour descent turned into 4 hours and eventually we gave up trying to find the darned trail and decided to go down the mountain whichever way we could. We settled into following a rocky stream downhill, which turned out to be The Descent From Hell.
This is one of the last photos I took of the day, because afterwards, I became the Very Unhappy Hiker In Pain. Without something to scale, the photo doesn’t do justice to how big, long and difficult that rocky stream was and how hellish it was trying to negotiate it in sorry knees and half-rolled ankles. In protest, my knees wanted to just sit down and call Mountain Rescue. Nasty said it wouldn’t be very wise. But I argued that I pay my taxes, plus wouldn’t it be cool to ride in a helicopter? It was just very frustrating to be able to see where you want to go, but not being able to get there.
All we were trying to do was get down that bloody valley and we ended up climbing over farmers’ walls and then eventually Nasty running ahead of us to find his father having a pint at the pub.
My hopes for hiking was not all lost though as we set out again the next afteroon in bright, dry, sunny weather and climbed what I thought was steps equivalent to flights up a 30-storey building.
I was unhappy because, besides from reeling from the pain from the day before, walking up steps was just, well, extremely boring. Then I got excited when we had to scramble and I looked down and then thought I really shouldn’t.
Then I needed to pee really badly. Really.
We were finally at the top, and I felt bad about having to pee in such a beautiful place. But Nasty reasoned that since the sheep poop everywhere, it wouldn’t be so bad if one human peed somewhere. It was very cold and windy and I thought about Google Maps as I cowered in that rocky bowl-thing on the left and mooned the country-side. I cautioned Nasty not to pee into the wind.
And voila, things you do on a hike.
Taken towards the end of August, here is what I think is a great photo, except for the very idiotic-looking me in it:
I don’t want to steal Mario’s thunder, so if you want to see my ugly smug, hear my voice, and understand the story behind this great project, Someone Once Told Me is worth visiting.
Remember that anyone anywhere can participate, so go ahead, ask Mario to go visit you, or send in your own!
Perhaps as a sign of paranoia of my own voice, I still haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to the audio recording that accompanies it. *cringe*
As he was taking Nasty’s photo, I stood huddling in a corner outside that tube station, trembling in fear of what I was going to say. No one has ever stuck a tape recorder in my face before. I realise that having to blurb out something coherent in one go, especially something personal, while someone stares intently at you in the eye is in fact very intimidating.
Although, at the moment, I feel about 20 miles away from what I felt at the time, not long after that photo was taken, I decided to write this. Perhaps as a reflection of the quote, or of the summer that’s just been, but it better captures my mood in what was just little more than a month ago, than anything I could muster up in my PMS state right now:
Nasty has recently told me that I seem more happy these days.
I asked a friend, and she says the same too.
I hadn’t really noticed, but then I thought about it, and I realise, yeah, I AM quite happy these days. :)
I think for once in my life, I can say that I AM satisfied. I AM happy.
Don’t get me wrong. Nothing’s perfect.
I would rather have a different job. But I am grateful just to have one at all. Memories of unemployment are still too fresh in my mind.
My flat is in quite a state of disrepair. But I do have a front yard I can attack when I have a bad day, or when the sun shines on a Sunday afternoon.
I don’t have Joey or Phoebe as flatmates. But at least they aren’t evil, although not enthusiastic, but friendly and nice.
I still don’t have any real friends. But I’ve somehow settled for what I have right now and have stopped pining for them. I’ll have friends when they come along.
I’ve become good at keeping myself busy. I’ve become good at discovering things to do around town.
I call home once in a while. Sometimes I really do miss the people I love (or maybe just the food).
I am still disgusted with a lot of what I make myself to eat. But I do cook up something brilliant once in a while.
I’ve recently joined a climbing gym and am doing a climbing course. My aim is to do a proper climbing trip outdoors one day.
Eating sushi makes me really happy. Riding my bike makes me happy too. Nasty still thinks farting in an enclosed space is funny. I’ll probably think so too, if I’m the one, erm, contributing.
Because Po wrote about this time last year, I dug out one of my journals to see what I was doing then.
On Sunday, 28 September 2008, I wrote:
I was happy and excited on Friday arvo when I finally confirmed my leaving date with [my boss] and booked my ticket [to London] with [friend who works at a travel agency] and told [Nasty] about it.
But I came home and was promptly put down by mom.
Then I have to deal with [my brother].
I spent that night crying my eyes out watching The Notebook.
So basically, I bawled my eyes out the night I have confirmed arrangements to come to London.
Which is not exactly what I really said on this blog.
This blog has a facade. It is written to be cringe-proof. (Or at least I think).
I cringe when I read back on my journals. I hope when I die, they will somehow automatically self-destruct.
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