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.

Fatigue

My Parkrun result today was crap, or at least I perceive it as being crap because it was so far from the target I had in mind, although in reality it was only one second slower than my first Parkrun two weeks ago. My legs felt heavy and I felt tired, so much so, I would have gladly laid down on the grass and had a good sleep after the first time up the Teeny Tiny Hill. 

I think after the first few weeks of race training, combined with a hard coached climbing session, 3 other sessions with my mates and the introduction of pull-ups to my training schedule, my body is telling me it needs a rest. My legs ache and my abs were so sore on Thursday I could not laugh or cough (I dread to think what 11 broken ribs feels like...). I have even started dreaming about being being able to have a nice lie down! 

The increasingly dog-eared training log

My problem is that I find it hard to deviate from what I think I should be doing, without feeling intensely guilty. I worry that if I don't train as hard for one week then I will never train as hard again, that if I eat cake one day, I will fall of the dietary wagon for good. But even I can tell I can't keep doing what I have been. So tomorrow I am having a rest and on Thursday I am having another one. 

Although today's effort has made me feel a little disheartened, I suppose I have to focus on the gains I have made in climbing and running over the past 5 months. From very modest beginnings on Christmas Eve, I can now run 11.5 km at a perfectly respectable pace, I can climb and lead things I never could before, with the compulsion to vomit almost gone. And I myself have changed, by about ten kilograms to the good...

So although this has felt like a long, hard and tiring week, the bigger picture is far more positive and I suppose, ultimately, that's all that really matters.

Training steps - or perhaps a metaphor for something else?

The coffee run

I think I have inadvertently set my own Parkrun bar rather high - yesterday I knocked 30 seconds off last week's time and came in at 28:13. Utilising my new magic watch (it talks to my phone and uses witchcraft to know where you are), I had been aiming for 28:30, although said watch nearly went into the Boating Pond about 17 times, when I realised I hadn't turned off the audible low pace alert. 

I thought I would do today's long run on road, in truth because my knee is hurting and I think it might relate to wearing neutral trail shoes, but mainly because I really, really, really wanted an iced coffee. I knew, because my car tells me when I go there, that Shipley is about 7 miles away, which is handy, both because it has a Costa and because my training schedule said an 11.2 km run was required today. Buoyed on by my Parkrun times, I was also curious as to how fast I could run a road 10K and specifically whether I could achieve my imagined 'race pace' of running 10 km in an hour. 

I filled the water bladder in my little trail running bag, stuffed in some warm clothes, money and my 16 - 25 railcard (student perks), grabbed the magic watch and set off. Straight into a head wind. Almost immediately the pace alarm (now only on vibrate) went off, but it was difficult to move any faster when heading into the teeth of a gale on top of a hill. I carried on, hitting a small, but quite steep hill, at around 2.5 km, before continuing across the plateau and turning right onto a more major road. On this flatter and downhill ground, my pace was good but just before the 5 km mark, I reached a large hill and it reduced accordingly. Struggling up a more gradual, but still significant grind, the watch went into overdrive, but my 5 km time showed I was still on target. Starting the descent and seeing the size of the hill to the other side of the valley, I wimped out and decided I'd take the other, flat route to Shipley. Turning right onto the main road, the last 2.5 km felt hard, firstly I couldn't cross the road, the slope up to the Saltaire junction seemed tougher than it should do and when I reached 11 km, the best option seemed to be to grit my teeth and run faster, just to make the last 500 m go away sooner! Although I feel I cheated a little because this route involves far more descent than ascent, I ran my 11.51 km with an average pace of 5:49 mins/km so I hope that after a bit more training, I can also manage the same speed in a flat 10K race.

Having stretched incongruously by the side of the road, and stopped sweating quite so much, I wandered up to Costa and got myself that iced cappuccino. I think I had earned it!

