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Time just fizzled away. I had said my dreaded good byes. Some were harder than others. And it was time for my long journey home, across the globe, to happen. Just as I had started, I was a lone traveller, on plane full of strangers. But it felt different to my outward journey, over 9 months ago. The excitement, nerves, nostalgia and sadness were all there, but different. From Auckland I flew to Melbourne, where meeting 4 friends I made in Peru, made my 9.5 hour layover less of a bore. 14 hours on to Dubai, to relieve my sickeningly swollen kankles for a few hours, and 7.5 more to my fair home toon. 40 hours, 6 plane meals, 3 films and 4 episodes of Peaky Blinders carried me back to the loudest welcome party in Newcastle Airport that Thursday lunchtime. Thanks mum.

Little old home hadn’t changed and I felt weirdly like I’d just been away for a week two. Only when I really thought about everything that had happened since the old scabby chin days, did it actually feel quite amazing to be in a place so familiar. And the familiar faces were (and still are) the best bit. With each reunion I feel even more ‘home’. Hiyas are so much better than good byes.

I never set out to ‘find myself’ when I ran away. In fact I was never actually running away (just made a good blog title), more biding my time. But whatever I set out to do, I feel like I have accomplished. And have learned a few things about myself along the way.

After a couple of days re-setting my body clock, a gentle run in Chopwell Woods was in order. Awake at 6am, I shared the forest with the birds and the morning sun. So summer in Newcastle ain’t got much on the Gold Coast heat, but it sure was nicer than bitter wintry Nelson, my last running spot. This familiar forest, which I have explored, navigated, and adventured since I was 8, is a pretty sweet running spot to return to.

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Having been home a couple of weeks now, it feels like ‘real life’ again; worrying about how skint I am/how much debt I’m in; looking forward to future job prospects and shaking like a leaf at the most important interviews I’ve ever attended. I’ve also got stuck straight back in to the fit life: running; my bike; gym; and a return to my beloved boxing club. Every day I think fondly back to my adventures across the globe and my friends dotted around it. But I know returning to the UK was the right thing for me to do. There’s no place like home.

Nelson 

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My long journey home had begun. I knew that Nelson was my last location for running away in New Zealand. From Queenstown I flew on a little whirry plane to Christchurch, then on to Nelson, to visit my Grandma who lives there. With only 24 hours in Nelson I really wanted to make the most of my time, and my last kiwi run. On hearing that the ‘Centre of New Zealand’ was nearby, my destination was decided. 

After an octogenarian bedtime (as much to do with my hangover as with my company; my Queenstwon leaving party had been the night before), my 7:45 alarm wasn’t such the shock it could have been. The cold, however, was. Here’s me thinking I had escaped the Queenstown chills. Well Nelson at 8am was no better. Wriggling into my leggings and darting out the house, I spent the first 20 minutes or so cursing my forgotten gloves. It took some time, but my quick pace got the blood pumping and I finally began to warm up. 

Following the neat map my Grandma had drawn me, I pounded Nelson’s pavements all the way to the Botanical Reserve, which leads up to the Centre of New Zealand. It is also the site of the first ever rugby game in NZ. The aptly named ‘zig-zag path’ wiggled through the bush up towards NZ’s middle and gave me my hill-fix for the day. You know it’s a good one when you’re congratulated by dog walkers along the way. The ascent was well worth it and I was treated to gorgeous views across pretty Nelson, the bay, and mountains beyond. So it turns out it wasn’t actually accurately the centre of NZ but hey who’s measuring? 

   

  

The views were great and the run was a substantial enough hour and fifteen minutes. A great start to my day in Nelson! I couldn’t help but feel I deserved the lovely lunch I was treated to with my Grandma and great aunty later. 

And then my journey continued. Another three days and I would be home. Wow. 

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Everyone loves a bit of drama; a bit of controversy, a fight or some gossip. But it seems that drama may also love me. I can’t just tootle along, going to work, going running, to the gym and occasionally up the mountain to snowboard (fall on my arse). I have to injure myself, have permanently bruised legs, and crash my car into a ditch. Yep that’s right, Arnie is no more. Well he is, but he’s not going far sitting at the bottom of Coronet Peak  with his front wheels like bong eyes. I’m pretty lucky that my spin into a ditch ended how it did. With Arnie (and my travel funds) being the only casualties. 

