Swaledale is an amazing place to be: barren, beautiful, windswept and boggy. I have run on this moor almost everyday for the last two weeks. The first day I was slipping on ice but since then the bridle paths have become stream-beds and the ground a series of marshes and puddles. I have seen stunning sunrises and bowed my head into the howling wind and rain. I walked across the moor on Christmas Day, arriving half-an-hour late to church, wet and cold with mud spattered trousers into a congregation of locals in their festive best. I have walked up Calver Hill with my three children in cutting wind and stinging hail, to come home to hot baths and hot chocolate. I saw a barn owl yesterday, swooping over the heather, day-light hunting, its wings broad and sweeping. I have laughed and cried, played games, watched films and read my book. I am tired and rested, relaxed and still-humming. This year has been tumultous and up-ending, my foundational relationships have shifted, my life will never be the same again and my view of myself has been challenged, undone and is being rebuilt. I have hopes and dreams for 2012: I am scared, insecure and excited and in many ways I feel that I have a lot of growing up to do but it looks like being a good year.
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