Does this qualify as a personality disorder?

I often wake up in the morning and wonder about my two lives. During the pay-the-mortgage week I work a nine-to-whenever, tied to my laptop and a series of meetings that remind me of ping pong: we debate the same issues, have wild inspirations and great ideas, but never come to a conclusion.

But then again this is what working in the charity sector is like. Just like Miss Universe, we talk about saving the world, and then realise it’s a large goal to chase which requires more substance than a smile and a good script.

Which is when my secret life comes in. As it’s all about experiencing the world, in a wild, imaginative yet very real way.

So on weekends and early mornings before work and any time in-between, I ditch the skirt, heels and starched collars of corporate world and mutate into a grubby, muddy, (and usually sweaty) person. No-one recognises me. I am disguised in a range of gear that is incomprehensible to my colleagues — baggy trousers, Lycra, wicking shirts, waterproof socks, gaiters, bad hairdo, no make-up. I’m sure people feel sorry for me.

And so, suitably prepared for Mother Nature and often dragging Ian along (who thankfully is very sensible) we go exploring, through the rural and urban wilds of South Africa.

We’ve tipped over the edge of the Southern Life building in Joburg, abseiling its 145m to the bottom. We adventure race, tackling the hills of Swaziland, mountains of Lesotho and pinnacles of Harrismith. We bicker as we paddle round dams and down rivers (I do have a habit of going round in circles). We have an ongoing mission where we try to find the secret parts of Joburg — from the beautiful Klipriviersberg Nature Reserve, 10 minutes from the city centre, to Gauteng’s highest point at Suikerbosrand, to camping overnight at the Kommandonek Fort overlooking Hartebeespoort Dam.

I overcame my fear of rolling into an abyss, sleeping on a ledge in a snowy Drakensberg and discovered how to pick up my feet trail running in a disused airfield in Edenvale. I learnt to appreciate the value of living at altitude when trying to peddle up the steep mountain passes of Greyton. And learnt how to hold on tight on the way down.

Then there’s competition — somehow getting it right to podium finishes at AR Sprint races, tackling longer events like War Trail, winning the mountain biking during my leg of the G4 challenge, a Salomon sponsorship to race Sani2C, and a host of DNFs, which I wear proudly.

But it’s also about heading out on my own — taking my bike to Lesotho and peddling through the mountains around Katse Dam. Hiking solo into the hills to find Bushmen paintings in Marquard in the Free State. Cycling to the top of Naude’s Nek — SA’s highest mountain pass just outside Rhodes — only to discover in the pub later, that I never actually made it to the top.

If it’s trail running, paddling, abseiling, trekking, mountain biking, marshalling at events, sitting and staring — the method doesn’t matter. As long as I am outdoors, experiencing and learning about my world around me. I’m happy.

And then it’s Monday morning.

And I throw off my grubby, muddy exterior, scrub down, step into corporate gear and take on the wilds of Joburg traffic. I ease myself into my chair, shake off the stiffness, and think about the easiest and most believable way to answer the inevitable question: So, what did you do this weekend?