Digging deep

As the beat kicked in, I dug deep into some reserve I wasn't aware I had. I felt as if I was dragging myself, by my own hair, along those last two kilometres. I imagined the film of my life and an aerial shot of me running across the moor to the strains of the pumping drum and bass. In that film, I would have looked bloody knackered. Finally the finish line (a gate) came into view and by sheer willpower alone, I forced myself onwards, finally grasping the galvanised steel with grateful hands, as I leant forward, breathing heavily.

Mist on the moor

The run had not had a particularly auspicious start, the moor was shrouded in a thick mist which soon turned to mizzle and there was, of course, the inevitable headwind. But at least the peat was relatively dry, making my passage easier than it sometimes is. Turning onto the track that runs across the escarpment, I met the full force of the wind and was glad to have chosen a long sleeved top, although this was soon soaked by the moisture in the air. My running pack just did not feel right; it seemed to be one of those days where everything was a bit wrong, if I could drop it I did, if I might trip I would. However, I made it successfully to the road and turned downhill, engaging, as I ran, in a tussle with the straps of my bag. The few kilometres along the conduit were pleasant at least, I was considerably lower, out of the mist and what wind there was was behind me. I met some dog walkers for a second time, they must have wondered where I had been. 

It wouldn't have been right had the Horrible Hill of Hell not been involved. I swear it does not get any easier, no matter how many times I 'run' up it. My energy was sapped at the top (I may have melodramatically considered the likelihood of a heart attack) but I turned right to take on the escarpment path for a second time. The wind had noticeably increased, as it was forecast to do and the moor summit was completely hidden from view by the low cloud. As the path runs along the escarpment, it crosses a number of small cloughs, the little kickers this produces seemed energy sappingly difficult, but finally I began  to descend towards the road for a second time. Reaching almost exactly 8km, I landed my foot badly and turned my ankle, triggering a lingering injury. Yelping more in frustration than in pain, I carried on. I only had another 9km to go!

By the time I reached the road, it was difficult to see much beyond 100 m, several times a car loomed towards me without me being totally certain I had been seen. The sight of about 10 teenagers on what looked like a DofE or Scout hike suddenly appearing out of the mist was even more bizarre. Continuously wondering where the cattle grid was and completely unable to see the wind farm, I plodded on, eventually reaching the end of the bridleway and a conglomerate of MAMiLs (some of them might have actually been quite young) on bikes. After 11 odd kilometres I was already tired, but my speed mysteriously increased as I passed them... Climbing up out of the clough was difficult and I suddenly felt breathless and sapped of energy, but at 14 km I told myself I only had 3 more to go and even I can run 3 km!

Over the moor, down the Horrible Hill of Hell, through the gate, along the track, though the other gate, round the corner, down the hill, through a gate, through the gap and along the track. The gentle gradient of the track seemed to have become a mountain as I hauled myself along, trying not to look at my watch every 12 seconds. I told myself that at the bottom of the last climb I would look again. 16.1, 16.4, 16.6, 16.96, 17.01, the kilometres seemed to grind by and I felt like I was covering no distance at all. Finally as I hit the bottom of the last hill, the beat of a Danny Byrd track dropped and my long legs moved imperceptibly faster. As my watch reached my target distance, something inside me wouldn't stop, no matter how tired I felt and glimpsing a line of metal appear over the horizon, I pushed on for those last few hundred metres down the hill. 

Hills and laps around the moor

I know that there are people, like my friend Pam, who run much further and faster than me, but today felt like a real achievement. Those 17.51 km (10.88 miles in old money) took a lot of effort, and as I struggled to even walk back to the car, I knew I had given about as much as I could. Tonight, my quads feel like they have had a real workout so I think I've earned a sit down, a jacuzzi bath and maybe even a mug of hot chocolate!

Return to the sharp end

There is something oddly satisfying about a well seated nut. When both surfaces sit snugly against the crack sides and you know it's at least an 8 out of 10. There is something even more satisfying to find you can still place gear well, two years since the last time you tried.

Neither the Simple Chick (a play on surname, not a reflection on intellectual capacity) or I had led outside for some years, and in April, I had had to deal with the aftermath of my other climbing partner landing in an unconscious heap. I'm sure you can appreciate that, given those circumstances, although we wanted to get back on the sharp end, we most certainly didn't want any kind of epic. 

Windgather left

After weeks of deliberation, discussion and seeking the advice of others, we decided that Windgather was the way forward - this also gave the Simple Chick an excuse to acquire Rockfax 'Western Grit', which of course she didn't just want, she definitely needed. For me it was uncharted territory - I had never climbed in the Peak before.

Ready for the off...

