It seems exotic to be a roving columnist for our excellent little local paper, but indeed I am. I write from my native Scotland having had a reminder from my editor, as always polite and encouraging, that she’d love an article for the next issue. (The deadline was also politely and encouragingly emphasized!)
By Lee Sandford
It seems exotic to be a roving columnist for our excellent little local paper, but indeed I am. I write from my native Scotland having had a reminder from my editor, as always polite and encouraging, that she’d love an article for the next issue. (The deadline was also politely and encouragingly emphasized!)
No problem I thought! Here I am on a tour of the stunning islands of the Hebrides of Scotland, where hill walks and trail runs abound. The inspirational health and fitness column will be flowing out of me!
I researched my ultimate destination, the Isle of Jura, and confirmed what I’d always understood, that Jura’s three conical shaped mountains, the Paps of Jura, are so named after an old Norse word for the female breast. Surely there was some pun mileage in that to brighten up any hill-walking story?
Seeking to find a motivating story for our town where it seems everyone has completed a triathlon, marathon, half-marathon, etc., I set off, in dismal weather, with, of course, my septuagenarian parents! Not exactly a promising start.
We agreed not to have breakfast at my brother’s house, but to wait for breakfast on the first ferry. The West of Scotland used to be known as the heart attack capital of the world, and it was probably because too many people ate ferry breakfasts. Oh my goodness it was delicious though: two types of sausage, any type of egg, bacon, black (blood) pudding, and tattie scone (don’t ask, just say yes if you’re ever in Scotland). Not surprisingly I slept the rest of the two-hour voyage, but in my defense the cloud cover was so low, I didn’t miss any of the spectacular scenery hidden therein. All good preparation for the exercise ahead though!
The second ferry journey from Islay to Jura lasted only five minutes, with just six vehicles on board, but was fraught with stress and then hilarity, when we had to reverse the car on, with the crew member yelling “left, LEFT!” when his left was different from ours, and my panicky parents acting like we were docking the space shuttle.
Finally on Jura, we drove to the hotel and they accommodated us with a late lunch of soup. Scots always have homemade soup to hand, with bread and salty butter. (Again, just enjoy and say thank-you.) All good, but now I had two hearty meals to walk off.
My parents, God bless them, now feel the cold, notice the rain, and recognize that walking through cloud isn’t fun. I told them all those things when I was a kid, and they told me I was talking nonsense, to zip-up my flimsy jacket and press on. Now, in that type of weather, they instead drive to the scenic spots without qualms or apology. Good for them, and in a way, me too, but none of the invigorating, uplifting stuff I needed for something to write about.
On the way, through the winding roads towards the house where George Orwell penned “1984”, we encountered a herd of deer. It should be unremarkable for someone from Rye, but to see deer in the Scottish countryside, colors completely in keeping with the landscape, antlers camouflaged by the surrounding tree branches of the same shape, was quite breathtaking.
On return to the hotel, it was time for a “tea time pint” (aka cocktail hour) in the hotel bar. Hill walkers and cyclists trudged in, soaked but jovial. They looked victorious somehow, and I knew we’d get around to talking to them, it being a tiny island in Scotland and because my parents can’t resist a chat.
I lifted my mental pen anticipating stories of scaling all three Paps in one day, despite the odds. As it was, they were all just comparing notes on how long it took them to decide conditions were just too awful and admit defeat. Two chaps had walked for seven hours in all, and hadn’t reached any summit. They had GPS, so they didn’t feel they were in danger, but just sensibly decided it wasn’t much fun walking through “pea soup”. The whole reason you climb a hill in Scotland is for the view. When cloud covers three-quarters of the hill, the reason is gone.
These people looked victorious merely because they were managing to stay jovial. Not much fodder for a story in there…
The next morning I went for a run in the rain. The Paps were still cloud-covered, I had my head down and I could have been running anywhere. Well, anywhere rainy, cold, and gray. So the moral of my tale could be, true Boot Camp-style: Get out there! No excuses! Go for a run!
But that three-mile run in the rain wasn’t nearly as good for my health as the combination of the other benefits I reaped on my trip. All of the following are known stress relievers/happiness factors that I look back on and would recommend: proximity to, and fun-times with, close family; laughing out loud (a lot!); chatting to strangers and sharing stories of valiant effort, even if the goal wasn’t reached; enjoying nature and the weather, whatever the weather is; new places and memories; and finally, hot soup and salty butter.
