Making a mountain into a molehill

14.24PM, 1st January 2012. It is slightly wet, windy and I am perhaps 2/3 of the way to the top of Arthur's Seat. At this moment in time I was clinging to the side of the narrow rocky path, whimpering in abject terror at the possibility of falling down the rocky terrain, stabbing desperately at my phone in the hope that one of my friends who had gone ahead would pick up and gasping "Fine, fine, it's just a bit high" at other walkers when they asked how I was in between bouts of dry retching. It was not an auspicious start to the year.

Admittedly, this trip was never going to turn out well, as I hate hills, heights, climbing, physical exercise and anything that involves wearing unflattering sports gear. Myself and four friends had decided to undertake this climb of climbs as part of a packed Edinburgh schedule (they were staying with me over the new year) and I assumed that while it is a bit of a climb, it would be perfectly safe with proper paths and railings and whatever, and that wearing boots from the high street with a tweed coat and a mock croc handbag having eaten no lunch wouldn't be an issue. Fashion fail.

So it started well enough, until I stopped for a rest and told my friends to go on, thinking I would either catch them up or they would wait for me at the top, only to lose sight of them in seconds. Every time I stopped for a panic I realised how high up I was and how unstable I felt (my sense of balance and proportion is appalling and I get pretty bad vertigo), and then realised that turning back and descending on my own with no support would have been even worse. I wept openly, I saw stars, I even crawled on my hands and knees at one point; it was appalling, and potentially a tad over-dramatic, but that's just me. Finally, I thought I was almost there and had a nice chat with a charming couple who told me that from here it got "much, much easier", and so pushed on, only to be faced with my ultimate nightmare - A TINY EXPOSED CORNER WITH A SHEER DROP AND NOTHING TO HANG ON TO ON EITHER SIDE. At that point I knew I was done for and sat down and started dry heaving until a charming and wonderful man and his equally charming and wonderful girlfriend got me on my feet and held my hand until the worst was over. I could have married him on the spot.

Finally I decided to ignore the fear and just get it over with, and when I climbed the last 200 metres on my own, it felt great. Really great. Admittedly, discovering that my friends thought I had turned back and had descended without me was a bit of a dampner but I managed to stride down the other side myself with no problems and it suddenly felt totally worth it. Finding that the way down could have been a much easier climb actually made me feel even better, like I'd really done something that terrified me and not taken the easy way out.

So in short: climbing - horribly bad. Adrenaline and sense of achievement - wonderfully good.