A moment of middle-aged madness
Taking on a mountain adventure when I’m not a mountain person…
Introduction to this week’s piece
‘I can’t believe it’s been five years,’ I said to my boss this week as we talked about me leaving my job. ‘Five years!’
‘You haven’t aged a bit,’ she said.
‘I’m not 39 anymore.’ And I laughed because in just the pandemic years, I aged so much I barely recognised myself.
After our conversation, I thought about what’s happened during those five years. There were lots of sad times—the pandemic, losing family, friends and pets, managing three house moves. But also, lots of happy times—family celebrations, days and nights out with friends, precious time with our remaining pets, publishing my two short story collections, and settling in our new house. There’s been a lot to smile about.
And while I was getting all reflective and emotional, I remembered turning forty in 2019. I’d recently started my job and was determined to make my forties the best decade yet. It was going to be a decade of Fun (with a capital F) and then the pandemic happened.
Whenever I think of fun, I think of climbing mountains. I’m not sure why, because I am definitely not a mountain-adventure kind of woman. Whenever I take on anything slightly daring, there is usually some kind of drama. Like the time I went on a jeep mountain adventure in Crete, as part of my fortieth birthday celebrations. It was amazing but also mildly terrifying.
I wrote a piece about it, which I thought I would share with you today. Re-reading it reminded me of the need to have more adventures.
Although sometimes it feels like I’m 400, I’m only 44. I can still take on adventures and try to laugh in the face of adversity. I may not be a natural on the mountains, but I feel drawn to them. Maybe 2024 is the year that I finally achieve my ambitions of climbing Ben Nevis, Snowdon and the Yorkshire Three Peaks. Or failing that, just have some Fun with a capital F.
Anyway, here is the piece. I hope it makes you smile.
Liz xx
A moment of middle-aged madness
By Liz Champion, aged 39 and 363 days.
‘There’s a cicada down my top.’ I say the words calmly, not wanting to make a scene in front of the other passengers. But then it vibrates, buzzing and flapping against my skin.
‘Get it out!’ I pull at my vest top, trying but failing to scoop it out.
The poor cicada is just as panicked as me. It buzzes louder, increasing the vibrations.
I pull my top lower and shove my chest towards Chris. ‘Help me!’
He reaches down, gently catches the insect and redirects it out of the window.
I lean back into my seat, the eyes of the driver and six other passengers on me, knowing that most of them would have got an eye-full of my cleavage. ‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘No need to apologise.’ The guide changes gear as we move up the hill. ‘Far from it.’
I catch his eyes in the rear-view mirror and realise he would have seen everything.
‘In all my years of doing this, that’s never happened before,’ he says.
One minute he was giving a lesson about the insects living on the Cretan mountains, the next, one was flying in through the open window, hitting my shoulder and landing in my cleavage. Of all the dangers I was worried about on this trip (and there were many), a collision with a cicada was not on the list.
Chris takes my hand and squeezes. ‘Are you okay?’
No, I’m not! An insect’s been flapping about on my boobs is what I want to say. But as I only met the others this morning, I don’t want them thinking I’m being dramatic. So, instead, I smile a big smile. ‘Fine. It just gave me a little fright.’
I hope they can’t hear my heart banging against my rib cage. I squeeze Chris’s hand, which I hope communicates my true feelings. He squeezes back.
‘Sorry,’ I say to the group.
I am calmer now that the cicada and I have gone our separate ways, but I am still embarrassed about it, and terrified of what else might happen. Perhaps I should ask the woman next to me if she’ll wind her window up to prevent any more incidents.
The guide catches my eyes in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going higher than they go. They’ll not bother you again.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ I feel better for about one second before I realise what he’s just said. The jeep is in first gear, jolting its way along the narrowing track inches from the mountain’s edge. ‘Exactly how high are we going?’
‘This is nothing yet.’ He turns to look at me.
I want to remind him to keep his eyes on the road.
‘Are you sure you’re on the right trip?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I answer quickly. ‘It’s for my fortieth…I wanted…adventure.’
In a moment of middle-aged madness, I’d signed up to this off-road escapade. I was turning forty in a few days and wanted to challenge myself—prove that despite my advancing years, I was still fit and fearless. But now I’m halfway up the mountain, facing hairpin bends and vertical drops with a driver who missed his Formula One calling, I’m wondering if I was ever fit and fearless. Maybe a book by the pool would have been adventurous enough.
There’s no turning back, though. I grip my seat and smile, determined to show forty-year-old nerves of steel.
We climb higher and higher. The buzzing of the cicadas stops, and it seems eerily quiet. The jeep turns and climbs, turns and climbs, jolting its way towards the summit.
My knuckles are almost white when we reach the top. But as soon as I step out of the car, I know it’s been worth the fear.
The air is thinner and fresher, and there’s a stillness that relaxes me straight away. I stand on the edge of the mountain, looking out over the quiet corner of Crete. We’re so high that we can see both sides of the island. To the north is Elounda, where we’re staying, and the town of Agios Nikolaos with the Aegean Sea glittering beyond. To the south is Ierapetra town and the island of Chrysi. The view is breath-taking. We are so high.
I stand and stare, keen to take it all in. I’m so pleased I braved the climb to get here. Thoughts of navigating the tricky descent push into my mind, but I ignore them, focusing on nothing but the amazing feeling of being on top of this beautiful island.
When I glance up, vultures are circling overhead, their wings long and broad, soaring high on the thermals. Their wingspan is enormous, brown with flashes of white underneath. Slowly, they circle downwards, as intrigued by them as we are by them.
‘Don’t worry.’ The guide taps my shoulder. ‘They eat dead things.’
They come closer. I hold my breath. Closer still, almost within touching distance, their eyes on me. I see their hooked beaks, featherless heads, and powerful wings. I watch them for a moment longer, then step back, heading for the safety of the jeep. A collision with a cicada is one thing, a collision with a vulture, another matter entirely.
What adventures have you taken on? I’d love to hear about your triumphs and tribulations.
My biggest adventure was moving from Lincolnshire to Leeds in 2000 for a job. I’d grown bored of my old life and wanted to shake things up. I knew no one in Leeds, I just wanted a fresh start where I could stop being the person everyone expected me to buy. It took a few years to find my tribe but I never ever regret that adventure!
That reminds me of a time when I was sunbathing alone by the pool of a house in the hills of Mallorca, a very remote place, and a cicada crashed into my head and then dropped down onto the sun bed!
Perhaps their eyesight or navigation could use some improvement. 😂😂😂