Naturally my car crash put a bit of a downer on last week. I was planning to sell it to fund my onwards travel, and it was my lifeline to my gym and new running destinations. Thinking about life here without it wasn’t pushing my buttons. Summer back home in the UK with my friends and family was. But negativity is not my niche! Material possessions will not make or break me. With the advice of my personal trainer/life coach I set myself some goals, weighed up my pros and cons and decided to stick out my time in Queenstown and make it great. Cue mega dramatic life changing opportunity email arriving the following morning. What did I say about me and my pal drama?

My decision had been made long before I left the UK for my travels. I would come home if this opportunity ever reared its’ head. I had just over 2 weeks before leaving New Zealand. Now I have 10 days. 

So my time in Queenstown; my runners’ haven, is ticking away. I’ve got lots to fit into my last little time here, including as many runs as I can squeeze around my schedule. Trips up the mountain are on ice. Ha. Not taking anymore risks; I need to be at my personal pinnacle and peak! This week I have enjoyed twilight runs through town, an energetic run to the gym in Frankton (past my fave little rowing boat called ‘Puff ‘n’ stuff II’), and a pinky sunset run to Fernhill. Queenstown is fantastically photogenic as ever and my runs have been most pleasurable. I’ve reached my PB on push-ups in one go (40!) and is it just me or are my biceps and abs looking bulked and buff?! 

   

   

I’m not sure how many people use their travels to get fitter and stronger but Queenstown has served me  well for this. And with this I’m ready to return home and face my future; real life. I’m more than a little excited. 






Queenstown7

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Various things have been prying me away from my running time recently; working throughout daylight hours 5 days a week; body building at the gym; and the all-important social life. My beloved blog is looking a bit lack-lustre at the minute. I need to pull my bloody finger out! Cue me getting injured.

Winter in Queenstown has brought yet another active pursuit to my table: snowboarding! It’s something I had never tried before Sunday, but round here if you ain’t boarding, you must be boring. I’m not always one to follow the hoards, but in this case I’m happy to. So far on my travels I’ve trekked, cycled, kayaked and surfed among others. Adding snowboarding to the list is the natural progression now I’m in the snowy mountains of the South. 

With between us less knowledge than a novice, a friend and I headed up the mountain with the kit I could scrape together through friends and local rental shops. We took to the baby slopes and I, well, took to my arse. It was great fun but a little frustrating to say the least. And given my propensity to injure myself, a little scary. After many bumps, twists and falls we called it a day as a blizzard whipped up and reduced the visibility to less than a teenager’s hot-box. 

  

The following day I woke feeling alright, albeit a bit sore all over. With another day of fitness ahead, I hit the gym early to make some muscle. Maybe not the best idea. Mid-dead lift I realised my lower back wasn’t feeling great. And after a few heavy squats it was feeling even worse. By afternoon my ambitious running plans were reduced to a feeble waddle around the house popping painkillers. I’m pretty sure it’s just a muscular injury and I hope to return to running away by the weekend. When I have 2 more days of snowboarding arranged. Lesson learned?!


Queenstown5

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Today I ran further than I have done so far in all my travels. I reckon it was about 16km (10 miles) and I’m pretty chuffed I’ve still got it in me. My day started with yoga and a swim but by mid afternoon I was itching to get out running; a feeling which should never be ignored! With the bare essentials: no camera, watch or music; just myself, shorts, vest and trainers, I started away down the steep hill from my cabin. 

A bright Sunday afternoon meant a busy town and I weaved through the tourists and Michael Jackson impersonators along the lakeside. My lap of Queenstown Gardens was just as squiggly. After the park I was free from the town buzz and set off along the Frankton track. I passed cyclists, runners, walkers and some very cute dogs. I hadn’t planned how far I would go but would turn back when I’d had enough. Enough was not had and I pounded the gravel all the way to Frankton. I bounded out onto the first jetty I came to and paused to watch the grey clouds roll in over the mountains across the lake. 
My lust for life (running) was still pulsing through me and I kept the pace up all the way back to town. Skipping Queenstown Gardens on my return I again weaved the lakeside as the sun was dying and rain started to spit down. Not even my Beyoncé hill would stand in my way. I trotted up to impressed comments from passers by whom I passed by. This picture is of the fabled hill, but from another day when I wasn’t camera-free. Only at the top did I double over, panting, and stumble the last few metres to my door. I’ve just felt a bit sick since then. Apart from that, amazing. 

  

Fernhill; Queenstown3

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I’m trying to really make the most of my time in pre-employment here in Queenstown (also known as unemployment). And since I have my first day working tomorrow I had to make the most of my last day of leisure today. I began the day down the gym with a personal training session partaking in my new physical pursuit: weight lifting! An upcoming personal goal requires me to hulk-up (or is it bulk-up?), and it seems fate is on my side for this one. Whilst hitching a lift into town last week, my friendly lift-giver explained that he was studying to be a personal trainer… Me: “I actually need a personal trainer, particularly to build strength” Him “I need clients to train for my qualification. And I can’t charge you. And I specialise in strength training.” If that ain’t serendipity then call me Mystic Meg.

