On an Italian high

There was nothing between me and the deep blue sky. A blue to make Farrow & Ball weep into their paint pots and surrender to the superiority of nature. Mountains reared all around: the dramatic immediacy of the Italian Dolomites, the frosted Austrian Alps in the distance. Meadows beamed with wildflowers and a metal cross marking the 2,157m summit of the Pralongià Plateau raised its arms to the heavens. I felt like doing the same.

SkyrunningThis may just be the most cushty commission I have ever had. “Sarah,” said the nice people at The Evening Standard, “would you like to stay at a glorious hotel in the even more glorious Italian Dolomites to run amid flower-filled fields and snow-peaks, and eat your own weight in Michelin-starred food?” Don’t mind if I do!

What a treat it was to spend a week in the Alta Badia valley, having adventures and scoffing copiously, all in the name of earning a living. Feeling grateful indeed.


St Lucia – earning my keep

Beads of condensation drool down the bottle of ice-cold Piton beer. They caress its curves and seem to purr: “Drink me…”

I need little encouragement. I am barely out of the kayak and up the sandy beach before this Caribbean ambrosia is thrust into my hand, the cool glass soothing my paddle-chafed palm. It is like winning a big, shiny trophy – but, better, one you can consume…

Glad to see my piece on St Lucia’s new ‘Quadrathlon’ in the Independent, though it feels odd to see ones failures writ large in a national newspaper…

Having travelled to the island to try out The BodyHoliday’s new multi-sport workout – a 10km cycle, a 4km run, a 35m abseil and a 2.5km kayak – I *sometimes* wonder why I can’t just write about fancy spas or train trips. But where’s the fun (and blood and sweat) in that?