Since when were you a morning person?

When other people notice you changing: A 4am hike, chicken sandwiches and socks for hands.

It’s Tuesday night and I’m playing some pool with my mate Jack, he suggests afterwards we go out and get drunk. He is a teacher and half term provides him an opportunity to hit the town at any given moment. For me, though, I’ve made plans which are not as flimsy as they once would have been. The usual light-hearted suggestions of binning off my arrangements are met with a calm, yet stubborn, rejection I was not so familiar with, and it all came from me.

Jack was a little taken aback that waking up early to go climb a mountain was somehow more appealing than going for drinks with him, but honestly I was too excited to care. All I could think about was catching the sunrise in one of the most beautiful spots in Yorkshire; once upon a time something would have got in the way of it, but not anymore. I walked home and immediately cooked a chicken breast to put on sandwiches for the next day. It was 12pm, I’d be up in less than 4 hours, was I finally going crazy?

This week I have taken holiday from work and as well as getting some rest and seeing friends, one of my plans was to climb this mountain. The fact that on this night I’d get just 3 hours sleep was unconcerning, as after all I’d packed chicken sandwiches and water, oh and a toffee crisp!

Wake up. Shower. Get out the house.

I tried to catch a bus but the scheduled one didn’t arrive. So instead I ran into town to get the train at 5.15am. I caught my train and sat looking out of the window into the pitch black, quietly reflecting on where I was. The plan in my head was happening, I hadn’t lied to myself or broken any promises. As someone in recovery these days are massive, achieving what you set out to do helps you feel in control and is one of the greatest forms of self care and love.

Before the train pulled up to my stop, I was a little worried that I’d be setting out in complete darkness. Thoughts started to make me question whether this really was an insane idea and whether to just abandon the whole thing. Going out on your own into the wilderness to climb an icy mountain before sunrise, this isn’t what normal people do, Ed. I got up and disembarked the train anyway, screw you negative thoughts.

Ribblehead station is one of those platforms where you have to wait for the train to head off before crossing the line to the other side. As it trundled away down the tracks, it opened up my view of the landscape around me. “Wow!” I audibly gasped and stood still, alone in the middle of beauty. A wave of different emotions hit me as I knew this was going to be even better than I had imagined.

Somewhere in the cloud of feelings my body was processing was a lingering gratefulness. I was so thankful to myself for battling through the hard times to rediscover the wonders of exploring the outdoors again. I think there’s a reason people who have suffered with addiction find the outdoors so comforting and enjoyable to be immersed in. It goes beyond the dopamine hits of climbing at silly hours, or hiking to escape bad thoughts or memories. There’s something in appreciating the vastness of the countryside with all of its unwavering beauty, defiance and flaws, that reminds us of ourselves.

I climbed to the peak and had a brief feeling of success before I rushed down to escape the bitterly cold winds. In no way was I kitted-out for this hike. Wearing a tracksuit jacket and bottoms, a woolly hat and some running trainers, I was a bit of a civilian. I even wore some spare socks on my hands as I’d forgotten to bring gloves in all of the excitement. As I stopped for some rest on the descent, I ate my delicious chicken sandwiches and hydrated. I could’ve been more prepared for this hike, but it didn’t matter, I did it my way, and I was bloody enjoying it.

It was now around 8.30am and my sister responded to the picture I’d sent her a few hours prior. She commented on how early it was and had a bunch of different questions. We had a brief conversation for as much as my fingers could take being out of the socks. The question that made me smile the most was, “since when were you a morning person?”

I didn’t respond straight away and instead I just thought about it. It was as though I could no longer picture the person I used to be anymore, and only this sentence made me remember. I wasn’t pitting my current self against my old self, in a battle of who was more righteous, or anything like that, I was just pondering. What I hadn’t considered about recovery and doing things like this was how other people could see the changes. Because after all, I was doing this for me; I’m not consciously thinking about how other people perceive me, I’m just doing what makes me happy.

Was I not a morning person? Did I not always enjoy hiking and getting out early to take photographs of nice skies and mountains? If I did, I didn’t always show it or get excited about it. For a long time I wasn’t passionate about much at all, and I wasn’t doing things that made me happy. It’s as simple as that but it’s complicated when you’re not doing so well, you don’t even see it a lot of the time.

So, Ed, since when were you a morning person? As far as I know I’ve always been one, I love the feeling of purpose in having to get up-and-out to do something. I lacked purpose for so long that I became lazy and unmotivated to get out of bed; that wasn’t me. I am most pleased with my reaction to the question, I’m not offended or embarrassed by it, I am just happy that occasionally people might start to notice that I’m myself again now. They might see the spark in my eyes as I talk about something, or my willingness to say yes to plans, or no to plans.

Whoever they see, I hope it’s me.