So after a morning pumping iron, an afternoon of scouring charity shops for work trousers, followed by my fave hill home, I could easily have curled up on the sofa with a cuppa and gazed out at the weather and the clouds and the mountains and the lake and the sky. Then I asked myself, what would Beyoncé do? And I laced up my trainers, ran into that weather and towards those mountains, the lake below me and those clouds gently dripping from that sky above me. 

I wasn’t feeling a hill session after my morning exertion, so went exploring for a path leading straight along the valley side. I found just what I’d had in mind and took this path towards Fernhill, a suburb of Queenstown. The path lead me through some wooded areas, up and down, crossing over the many mountain bike tracks that are woven through the pines up and around Queenstown. Tiring, I made it to Fernhill, a residential area built up of lots of houses and not much else. However, as with everywhere round here the views are the main attraction and I made for the highest hill. 

 

My tired and aching body was treated to some of the best views of Queenstown I have seen so far. It’s a shame the weather wasn’t brighter, the hills also look better with a backdrop of blue. After a few moments rest, breathing in the scene, I made my way back the way I came. With more declines it was easier than on the way, and I passed this strange vehicle/camper van. It must belong to a super-cool socialite.

  

Sunshine Bay; Queenstown2

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I keep remembering that I live here and feeling a little bit chuffed and excited. After years of living in post-industry industrial British cities (Manchester I still love you), being surrounded by natural beauty is a bit of a novelty. And just like in Piha, getting out and about in this beauty is all the motivation I need to stay active. Even better than Piha, there are so many more tracks and hills to be explored here in the vast mountains. 

Despite starting the day with an early spin class, I was still feeling full of beans and ready to run yesterday afternoon. Who said unemployed people are lazy?! I have recently moved to a cabin on a hill, overlooking the town and lake. Sounds lovely and romantic right? The views are incredible but do they make up for the fact that: I share my bedroom; there is just a curtain between my room and the living room; I have to go outside to get to the bathroom; it’s freakin’ freezin’? Yeah, maybe for now. I’m pretty chilled (in every sense) but may have to be on the move again before winter really sets in. This is the view from my living room anyway.

  

From my hillside vantage point I chose down. This hill is steep. Now you may be under the impression that running down a hill is easy. It can be, especially when intoxicated. But keeping a steady footing to avoid any twists or sprains, or just launching yourself downwards like you’re chasing a huge roll of cheese, takes concentration and control. It’s all in the bum I swear. This time next week my booty will be putting Beyoncé to shame. In my dreams. 

My route took me lakeside to the pretty lake beach of Sunshine Bay. To be honest I’m not a fan of these unimaginative names in English, give me unpronounceable Maori any day. But it did what it said on the tin. The path was pleasantly challenging in its ups and downs and the views did not disappoint. My journey back the same way was joined by a friendly cyclist from Christchurch. The conversation helped those last few k’s disappear and running alongside the bike kept my pace up. As I bid farewell to my be-wheeled friend I took a deep breath at the bottom of the big hill, my little cabin perched at the top. Step by step, I made it home; feeling a little bit superhuman on arrival. Basically Beyoncé. 

   

 

Auckland3

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I’ve got a few days of downtime in Auckland before the big move to my new home (home still to be found) in Queenstown. The perfect opportunity to get some leg pumping action, aka running done. I was over in Whangapoua at the weekend and completed an energised morning run of hill reps. Now even I struggle to make light of running up and down the same hill repeatedly so there’s no post on that. However I completed a nice run this morning on the route from Browns Bay, which I ran with my Dad a few times earlier in the year.

As ever, Browns Bay beach was teeming with dog walkers. There were some lovely dogs about but both I and them were moving too quickly for pictures so I got another classic snap looking towards Rangitoto Island.

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This route also passes my old South American fave the local urban gym. Ok so evidently every country outside the UK has these, but I saw it in South America first! And for the first time on my travels the urge struck for me to get reppin’ on the bars. Glancing around for onlookers, like a naughty child just about to poke his finger in a dangerous hole, or myself stealing a grape in the supermarket, I confirmed that the coast was clear and made for the pull-up bar. Those who know me will know that my New Years resolution every year (well maybe the past 2 years), was to be able to do a full pull up. Even when I was training at my old beloved boxing gym 2-3 times a week in Manchester I never made it. C’mon 2015, this is our year! As in me and my biceps’. Surprisingly I haven’t magically summoned the power to perform a pull up in my travel time but I completed a few jump pull-ups (basically just jumping instead of using your arms), and set off on my way again.

