Day 181: The end

The end has come with a literal rather than metaphorical bang, as something exploded in downtown Canmore a couple of days ago. I thought I'd caused to door to our house to bang, but the house shaking, the echoes round the mountain and plume of smoke proved otherwise. We were showered with the paper debris ten minutes later, and socual media showed pictures of an impressive aftermath. Thankfully no one was seriously injured.

The second bang was Charlie reverse headbutting me and making my nose crunch. Just what I wanted before a flight.

Unfortunately we did not complete our four peak challenge. Grotto turned out to be a nine hour slog, leaving me physically and mentally like jelly. A woman had fallen to her death in the previous week, and despite my husband's assurances that we were always on the path, the huge bruise on my right bum cheek, a ripped pair of shorts and sewing machine legs suggested my experience was not the joyous romp we had planned.

Eeor (East end of Rundle) seemed much more promising, with half the height gain of only 750m. So we set off with a spring in our step to be beset by thunder and lightning: nature's version of get the hell offa my land. We shot down in half the time, having only been 500m from the official platform for success, if not the true summit. We had our first hearth fire since I nearly killed us all with smoke, and managed to burn most of our receipts.

More promising have been my climbing lessons. The local wall is home to several top bouldering and climbing champions, and despite my star struck awe at their spider like ability, and my lack thereof, I have managed to improve a bit. I have learned about foot position, not clinging on and burning out my arms, and a clever balance thing which works when climbing with no hands. I also managed my first proper knee drop (or drop knee?), and caught my husband when he fell from a non existent hold. No way I could have done it as even if I could have made a magical balancing move of feet and hands on the same hold, the next one was more than a full stretch away, so needed a leap of faith onto a tiny hand hold and no feet. That's 5.12 I guess.

So as I sit on our front deck with a pile of cases, I am thinking about all the funny things I'll miss. The noisy heating and washing machine, intermittent internet and squeaky bed are not top of my list, but the beautiful view, precocious animals, and beautiful weather are. I'll miss the people too. We had started to make friends and feel a little bit at home.

Maybe it will be home, someday.

Day 155: Potty training and hiking

Suddenly time has sped up and we have less than a month left. So many things I still want to see and do. There are four main peaks around Canmore, and I want to climb all four before we leave.

Lady Macdonald is the impressive peak which dominates the vista from our deck. She definitely won't be the first of the four.

We started with a trip to Grassi lakes, which after a pretty steep climb, were stunning. Overshadowed by Ha Ling, one of the actual peaks, they are a real tourist atraction. We met several groups of walkers, a nun, two volunteers studying a bear (which we saw through their telescope), and watched a small child pitch forward head first into the lake, in a comedy fashion.

Obviously we were allowed to laugh, as parents who had suffered already that day. Charlie has decided she would like to not wear nappies some of the time, but is not entirely on board with potty training. Last week I found her straining in the front room, completely naked from the waist down, so in true positive parenting fashion, swept her up with a cry of; "let's use the potty!" as she left a trail of large rabbit sized droppings in her wake. All whilst trying to maintain the isn't this all perfectly normal toilet etiquette.

I managed to install her on the potty before returning to the scene of the crime and started gathering the debris. At which point, she shouted she was done, and as she had finshed, needed wiping and her three chocolate stars (we are using the bribery route). I abandoned the mission in order to help her, only to be interrupted by a shout from the front room, by my mother-in-law of; "there's another one here!" Unsurprisingly, my rather terse retort, through gritted teeth, was that Charlie was my first priority, rather polite for the circmstances, I feel.

Still, we have battled on, the morning of Grassi Lake expedition, we had two positive potty experiences (5 stars, despite my husband's disappointment that his meditation time is now disturbed with shrieks of pleasure at bodily functions, a running commentary and comparisons). So I decide to allow the trip with no nappy.

We arrived, played by the reservoir and picnicked with no disasters. However, as the tourist loos are little more than toilet bowls over holes in the ground, my fear of dropping her in lead me to suggest she could squat in the woods. Her answer was no. Unfortunately, my wordy attempts to persuade her were rather too effective, and she did it there and then, filling her wellies to overflowing.

The next hikes will definitely be adult affairs I feel.

Day: No idea....

I feel like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Nearly three weeks ago, I was looking forward to my husband finishing his exams and having a few days off to hike in the mountains in the spring, take some day trips and eat out with the family visiting. Instead, I ended up spending two weeks lying on the sofa with stomach cramps, frequent trips to the loo, and attempting to drink my own bodyweight in water every day.

Eventually I gave in after 9 days and went to the doctor, who surmised some sort of gastroenteritis, and it would go away eventually. I left disappointed, $120 lighter, and with a tub of pills to help with the stomach cramps. The pills seemed to make everything worse, so I gave up on them, and resorted to self medication. Essentially, what I had was virus based, and my body was still trying to get rid of whatever was in my stomach, so I needed to help it kill anything still in there. We've all seen what Coke does to pennies, so a can (emptied from height into a glass to get rid of excess gas) before dinner, seemed a good idea.

