Ref.  0013S*S..

   
So explain this;    
   
In my twenties I could jog up a pathless Criffel,  
In my thirties I could jog up a path less Criffel  
And in my forties I could jog up a path less Criffel.  
In my fifties I could hike a 2000m ascent and a 50 mile cycle ride. I can out pace police officers, twenty year old string thonged gym bunnies and a local mountain rescue.  
And I have spent nine months travelling around the highlands    
Alone, unassisted and carrying everything on my back.  
Rationing my food, water, resources and money.  
My daily training is parallel to most people’s week, if not, months training.  
   
Not bad for someone who you accuse of being extraordinarily unhealthy, someone who wastes her energy, someone who has a history of abusing herself and someone who you claim is nutritionally deficient..    
   
I navigated myself around the Cairngorms, Grampian Mountains and more,  
I navigated myself up to Cape Wrath in twelve days and then back down.  
I have navigated myself through some of the most extreme Scottish weathers, hundreds of feet above sea level and in the middle of nowhere.  
I have prayed for footprints to guild me up and back down a 780m mountain, minus 12, thick fog and snow up to my arsehole.  
I have researched survival manuals, OS maps, Harvey maps, navigational skills and invested heavily on a kit that is designed to get me to my destination and back home again.  
I have gambled my life crossing rivers in spate, scrabbling up screes and cliff paths    
I’ve  experienced land slides, pushed through storms, gales, clambered towering bog stacks and fought those highland flying ticks that delve up the nape of your neck before digging their hears into your skin.    
And I do it for fun.  
   
“Basic” fitness will not save you up in the hills and mountains. No amount of pavement tapping will guarantee your survival. No Zumba, Pilates or yoga classes will guarantee you will get to your destination, let alone get you back home.  
   
You are burning thousands of calories, not just physically, but to keep warm and your brain has to be topped up and switched on every step you make..    
   
Your life depends on your health, psychological robustness and fitness.. And the best place you can train is up in them hills.. When you get back down and you see townies buying pizzas, swilling down prosecco, wobbling down the high street laden with shopping bags, vaping acne school kids mindlessly gossiping on fag ends you realize just how extensively boring people have been conditioned to..    
   
Here we go again, nappies, acne, muffin tops, marriage, babies, Prosecco and some coronation chicken soap..  
 
 I am not who you have come to believe I am.  
 
Unlike most of you wifies, mammies and lemon faced grandmas . I am  not vanity ridden, I do not live to eat cake, drink gin, or live to pay taxes, soft furnishing debts and mortgages or live to fuck a husband just to break up the monotony for that matter..  
 
Gyms bore the living fuck out of me,  your pathetic ladies tippy tappy Pilates bore the living shit out of me,  your diets bore me, your spoilt brat grand children netball achievements bore me , your babies bore me, your mammy pad sales bore me, your denture cleaning kits bore me, your 9 to 5 bore me,  your cream cakes and  your incessant gossip, tittle tattle and ladies gusset talk bores me to the fucking core..  
 
You are more than welcome, ladies, to join me on my cycle ride sometime.. Simple, basic, road trip of 75 plus km.. If you think you are so much more than I put your money where your mans wee wibbly bits spends most of there time.. Join me..