This week I finally got round to walking up Moel Famau, the hill in North Wales that thought was called Molvammer until I was embarrassingly old.
Let’s cut to the chase here: I grossly overestimated my fitness levels. There were toddlers bouncing up there in Crocs and I wanted to die from exhaustion before we’d even got out of the car park and onto the path.
In hindsight, maybe while we were in the car park I could have stopped begging for the sweet release of Death long enough to read the signs which explain the colour coded routes up Moel Famau. But fuck it, why not just ignore all the advice and start walking.
I’ll tell you why: because I grossly overestimated my fitness levels. It said on Google it takes 30-45 minutes to get up there. It took us (because of me) two and a half hours. When we got to the top in time for sunset (it was planned – I know, cute) it was absolutely baltic and I had to sit in a sheltered spot of Jubilee Tower eating half an Italian BMT that had come all the way from Subway on Scottie Road with us.
By the time we made it back to the car it was pitch black, my legs were spasming and it was too late to get back to Liverpool in time to pick up some food from Maggie Fu. You can imagine the mood I was in.
But the main thing is, I did it. I said I wanted to do it and I did it. I learned a few things about walking for beginners that I thought I already knew and clearly didn’t, and I felt parts of me I hadn’t felt for a long time. But I did it. And for what it’s worth, Saturday tea time on a Bank Holiday Weekend when everyone’s busy getting ready to go drinking is a perfect time to go up Moel Famau in the relative peace and quiet.
Next stop, Snowdown (I heard they’ve got a train and a cafe).