And Tom bears 6KG weights into the Hall... The prompt from my creative writing teacher and guru, Angela Locke was Winter by William Shakespeare

 Spring is here and I have fallen into a very unexpected adventure. In 12 months my wonderful full-time, full-on job may or may not end and I have to think about my next steps. For 5 years my fall-back plan is to use my Mountain Leader qualification to supplement my pension, I like the idea of being a freelance “professional mountaineer”, a magazine with this title pops through my door every so often, as if to remind me of my dream. So far the “day job” in social care has continued, exciting, secure and well-paid, every week I hear about the minor miracles in which I have paid a small role. Ian has started to support David, a man with Parkinson’s who hasn’t been out without his wife, Julia, for 2 years. Things have moved on, this week, Julia, has felt able to go away on holiday whilst David is in respite care. Ian will advocate for David and ensure that he has his medication and the time which gives him his best chance of freedom from pain and allows him to move more easily; this has not always happened when Julia was absent, even when David was in hospital she battled to make the medication happen on time. A miracle has occurred for Julia and David.

For six months I have been troubled by a nagging pain in my hip, I noticed it first after walking 300 miles, the length of Wales. My parents both had hip replacements in their 60s, it felt that I was destined for the same but this doesn’t really work for the professional mountaineer. I got an appointment with the orthopaedic clinic and knew the first stop would be the physiotherapist, the gate keeper of hip replacement surgery. On the morning of my appointment, I parked a couple of miles out of town and walked fast to the hospital, a realistic picture was needed. I told him my goal was to climb 2,000m peaks in the Alps, and not be at the back of the group. After a thorough consultation, the verdict was delivered “I am surprised that a physiotherapist could let themselves get into this poor condition”. It may not have been his exact words but I knew what he was saying. I took a long hard look and told myself, the time for “getting away with things” had passed, "powering through" no longer an option. 

I have always resisted the gym, I thought of this as a ghastly narcissistic world of sweat and lycra. My husband is a home gym person (so by definition not a narcissist), but he has recommended the gym to me quite a few times and I have politely declined. I had brought him a voucher for Christmas which gave him a 6 week introduction at a local gym, I had thought it would be interesting for him to meet like minded people but for various reasons he hadn’t used the voucher. What if I did the 6 weeks just to see if it made a difference? If it didn’t, I could go back to the orthopaedic clinic armed with evidence of my inevitable decline.

No one could have predicted this, but a new Easter gym bunny has emerged, one that enjoys being told what to do by someone less than half her age and lifts heavy bars and dumbells with the passion of a new convert. I am half way through my introduction and already my mountain climbing speed is up.  I am appalled to think of myself as someone who measures activity, I am surrounded by people at the gym logging the efforts on an app at every opportunity, but I realise I am at the thin end of the wedge as I know my average uphill speed is 3.9km/hour.

 Where does all this end? When is the next Olympic Games? Will someone tell me if my narcissistic tendencies show?