Jo Herrings Adventures

Catching up with friends, and sharing my health situation with them (again didn't think I would be writing this on my mostly travel blog but you know, it is my story) and many have looked at me quizzically and say " oh, what's that then? ". So for the purposes of clarity I thought I would help educate my readers on Endometriosis. (Feel free to revert to Everest , The Royal Wedding or the perils of travelling solo here if you prefer my usual subject matter) something that I have discovered is widespread issue for women and goes massively undiagnosed. According to Endometriosis UK it is " a gynaecological condition where tissue similar to the lining of the womb, grows in other areas of the body, most commonly in the pelvic region. This tissue responds to hormones in the same way as the lining of the womb but with no outlet it can cause inflammation, scarring and adhesion's, leading to severe pain and many other symptoms ." And when they say pain,

There is something magical about the way music can transport you back in time, make you feel like your 10,20 (or more if applicable) years younger, how it reminds you of a smell, a taste, a love, a place and oh, the people. The warmth of that feeling can hold you longer than the last note. And then of course the bitter reality that  music can conjure also. That stomach wrenching reminder of a lost one, a moment in time when life was not so colourful and the dark cloud of sadness that the words, tune or tone harks from. And on the opening chords you want to pull the plug, run out of the room for fear that the memory will take you back to a time of endurance. Mine vary from songs that they played at a mid-year Christmas breakfast  where our entire school listened to the radio in a church hall one cold winter school day(....why this memory sticks I'm not sure!), to the jubilant music at the Rugby World Cup Final in Auckland, the Meatloaf album that was stuck in our car tape player

I don't plan what I write about on this blog but one thing I have tried not to involve you all in is my constant struggle with my lady bits. Not because they bounce around on Asian bus journeys if untamed by a fierce sports bra, nor the nuisance of fitting these curves into any clothes in the beautiful high street stores, but the actual innards of my lady bits where on a monthly basis I turn green, lose feeling in my legs and have to swiftly crawl to the bathroom to vomit in pain. Always a little awkward if out in public obviously. For the benefit of my male readers be warned I'm likely to start mentioning words you'll recognise from Health lessons at school when you would blush and be baffled by the intriguing boobs and bits girls were starting to develop across the classroom (some of which you learnt you never wanted to know about). You may also squirm when I write "period" and don't mean full stop. I'll forgive you for laying off the blog for a bit w

This is not the conventional altitude sickness. I haven't lost my appetite, got a thumping headache, disintry or suffer from shortness of breath after 10 steps. This is a feeling of missing all of these symptoms, just to be in the great heights of the Himalayas again. That feeling that none of my pictures from my time in the Kumbu or indeed Sikhm really can medicate me. The thing about travel is it gets under your skin so much it really can leave you with a permanent impediment. The wanderlust of being in the valley of the great mountains 60 years on since the first summit by my heroes Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay is consuming me at the moment. Today is my first anniversary since I made it to Everest Base Cam p, and if today is anything to go by I will be making a return! I will never forget the difficulty of the Kumbu. With nothing more than 5 months travelling South East Asia as training and the first night providing me with a bout of the runs, I was not best

I started this blog 2 years ago after competing in my second half marathon . That day was both a celebration of British sport and a commemoration of life. The race was on the famed British F1 track at Silverstone and despite my best efforts I'm fairly confident my cornering wasn't as good as Lewis Hamilton. Despite expecting smooth surfaces and a flat track, I discovered it was before the pre-season resurfacing, so plenty of gravel was kicked over the smooth surface and there was definitely inclines not the perfect flat race track I was hoping for. The day itself resonates with me as it was 9 years since my fathers passing from Cancer. It was nice to do something productive on his anniversary rather than head to the beach like I usually do to escape the world. My emotions were superseded with the tragic loss of lives in NZ during the Christchurch Earthquake just 2 weeks previously. Where Amanda, my school head girl, NZ hockey player, mother, wife and friend was killed. Honest

I can barely remember where I left my blog last year. It seems like a pretty ugly patch in my life after a year of travelling to some of the most beautiful, enriching and challenging places in the world. I am so grateful to be on the otherside of the post travel blues that challenged me coming into end of 2012. So much of travel is about the preparation before you go. The saving of all those pennies, stocking up on quality time with loved ones, savouring of experiences once taken for granted on your front door, handing in your notice, putting your bank, phone, flat in order so it doesn't cost you more than it needs to (some more successfully than others!)  storage of your possessions, handing over of keys and finding some time to make a plan about  where and what that elusive travel might entail.  Then there are the farewells, those last tastes of home, hugs of babes who will be walking talking boys when you get back and getting to the airport on time without holding on for one