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| Finishing some unfinished business |
Why any of us thought that a jaunt over the Helvellyn range in rain that was torrentially pouring off the mountain side was a good plan defies explanation. For my part I believed that I wanted to be challenged. By Birkhouse Moor my mind had allowed itself to consider a u-turn. To my body's displeasure seconds later all weak thoughts had vanished in the dank mist and the half-wit in me started to take pleasure in the hostility of the climate.
Helvellyn was bereft of the usual Goretex huddles as a tight pack of around 8 of us clung together tacitly navigating off each other, thinking to ourselves "I hope that bugger in front of me knows where he's going". Our spontaneous attempt at collective intelligence saw us right, and by the second check point all directional technicalities evaporated, quite unlike the cloud. As suddenly as it had formed the pack split, leaving me to climb St Sunday as lonely as a lamb in an abattoir, for the whole ascent.
Feeling purged and still battling in the race I came off St Sunday following a good line on a scree bed. Whilst hardly fresh at the bottom, I had little reason to anticipate my legs putting on their best Bambi impression.
This time last year I recorded a very disappointing DNF, having had to retire from the race at the foot of St Sunday Crag (CP4), the descent of which had finished my legs off. Happily I can report that this year I made it at least 400m further before my the pins packing in, by which time my will to live was being drowned by the fast flowing Grisedale Beck. A serious home truth dawned on me as I dragged myself up the final haul, sitting down several times and praying for the mountain to fall before me, how can I complete a BGR if I'm in this condition after 8 miles?
Helvellyn was bereft of the usual Goretex huddles as a tight pack of around 8 of us clung together tacitly navigating off each other, thinking to ourselves "I hope that bugger in front of me knows where he's going". Our spontaneous attempt at collective intelligence saw us right, and by the second check point all directional technicalities evaporated, quite unlike the cloud. As suddenly as it had formed the pack split, leaving me to climb St Sunday as lonely as a lamb in an abattoir, for the whole ascent.
Feeling purged and still battling in the race I came off St Sunday following a good line on a scree bed. Whilst hardly fresh at the bottom, I had little reason to anticipate my legs putting on their best Bambi impression.
This time last year I recorded a very disappointing DNF, having had to retire from the race at the foot of St Sunday Crag (CP4), the descent of which had finished my legs off. Happily I can report that this year I made it at least 400m further before my the pins packing in, by which time my will to live was being drowned by the fast flowing Grisedale Beck. A serious home truth dawned on me as I dragged myself up the final haul, sitting down several times and praying for the mountain to fall before me, how can I complete a BGR if I'm in this condition after 8 miles?
The doubt monkey has entered the room and there's only one way to expel this unwelcome beast - beat the living daylights out of it with some relentlessly hard training.
To the brace of people who passed me after the beck crossing - thank you for your sympathy. What I really wanted was a sedan chair and afternoon tea with finger sandwiches. To the darling ladies in the Glenridding Community Centre, your cake defied superlatives. To the marshals who sat in foul conditions waiting patiently for a fleeting chance to glance the number fixed to my chest, you are wonderful people and the reason why I never walk past a Mountain Rescue collection tin without making a modest deposit.
The week's statistics say little, other than that I climbed 5,894ft in 5 hours 46 minutes. September is shaping up to be a busy month at work and home, but after the Ian Hodgson relay I'll be out enjoying the spectacle of autumn on the high fells. I hope to bring you some good photos.
To the brace of people who passed me after the beck crossing - thank you for your sympathy. What I really wanted was a sedan chair and afternoon tea with finger sandwiches. To the darling ladies in the Glenridding Community Centre, your cake defied superlatives. To the marshals who sat in foul conditions waiting patiently for a fleeting chance to glance the number fixed to my chest, you are wonderful people and the reason why I never walk past a Mountain Rescue collection tin without making a modest deposit.
The week's statistics say little, other than that I climbed 5,894ft in 5 hours 46 minutes. September is shaping up to be a busy month at work and home, but after the Ian Hodgson relay I'll be out enjoying the spectacle of autumn on the high fells. I hope to bring you some good photos.
P.S Does anyone know where I can find the Grisedale Horseshoes results?
Onwards and upwards!
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