Feet in the clouds, foot on the table

The first 1.7 miles, with 1890 ft of climbing were a killer. It was hot in the sun and the sweat was soon pouring from my skin. Mr Marzipan, with a tenacity and fitness I simply could not match, ploughed on up the uneven stone steps as my long legs reverted to a walk, one powerful step seemingly more energy efficient than trying to run. The plan was nothing but ambitious and I felt distinctly under prepared, a night in my tent during a torrential downpour leaving me tired and somewhat lacking in psych. Reaching the ridge, I found it hard to regulate my temperature, my burning, damp skin rapidly cooling in the stiff autumnal breeze.  

Looking happier than I felt!

The terrain was hard and it was impossible to find any kind of rhythm, traction was difficult on the loose stones, footing awkward over uneven boulders, runnable sections gave way to scrambly rocks and the stone steps, just at the wrong height, seemed easier to attack at an aggressive walking pace than a quad burning run. Mr Marzipan, native to this place, disappeared from view as I struggled to trust my feet on the descents, frustrated that I was so frightened of slipping, I was making no headway at all.

It's a sartorial nightmare

Soon, I was flagging; 'go juice', bar thingies and marzipan seemingly unable to provide the energy I needed and the more tired I became, the more frustrated I was, my feet no longer seemingly wired to my brain. On Crinkle Crags, we finished the last of the marzipan and the sight of Bow Fell filled me with dread. As runs go, this was not going well. On the last few knolls before the col, I was so tired and frustrated, quite uncharacteristically, I threatened to cry!

Wonderful light

Finally we made it to The Band and the land consistently began to descend. Again the path felt hard to run, more steps, more stones, more gravel, more rocks. I was envious of Mr Marzipan as he seemed to effortlessly and quickly float down the mountain - there was no way I could catch him so I concentrated on making my own way down, still fighting hard to find any kind of speed or rhythm.

I might have tried to snap a leg off but at least there was a nice rainbow

Battling on, a tired, sloppy step made my ankle bend further than is comfortable, recovering and continuing for a few steps more, I suddenly felt it bend at right angles, first one way, then the other. I sank to the ground in pain. But there is little choice in these situations than, to paraphrase a friend, HTFU and sort oneself out. I started limping downwards.

First aid

I don't know how long it took us to get down, every step required thought, at times the human crutch and commandeered walking pole were needed for complex foot swaps, the pain numbed by paracetamol donated by a stranger. I thought it would never end, that the campsite would come no closer. But the kindness of strangers sometimes surprises you and limping the last kilometre along the road, someone offered us a lift.

Long Legs on one leg

Some hours later, I left Kendal hospital with a pair of crutches and a very bad sprain but I suppose that's sometimes the price you pay for getting out and doing the things that as hard as they might be, really are the things you love. For now though, my ankle is quite firmly settled on top of the coffee table...