Many moons ago I was bagging Wainwrights. Got nearly half way and then, well, life happened.

Re-reading the notes I made on each Lake District trip, I ask myself how I could possibly have let life roll on without coming back to these hills.

This is why we need coaches, whether it’s a professional, a friend, or a loved one, playing that role. To remind us of what brings us alive. Encourage it. Facilitate it. To see that those parts are nourished that we may have lost sight of.

Back to the Lakes on Sunday, and I’ve been poring over maps.

Yes, Marie Kondo, this sparks joy.