Gathering speed

Throwing yourself headlong towards the unknown is terrifying but might just be incredible

Hi friends,

Lovely to have you here on this leg of the journey.

If you’re a new subscriber and want to know what happens around these parts when I’m not traversing northern Europe and Scandinavia in a motorhome, including all my online expressive writing courses for autumn (first live Seasonal Session August 22nd and Memoir in a Month kicking off in early September), then head to my welcome post:

Denmark and Sweden

Copenhagen – Isaberg – Gothenburg

Isaberg – a mountain resort a couple of hours north of the Danish border – is Sweden’s answer to the Cairngorms. Or is the Cairngorms Scotland’s answer to Isaberg?

It could be Loch Garten if LG had a slide, a climbing wall and a diving board

Whatever. I feel very happy here in the forest surrounded by the familiar while we’re as far from home as we’ll get on this trip.

Home. Where life keeps rumbling on. Messages about the animals, the faulty smoke alarm and the plant-watering schedule shuttle back and forth between us and the house sitters and though I haven’t been keeping too close an eye on world events – relying on social media and the odd WTAF message in my group chats to keep me up to speed – I know it continues to be quite the shitshow. Perhaps that’s all the info I need right now, though I’ll admit I was as entertained by the ripostes to that laughable childless cat lady comment as you were.

Anyway. This week, I want to write about the forgotten thrill of downhill running. The wildness of it. The sense of jeopardy and elation it turns out I’ve been depriving myself of since childhood. Yes, it happens to be a convenient metaphor for where I’m at in my life right now but make no mistake: this missive really is about the joy of downhill running, replete with tips and everything.