Anyway, it seems to have cured me, and I'm now back to my terrible cake and coffee habit. The weather has turned grey and cloud shrouds the top of the mountains, bringing a dusting of snow again. The sun will break through later and melt it all, and I may take my afternoon treat on one of the many terraces which have sprung up along main street.

During my hibernation, time seems to have sped up. I've missed several gym classes, havent run for a month, the grass is turning green, and the air is warm and smells of summer. We only have 6 weeks left of our expedition, and my thoughts turn to home and work, while still trying to make the most of our time here. I still want to do more hiking, climb outside, go rafting, paddle on a lake, and some crazy part of me is considering mountain biking.

However, before then I need to tackle the enormous pile of washing, and the legion of ants who have decided highway 1 runs through the gap in the side door and out through the bathroom window. Then I can stretch my wings, and wander out into the world afresh, to continue research for my never-to-be-published novel.

Day 105: Never leave the house without a raincoat...

April showers have finally arrived. Twice in the last week I've been caught out by glorious weather in the morning, and blizzard conditions by lunchtime. Of course I was out in only my gilet, and no raincover for the buggy. Still, it needed a good clean.

Today it was thankfully only light drizzle, and the smell of spring finally emerging from the parched ground. The creek outside our house is almost dry in places, and just as the place is starting too look more green, the lack of snowfall this winter suggests it may be brown and yellow again in a month.

It made me think, though, of all the things one should have in their handbag (or rucksack if I'm including my raincoat), and an article in one of the broadsheet supplements detailing the contents of a celebrity's purse. Of course it is supposed to give away their beauty secrets via well placed advertorial, and we are supposed to rush out and buy these overpriced cosmetics.

For my own part, my tastes are much more simple. Instead of the various receipts, expired coupons, leaky biros and suspect crumbs of Charlie's snacks, my handbag would be more suited to the yummy-mummy, ex-English teacher, aspiring writer I imagine myself to be. Apart from the obvious (notebook for important thoughts, fully charged camera for impressive photos of offspring, pad, healthy snack, bottle of water, lip balm, hair bobble, mirror, brush) I'd have space to put stuff. I never seem to have that in my handbag, just an endless chasm filled with detritus.

For Charlie's part, hers would be full of stones. No matter where we go, she seems to come back with pockets full of rocks; I'll have to be extra zealous when we pack to return, and make sure she isn't exceeding the weight limit with her own souvenirs. If she could, she probably would have brought half the zoo back with her last week. She amused several strangers with her cries of, "hold it," and, "stroke it," at pretty much every enclosure. Thankfully she made do with a handfull if grit.

It's scary how fast she is growing up. She now swims off round the pool with a noodle or armbands, no care for where I am, climbs walls to jump off, chooses her own clothes and is adept at finding things in drawers which she probably shouldn't touch. Diva in training.

Still, it's nice to have a snuggly baby back at nap time, who thinks that my lap is the most comfortable place to be.

Day 88: Sick day

Safe to say I failed Lent miserably. As I watched myself wobbling around in the mirror of the fitness studio during yoga last Thursday, I realised that I'm not just unfit (and unbalanced), but overweight too. So I decided that rather than setting myself unachieveable goals, as for Lent, I would try a tick chart of smaller ones, as in The Happiness Project, and aim to hit half of them each day in April.

My husband has been helping me by eating all the cake in the house, and I went for my first run in the Rockies. More of a walk really, due to not having run for 4 months, and the elevation. Of course, one day in, and my plans to go skiing are thwarted by Charlie. She was up through the night with a soaring temperature, and cried for an hour, refusing medicine. She has spent much of the morning snuggled up on the sofa, only venturing off to rearrange the lego bricks on her castle. I managed to catch up on some lost hours of sleep too, interrupted only by the jarring cartoon voices which she insists upon watching. Of course the second Daddy walked in, she leapt up from the sofa, said, "you play with me!" And off they went.

I went for a run. The mountains are stunning to run around (albeit on the flat plain in the middle), and I managed to run further than I walked and pace myself, admitedly with the dance music programmed into the ipodnano. However mapmyrun reckons I'm doing 16 min/mile, so some way to go yet.

So, missing Thursday's day off, Charlie has driven me mad for a few days, as I don't think she should push herself or go swimming, and she does. Resulting in her scribbling crayon all over the TV, and grinding yet more un-nameable substances into the red velour sofa. I obviously went bonkers (turns out baby wipes are better than brillo pads in this circumstance), and screamed at her. She retreated to the sofa shouting, "I want my Daddy," (well he's buggered off skiing again) and fell asleep until he came in. I evntually got the TV clean, God knows what we'll do about the sofa, and felt guilty about losing my rag with her yet again.

It seems cabin fever is a truth. And with so much time in our own company, Charlie and I are incredibly good at finding each other's weakness and exploiting it. I need to remember I am the adult and that mimicing her whining, and stropping and lying on the floor is not really appropriate. She apologised for shouting at me; clever reverse psychology on her part, as I say, "No, no, no, Charlie, mummy is sorry for shouting at you!" Only to realise that she has got away with drawing on the rented TV, and with the state of the sofa we'll probably lose our deposit. She's clever.

