Tim walked up to the Cabane de l’A Neuve today. 2730m. 1100m climb from the campsite. The boys and I walked the Sentier des Cerfs. Walking to the Cabane is meant to take 3h30. It took Tim 1h45. Walking the Path of the Deers is meant to take 1h30. It took us 1h45. Mind you, the big little man walked the whole way himself. He’s only two and a half and he counted all the butterflies.
I am so impatient to be fit enough to do proper big mountain walks. To beast it upwards and really earn a spectacular view. I spent a couple of hours today trying to convince myself I could do Tim’s walk tomorrow with Tommy on my back. I got truly excited at the prospect of tramping across snow and heaving us up the final steep crevice for apricot tart and thé du glacier. And, along with the realisation that I either couldn’t do it or could but would be broken afterwards the jealousy descended. Frustration and disappointment at the physical limitations of my body.
But seven months ago I came to the end of a pregnancy whose later weeks were dominated by searing sciatica. The littlest’s journey into the world left me with a third degree perineal tear that had to be repaired in theatre. And for the first two months after that my sciatica worsened. Maybe I should have attached a warning at the beginning for the squeamish or those who thought this might be a holiday diary entry. I’ve yet to be discharged from physiotherapy for the pain from the tear and the sciatica only died down to a niggle rather than pain about two months ago. It left me frighteningly inflexible and I only managed to touch my toes without bending my knees the day before yesterday.
So, no bloody wonder my body doesn’t fancy three and a half hours of steep rocky climbing carrying 12kg mostly of baby.
Still, I can sit outside the camper van drinking wine so cheap that I keep expecting to find a penny in the bottom of my plastic mug* and gazing up at an enormous flipping alp that’s still got bits of snow on it.
*Yes, I went to a university where we dressed up as Hogwarts’ extras to eat crap, but silver-served food and downed any liquid into which someone had dropped a coin. No, I didn’t question the ridiculousness of this until many years after I left. Mainly, because it was great fun.