ESSENTIALS

Xenia Taliotis was a guest of Experience Scottsdale (experiencescottsdale. com). Fly to Phoenix with British Airways (ba. com) from £568 return. says Wachman, perhaps by trampling, or maybe by kicking, dragging or throwing me, my horse might kill me if I don’t stick to the rules.

Now rules and I have never got on, but even I can see that saddling a horse covered in grit would be cruel – especially once my bum is in the saddle – and that approaching an animal that has side vision from the front will frighten her, so I do as I’m told.

I brush out the dirt from her coat, I clean her hooves, and I fall into the calm rhythm of following instructions. No dithering, no this way, that way or any one of 100 other ways: just a simple choice of doing things right or doing them wrong. Following procedures sweeps away the detritus of indecision, it lightens and tidies my mind and gives me space to concentrate. It feels good – and novel – to be so focused.

Most dudes (trainee cowboys) take the college’s five-day course, which would allow for lots of rides into the desert as well as learning to round-up cattle, farriering, and hauling and tying down, but given that I am five foot minus one, and eight stone, I’m willing to bet that I’d have been the one being hauled and brought down, so I’m not sad to miss that. I am sad, though, that I don’t have time to do more than walk around the paddock once I’ve gracelessly heaved myself on to the horse. I would have loved to have explored even a tiny few acres of the Sonoran’s mighty, lush landscape on horseback, but our prep work has left us with less than an hour for riding, so we’re confined to the enclosure.

By about lap four, my horse and I are both bored and keen to quicken our pace. We bide our time conspiratorially until Wachman turns his back. I quietly click my teeth. My horse pricks up her ears and snorts. Her body tenses and she breaks into a trot. I can feel her strength in that surge. For a couple of minutes – and until Wachman fixes both of us with his steely gaze – it’s me and my horse, queens of a very tame frontier. Yee-haw!

The next day dawns hot and sticky, and I’ve booked kayaking along the Salt River with Arizona Outback Adventures (aoa-adventures. com). We set off, but the point I’m supposed to be aiming for is receding into the distance as I’m carried backwards by the current. This is a familiar situation: I rarely resist when life takes me off course – but that’s what I’m here to change: this trip is about forcing myself to reach for my goals, and so I start to paddle. And paddle. And paddle.

I’m caught in some kind of mini riptide. Paddling on the spot – finally a sport I might be good at! And then I do it. I metaphorically click my teeth, gee up, and break free. This may seems like small fry, but to me it’s a Herculean achievement that gives me an assurance in my own body that I’ve not had since before cancer. I can. It can. We can. A new sensation rises from my belly to my throat and bursts out in a laugh. I struggle to identify it and then it’s completely clear – it’s what trying and succeeding feels like.

I save what I think will be my easiest challenge to last – a desert hike to the top of Camelback Mountain. Though the guide said hike, I thought of it as more of a walk. It’s only a tad over a mile (less than 2km) to the summit, which, at 2,700ft doesn’t seem too steep, and locals – many of them aged – do it every day before breakfast. I wonder if it’s even going to push me to the point at which I’d normally give up, let alone beyond it.

“Trust me, honey,” says Laurel Darren from Wild Bunch Desert Guides (wildbunchdesert guides.com), looking at my stumpy little legs, “it’ll be tough enough.” It’s 5am and Laurel’s here to escort me on my hike. Again, I wonder if this is necessary since it’s an up-one-way-down-theother trail, but she tells me it is, and that each year hundreds of people have to be rescued from various mountains and parks throughout Phoenix – people who underestimate how tough it is, or who don’t take enough water, or who think they’re fitter than they are. That person sounds very familiar…

We drive into the a new day. Twilight is my favourite time. I love seeing the landscape breathe, shift and waken and am thrilled to be hiking at that precise moment when dawn melds into day. Camelback looms dark above us and the desert reds are not yet ablaze, yet yesterday’s heat still rises from the ground.

We start our climb, so far so good. I’m keeping up, until the terrain changes and it’s no longer a gradual ascent, but a steep climb up rugged granite rocks. The step-ups are deeper than is comfortable for my short legs, particularly when my water-laden rucksack is pulling me backwards, and I’m holding up traffic, both coming down – the early-birds have already completed their hike – and going up, which panics me, because it makes me feel I’m being a nuisance. Laurel holds out her hand, I grab it, and she hauls me up. I’m back on track. Beyond that point, I do whatever it takes to keep going – scrambling seems to work – until the trail eases and I can walk again. The summit is within reach and there are now ledges where I can stand to take in the scenery, the candyfloss-pink, purple haze sky and the striking Saguaro cacti that stand against it.

Scottsdale has long been a restful retreat that’s provided recuperation and rehab to those who’ve rocked ’n’ rolled too much for their own good. The Sonoran Desert’s beauty and healing qualities are at the root of that, giving life to Phoenix’s reputation as one of the premier health destinations in the world, and to hotels that are pantheons of wellness with superb fitness and spa facilities.

The three I stay at – The Phoenician (thephoenician.com), Hotel Valley Ho (hotelvalleyho.com) and The Four Seasons Resort Scottsdale at Troon North (telegraph.co.uk/ tt-four-seasons-troon-north) – from where I do another amazing hike, this time to the top of Pinnacle Peak – all have a terrific range of classes, treatments and healthy dining options and I don’t hold back.

Pushing myself physically has made me want better for myself. Better nutrition, better health, better living, and to achieve that, I have to try. I see the saguaro cactus, one of Arizona’s most defining symbols as a fitting motif for my life going forwards, Laurel tells me that saguaros don’t grow their first arm until they’re 70. That’s me. I may have left personal growth until middle age, but I’m waving now. Not in surrender but in salute.