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On our family trip to Cornwall in May, I had a near-death experience. Some might call me dramatic, but hear me out. Imagine attempting to climb one of the steepest hills in the world with a wiggling child strapped to you, while your pants are constantly slipping down. It felt like my heart was stopping, but really, it was just racing so fast that the beats seemed to blend together. My vision blurred, my hands tingled, and childhood memories flooded in. It seems I was just really thirsty, but that’s beside the point.
I was the one who insisted on walking back to the car park in Clovelly, instead of taking one of the 4×4 rides up the hill like my husband suggested. Clovelly is a beautiful, untouched fishing village in Devon with an insanely steep incline. Walking down to the harbor was manageable, but the return trip was brutal. You almost have to walk like a penguin to keep from tumbling downhill.
On the way back up, I aimed for the café at the top—a haven with cake, water, ice cream, a gift shop and, most importantly, a flat surface. The journey down had been fine, but after a leisurely stroll at the harbor, we felt the fatigue. There was a line for the 4×4 service, and despite being told it might be a bit of a wait, I convinced myself that walking up the road the way the cars do was not only flatter but more manageable, even if it was longer.
So, off we went, like misguided explorers. It was hot, and we only had half a bottle of water. Dexter the dog was hyper on his leash, and the people in the queue watched us with mixed expressions of awe and pity. Just minutes after we left, the 4x4s started moving, passing us as we struggled up the road.
I carried Angelica almost the whole way up, but not in a convenient front-carry style. She perched on my hip, and with my jeggings slipping down constantly, I was in quite a state. Angelica provided her own form of entertainment during the ascent, innocently poking fun at my predicament.
Meanwhile, my husband, sensing I was struggling, tried to encourage me. “Come on, Mummy!” he’d shout, turning it into a game with Angelica. At one point, he joined me for a brief moment, only to prod me playfully to move faster. It’s a miracle I didn’t push him off the hill, but I was too exhausted.
Finally, I heard the sound of a brass band, a sure signal of civilization. As we rounded the corner, the path to the café came into view. The band switched to “Congratulations” as we staggered to the finish line, with Angelica chiming in with her own version of encouragement.
I swore never again to take on such a hike with baggage—especially not one that talks and entertains itself by poking fun at my challenges.