Yet as I watch the twilight over the mountains, and face the next two nights of girls alone, I realise how lucky we are: Charlie is incredibly healthy, bouncing back from her night of fever in an few hours, she went to sleep after her three books, and we had a lovely day wandering around in the snow and looking at the birds. Tomorrow, I will be a better parent, and we will enjiy the beauty of our surroundings  as weare half way through our escape, and we haven't enjoyed it as much as we clould.

Day 83: Self indulgence

We are nearly half way through our Canadian adventure, and yet I feel we have experienced so little. The snow is gone, the days are warm, and any thought of winter sport somewhat slushy. We had a few giant snow flakes in the park today, but as we were out in our jeans and t-shirts, we barely noticed. I doubt the picture will do the last of the sun setting on the mountains any justice, but I thought I'd include it. Hope for tomorrow.

We live on the dark side of the valley, as we don't get the evening sun, but the view is beautiful, at the moment. Sadly the mini ice rink opposite has gone, and building work on a conference centre is due to begin this spring. If the plans are accurate, we will lose the view of anything below the trees. The people building the houses on our street are super friendly though, and always wave from their diggers, balconies or rooves.

Despite us living in a shack, there are some lovely houses on our road, and looking at the local real estate guides, upwards of $850k CAD, so £425k at a conservative estimate. Either the local populous are minted or they all work in Calgary and have second homes here. No chance of moving to paradise then.

Charlie and I are on our own for a week, so of course she is pushing boundaries everywhere. Despite having an afternoon in the park, and being so hungry she ate all her dinner, she was up and wandering around demanding TV till 9. Up again at 730, she threw an enormous tantrum over the TV and refused to eat her cheerios. Thankfully nursery took her off my hands. A day of self indulgence will hopefully give me the strength for the rest of the week.

I'm having a Netflix marathon while doing yoga, having already cleaned the house. Tonight we will have arancini (discovered at our friends' wedding last year) and tomorrow we'll make pizza together, after library, swimming and park. If I tire her enough, maybe she'll sleep?

Day 71: Black runs

So how is your Lent going? My plans are 50/50. I've been swimming, skiing and doing yoga as planned. However, like an alcoholic, whose fall from grace is never with the finest scotch, but a bottle of lambrini or white lightning; mine was cooking chocolate. I started baking a banana loaf to use up the almost rotting bananas which had travelled to several ski resorts, and fou d myself standing at the kitchen counter, stuffing cheap chocolate drops into my mouth. I felt so dirty, but I couldn't stop myself.

Since then I have continued on a downhill streak. Even when I tried to be good  with orange slices and cream on my French toast, they mixed up my order and stuffed the centre with chocolate. I couldn't send it back though; that would have been rude (after I'd licked the plate clean).

On the plus side, my skiing has improved beyond measure. I had a 55 minute special at Mount Norquay: a one-to-one lesson for a quarter of the normal price. And it was really good. Despite my tutor telling me exactly the same things my husband had been saying for the last 3 weeks, I finally got it. I spent several petrifying moments convincing myself to ski off the top of a blue run on one leg with my poles balanced on the back of my hands, so as not to embarass myself in front of the teenager who was doing the same thing a few feet in front of me whilst skiing backwards.

It may sound like the weirdest way to learn to ski, but it forced me to focus on my balance rather than the seemingly vertical drop in front of me. So  ow I finish my turns fully, and have been dragged around every blue and several black runs we could find in the tri-ski area.

7 and a half minutes edited to 1.

My brother-in-law came to visit, and having had half the skiing experience of my own, proceeded to follow my husband down any run that took his fancy, despite my concerned, repetitive whine of, "is that a black diamond...?" He must have nerves of steel, or no fear. I survived though, and now feel I can ski a blue run, and at least get down a black. However, I did manage to fall over twice on completely flat areas again, so more bruises from incompetence.

We decided to risk Lake Louise today. Last time it was icy, and I hated it. Today we had a snow storm just as we reached the top of one of the mountains and had to ski over the top in little visibility. It basically reduces depth perception to so little, I may as well be skiing with my eyes closed. The resulting powder was fantastic, and despite a wrong turn down Ptarmigan, rather than Old ptarmigan, which was heart stopping, really enjoyable. (Can't get the picture in, but check out http://www.skibig3.com/trailmaps/ And look at run #1 on Louise). I was even convinced to attempt the Men's downhill, twice. I reached speeds of which I was proud, whilst keeping my turn shape and despite being overtaken by a six year old doing a snow plough. Luckily my weight advantage took me to the lodge and finishing line just in front, so pride saved.

I'm desperately trying to avoid chocolate bars, as that would be the pinacle of failiure. The improved skiing, and consequently aching legs, must balance out the misdemeanours, so I think I'm good. Just let there be a bottle of Merlot at the end of it all.