Further along the route I heard a strange collection of noises I peered to the sky to identify the perpetrator. Of course it was the New Zealand native bird, the tui. Or the animal kingdom’s sonic response to the dial-up internt tone. Maybe the tui came first, who knows; one of life’s great mysteries. The tui also wears a pimpin’ white cravat of curly white plumage. All in all, an eccentric fella.

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On my way again, I bounded up those long Auckland hills like a mountain goat; the hill reps in Whangapoua clearly served me well. Back at the family abode I was happy to see my time was similar to the times I’d completed with my Dad in February. So Dad, think twice before you email me again asking if my trainers are gathering dust!

Fingal Head

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I’m back in New Zealand now, after a fab hol from my travels in Australia. I’ve returned a little bit browner (mostly my feet), a little bit blonder, a fair bit poorer, however richer in friends and surf boards. Yes I have my own board! All thanks to a generous, hunky Aussie guy (God bless Tinder). Now nothing can stop me owning the waves! Apart from maybe the impending New Zealand winter and the fact that I’m moving to Queenstown, which is 3.5 hours from the coast. Minor issues.

So Australia was my last foray in freedom before climbing back on the old 9-5 (or whatever hours anyone will give me), and settling down for a bit in NZ. I had it all planned out. Before Fingal came along and threw a spanner in my thoughts. Welcomed to stay in an amazing house, with lovely people in an incredible location, I got more than a little bit hooked on this Lake House lifestyle. Smoothies, surfing, sunshine, running, yoga and a canoe on the lake; I knew it would be a bit of a wrench to leave.

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It was a gorgeous location for running, and I worked out a nice 45 minute route before long: Starting by the lake in front of the house, running up along the white sand beach, up over the point past the lighthouse and back down alongside the river. The weather was unreal (ok maybe a bit too hot at some times of day), and made for picture-postcard photos on my second last run here. My last run along the beach was overcast and cloudy; lovely running conditions but not so stunning for photos, so I left the camera behind. Typically this was the day I saw a pod of dolphins dancing in the surf. It was such a magical encounter and I was glad to just breath in the awesome scene and watch them play. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

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After a few days in my latest paradise, it was time to get ready to leave. I had had many urges to stay and live the dream, somehow. But my plans in New Zealand still stood, including some pursuit-of-dreams plans which could mean big changes to my little life. And I’m sure there are more paradises waiting to be discovered on my upcoming journeys…I’ll let you know.

Byron Bay

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Going for a run was not the first thing that sprang to mind when I woke this morning. “I need water” was definitely riding high on my train of thoughts though. Yesterday we had enjoyed Byron to its full potential: surfing; beach bumming; having a party in a camper van and drinking A LOT. I don’t remember being chucked out of the club we went to for the effects of this quantity but I’m told it happened. And the chilli sauce all over my leg supported the late night falafel tale I had also been told.

So: to the beach! After opting for a juice called ‘detox’ at one of Byron’s many fresh and fruity alternative eateries, with so much ginger it tasted a bit too much like curry to perk me up, I collapsed on the beach to understanding moans and groans of my party comrades. I’d come this far, to this famous little hippy haven, it would have been a real shame to miss out the running and blogging. Numbing myself with a prescription painkiller, I took some time curled in the foetal position to collect and prepare myself; mentally, physically and emotionally.

Crunch time arrived, and while my friends went for lunch, I ran away down the beach, barefoot and determined. I had my eye on the far end of the long curving beach and set off towards the point. It was Monday morning, not a time to dread for Byron beach bums however. The place was alive with surfers, swimmers, families, people doing yoga… Man I cannot fault these Aussies’ lifestyle choices. If I could find a means to live the beach lifestyle long term I would. In fact maybe I will. I have been more than a little bit tempted to stay here in Australia to live, but I’m sticking to my plans for now, reminding myself of the new paradises I still have to discover. Australia, unlike me, is not going anywhere.

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After a surprisingly pain free (thank you, codeine) ten minutes or so running I made it to the rocky point at the end of the bay. I ran up the steps to the lookout point on the rocks, the pains of the morning forgotten; blown away by the cool winds from the ocean. I stood and watched the bobbing surfers below, feeling an urge to join them in the azure ocean. Satiated, I ran back along the beach and treated myself to a dip in the shallows. Hangovers in paradise aren’t so bad, I guess.

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