Making use of one of my leaving presents from Orkney, we selected a really easy but recommended route. I volunteered to be first up to the plate, organised my gear on my harness, tied in, checked my belayer and set off. It was still before 9 am and my hands and my muscles were cold. I felt like my gear placements took hours, but I wanted them to be right, however long that took. Happily topping out, the biggest problem was building a decent belay. It was not ideal in terms of angles, but I was happy with the two large nuts and big hex that I had in place. 

The Simple Chick commandeers  ALL the nuts

The Simple Chick and I carried on, swapping leads on the different routes that we fancied. It was lovely to be somewhere where there were enough climbs at the right grade for us to pick and chose. I was very impressed by her gear placements, she was precise and exact and by her third climb was looking really slick. 

BUNS!

Following a large picnic, the highlight of which was the Simple Chick's buns, we agreed that we didn't have much left in us. The Simple Chick picked her final route and after lunch, off she set, placing my new yellow hex, for the first time on a route, as she went.

Spot the hex...

Topping out (incidentally non of my top-outs today resembled seals), we discussed her belay placements (good) and took some obligatory selfies, before again agreeing that it was time to head home. The six routes we had climbed may have been low grade but we had had the confidence to go out on our own and try, having thought hard about our venue and our approach. Standing at the top of the final route, I knew we had achieved everything we had set out to. I was proud of us.  

A happy Simple Chick and Northern Clamberer

Attainment

There are aspects of my life that do not exist in Blogland and which I do not want, as yet, to air fully in public. Suffice to say those aspects are not great. Running and climbing are what get me through at the moment, they are measurable and compact and therefore comprehensible. I think, had I not run and climbed my way through last 6 months, I would have given up long ago. 

But as I run and as I climb, I find I learn many things about myself, about the way I think, the way I learn and about my attitudes and approach to life in general, but most of all, I am learning that with hard work and a bit of uncharacteristic self belief, I can achieve.

Yesterday, as I wrote, I ran the furthest I ever had done, and today, I led my first clean 6a since my return to climbing in January. To say I was pleased would be an understatement. 

Wandering into Leeds

Enjoying the sunshine as I walked along the canal towpath, feeling physically exhausted, but completely elated, I thought about the week. Although many things in my life are not going well, in the last 6 months, with the help of a group of fabulous and supportive people, and inspired by the impressive recovery of Three Minute Egg, I have taken my running and climbing to a place I never thought I could get to. I felt good about myself. I felt like I had something to give, that I was now a fit, active and increasingly positive person, with a lot of determination and drive. I felt that I was worth something.

And as I carried on towards the station, those aspects of my life with which I struggle, no longer felt completely insurmountable. I think, that with the right help and support and a few shoves in the right direction, all those things can be conquered too. And that really would be an achievement.

The Longest Run

The cold, cold wind negated the warmth of the sun as I walked to the start of my run first thing this morning. The forecast for the week, and indeed, the weather as I speak, is dreich. A low pressure system out in the Atlantic bringing an Autumnal storm, on what is meant to be the first day of summer. It seemed to me that if I did not take advantage of a relative window in the weather today, I would find it difficult to fit a long run in later this week.

Following my schedule, I knew how far I wanted to go and had worked out a route on the computer, starting from where the Bronte Way leaves Wellheads. I seem to have trouble with the idea of the LSR but I knew today that it was all about going the distance, not about getting there quickly. 

At the start of the run. The highest point on the route is on the horizon.

The first couple of Ks were hard - they are always hard on that route and I can't quite work out why. The bitter wind was really evident as I toiled up the track from the old velvet factory, but the trail over the moor seemed to be less steep than I remembered and the bog-trotting section, although frustratingly slow, was enjoyable.

The route was almost like a tour of our Victorian industrial heritage - through the mine workings on the top of the moor, at the edge of the escarpment - which, from a brief bout of Googling, I think were stone mines, and along an impressive and substantial stone conduit, one of several running for miles across the moors, connecting and managing water from the equally impressive reservoirs. 

The conduit photographed last summer on the way to see the Tour de France

The gentle uphill along the conduit was pleasant, I was sheltered by the escarpment and allowed my mind to wander as I thought about those who had designed and built these engineering masterpieces at least 150 years previously.

The wind seemed to have changed, so that it was again in my face, as I made my way along the track running beneath the high banks of the reservoir, and the last kilometre, climbing up the steep fields to where I began, was really tough. My legs felt heavy and tired as I reached the road but I was determined to ensure I had completed my full distance. With very little left in the tank, I was very pleased, after a few hundred metres more, to draw to a halt at the junction.

My average pace was within my target training range and barring the unavoidable pauses for gates and stiles, I ran all the way - 14.24 km with somewhere between 209 and 218 m of ascent. 

But more importantly than any of those stats, today I ran further than I ever had done before. That, I think, is something to be proud of.