Finding Fun Again

“Broccoli volcano.” The definitive voice of the two-year-old on my back made me pause before my next glute-enhancing step. We were hiking up the Gra de Fajol on the Spanish side of The Pyrenees Mountains, and I was focused on putting one foot in front of the other with 17kg of squirmy child on my back and a full bladder. Despite my evident discomfort, I couldn’t help but smile bemusedly as I tried to decipher what on earth my daughter was talking about.

The week before, we had hiked through a dormant volcano region in northern Spain called La Garrotxa. Before this experience, the little one had never seen a volcano before, but now it was something she could refer to when looking at a mountain peak, along with her much loved food of broccoli (ha ha). That was pretty cool. It was also a much more fun description of the area than that of any guidebook I had read- the kid had thankfully not yet learned the word “magnificent”.

For six weeks, my husband, our young daughter and I had uprooted ourselves from our suburban home in Brisbane, Australia and plonked our daily lives in the historic Spanish town of Girona. Two-year-olds are notoriously unpredictable, as is an active adventure on the other side of the world. Combining the two was fraught with potential nerve-wracking moments, and the challenge of juggling mum-time and me-time loomed even greater there without the wider network of support that I’m so fortunate enough to have at home. As we stood on top of city walls dating back to the 9th century though, I was struck by the momentous achievements of past people who had created history here. The sense of awe that was inspired in me at that moment never left for the rest of the trip.

Walking along these walls offers an excellent view of the old city but for an even better vantage point, it is well worth throwing some cheese sandwiches into a backpack and taking to the surrounding mountains. Hiking in this region offers a chance to experience an ancient wilderness and provided a welcome escape from the crowded cobblestone paths of the old city. There are several hiking trail options from Girona itself which merit lacing up your boots for. They spiral up mountain ranges and pass stone buildings hugged by ivy, which provide excellent refuge whenever the weather turns. Trails also lead eastward to the beachside Costa Brava area with its collection of ocean caves and grottos to duck your head under.

The intricate network of paths also makes it possible to walk between towns. While a car will undoubtedly get you to the next chocolate croissant quicker, speeding along at 80 kilometres an hour misses much of the detail on the way. Neatly arranged vegetable allotments became reason to pause and point out how radishes grow to keen little eyes behind me, and we also got to meow back at stray cats.

With such an array of trail options to choose from, it was always the challenge of mountain hiking that drew me. The soaring perspective never failed to remind me that my daily life was beautifully small. Alpine beech forests sprinkled bright green light over us which was miraculously calming for both myself and an over-tired toddler. Sharing this experience with my little one really reminded me to not take life so seriously. On more than one occasion it began to rain while we were in the middle of the wilderness. While my first reaction was to screw up my face at the sky, hers was to laugh giddily and hold her little arms above her head. Her joy at the situation prompted me to embrace the moment and actually feel the rain, rather than just get wet.

We passed a number of other hikers on our path and shared an especially warm smile with parents and grandparents who also had mini-explorers on their backs. My small one met kids who spoke German, French, Dutch, Russian and of course, Spanish. She quickly realised that a smile and a wave allowed you to share a special moment with someone no matter how they said “hello”. A German traveler in the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town of Beget couldn’t help but come over to us when he saw two wide-eyes peeking over my shoulder. Circling his hands theatrically above his head, he exclaimed, “Her neurons must be exploding with all of this ancient beauty around her!”

Despite the constant wonders before us each day, my little one was very much still a two-year-old. A few digs into my sides with her heels was a clear sign that we had gone far enough for that particular stint. It did take a surprisingly long time before she reached that point of needing a break though; her attention span was much longer than it was in a shopping trolley. At the start of each hike, she would be just as full of the wonder of adventure as we were. The excitement of a new path into rogue woodland stirred a sense of exploring the unknown in all of us as a little family. We would talk about what we all saw, and from her vantage point on one of our backs, the one with the wonderous child's eyes would point out mice, birds and tiny flowers that we two grown-ups would have otherwise missed after inevitably slipping back into destination-focus.

While hiking together offered a chance for me to enjoy the sensation of little fingers gently tapping on the back of my neck, I would be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate my own time as well, as did my other half. To keep our own promise of making this trip as active as possible for ourselves, he would cycle on non-hiking days while I would run. Running is something I have hit my stride with since becoming a mum. Alongside the post-pregnancy health benefits, carving out my own activity has made sure that I’ve kept my own sense of identity while adjusting to my new responsibilities of frequent nappy changes and extracting squished banana from hair (both hers and mine). It has lifted me mentally, emotionally and physically, and now provided me with a way to strike out on my own and explore a new country.

I would run in the mornings or after lunch during the traditional siesta time. While the slower pace of hiking offered the benefits of really taking in my surrounds, moving through the various trails at a faster pace allowed me to cover more territory, and sprawl out to remote towns further afield. Both activities complimented each other on this trip nicely.

Poppies, dandelions and daffodils lined even the busiest freeways which at times I would have to jog alongside, but I found I was going at a better pace to notice fuzzy petals rather than two-tonne trucks. Rivers were rife through the region, and I would take every opportunity I could to find a bridge or rocks to make a crossing and look down into the flowing ecosystem beneath me.

Pounding the pavement on the same routes at home was starting to get predictable, but suddenly being amongst snow-streaked mountains added a much-needed sense of adventure to my exercise regime. Running on my own here was not without its risks though, and on one of my hill loops I did get nipped on the ankles by an over-zealous dog bolting out of his unfenced casa.

While up north in The Pyrenees, I couldn’t pass the opportunity to run up the imposing mountain trails. Running on a constant incline was incredibly challenging. I ensured that I was kind to myself though, and eventually found a good balance of pushing through discomfort before slowing to a walk to give my body a chance to recover. Alongside lactic acid, the most triumphant sense of satisfaction flowed through me whenever I made small summit after small summit on my own two legs.

I am very much aware of how lucky I was to be able to experience these running escapades thanks to my husband being here to also look after our daughter and vice-versa. This did mean that we each had to continue pushing through the physical tiredness from our own adventures to then play tea parties and be turned into frogs. Because my husband had promised me time to run after he did a big ride, all of a sudden he wasn’t allowed to just siesta himself after reaching the top of the Vallter 2000 climb, which he probably would have done pre-child days. Instead I’d speed around them both ankle-deep in a creek, throwing sticks into the water, and cheering me on as I strode past.

Bringing our two-year old on this adventure perhaps limited the distance we travelled, but the chance to see this part of the world through the eyes of a wide-eyed toddler more than made up for the fact that we couldn’t spend an extra few hours on a trail. Running and hiking in a new country, and becoming a parent have all dared me to take on life in ways I couldn’t have imagined before. Both experiences have also reminded me that life is supposed to be fun, and having fun is when I’m at my best.

Fun for me is running through a strange forest and reaching a fork in the road. It’s following the line of sight that a little finger is pointing to in a thick canopy. Fun is also standing on shaky legs, looking at a daunting mountain bordering two countries and thinking it looks exactly like a broccoli volcano.

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