Hard won cool beverage

The Hills of Home

Training with a purpose, and in particular focusing on different aspects of running in each session, is a new experience for me. But it's really enjoyable, I like the variety and I really like the day I go out 'just for fun'. Today was a 'hill' day and according to my schedule, it was time to conquer Mount Rainier. Fortunately for me, I live on the side of a massive hill somewhere in Yorkshire, thus negating the need to travel to Washington State.

Mount Rainier

As I ran up and down the hill a few times, I thought about how only a few months ago, the very idea of running up this street had seemed unthinkable. I remembered sitting on my bed on Christmas Day, shyly telling someone that I would like to run a 10K this year, having, prior to Christmas Eve, not run at all since April.

Yesterday, after a hot 7K 'fun' run across the moor, I came home and entered Leeds 10K, as a flat warm up to the Saltburn trail race about a month later. All being well with training, not only will I run two 10Ks this year, I will run one of them on my 35th birthday!

Training plans

Park Life

'Do Parkrun each week for speed training', he said, and so it was that I found myself in Lister Park this morning, awaiting Magneto and son, clutching a barcode and feeling somewhat apprehensive. I was nervous, this was my first timed 5K in 9 years, what if I couldn't get round without walking? What sort of time could I run? Could I dare hope to break the golden 30 minute barrier? 

Mass start

Navigating through pushchairs, dogs and people, half way round the first lap, I was rather surprised to find myself just behind the 29' pacer. There must have been some kind of mistake! But I didn't feel like I was running too fast, particularly downhill, so I decided that this might be a very good place to stay, sub 30' would be awesome. I kind of hoped, that by maintaining a distance of about 5 to 10m behind pace lady, wearing a fake beard and a variety of hats (OK, I made that bit up), she wouldn't notice me, but I think she did... On the last lap, she yelled, "If you want to do 29', you need to be in front of me..." I was too scared to argue and lengthened my stride accordingly, all the time thinking, "But I don't really want to be inside 29'! I just seem to have got here by mistake!". The Teeny Tiny Hill for the 3rd time was hard and the pacer overtook me again on the home straight. "Ah well," I thought, "sub 30' was my target" and retook my place about 10m behind her. But there was no escape, slogging up the final lung busting rise, round the bandstand to the finish, she yelled again, "28'30"! Come on!". And for that last 20m or so, I ran as hard as I bloody could.

Having taken my precious barcode to the bandstand, I looked for Magneto and son, who were braving the rain as they ran up the finishing straight (more of a hill than you realise), retrieved the jumpers and met them in the queue. My first Parkrun was complete.

Happy, if a little damp and windswept, Parkrun finishers.

A few hours later and the results were in: my official time of 28'43" blew my vague (and I thought, overly optimistic) 30' target out the water and my placings, overall, against other females and in my age group, were a very pleasant surprise.  Today, having convinced myself I knew my own limits, I vastly exceeded my own expectations and that made me really, really, really happy. Next week, with a huge chunk of renewed self belief thrown in, perhaps I can do even better? 

A sweaty, tired and damp Clamberer, absolutely pleased as punch.

Running from the black dog

Sometimes I run to escape from my own mind. Running does not make my brain stop but it appears to provide a space in which to order my thoughts. 

Thinking in the sun

I make 'notes to self' as I chug along: things to ask those in the know, about running technique or physiotherapists. I think about what I am training for, about the people in my life and my relationships with them. I write blog posts in my head, I wonder why the fuck I am running up a horrible hill and today I thought about George Galloway. Well, I do live in Bradford West and there is an election going on... As I slogged up a hill, into a head wind, considering my technique,  I settled upon the thought that what I really enjoy about running on the moor is the solitude, the physical space in which I can achieve some sort of mental order.

And then I found myself on the M25. Just as I hit the very worst part of the route. Weaving my way through a conglomerate of MAMILs, I was rudely awoken from my ruminations and was also particularly unimpressed when I tripped over a dog. Twice. But, some kind of femichismo (that's like machismo but for women) also hit and I was not stopping on the horrible hill of hell, even if they did all overtake me. Feeling proud of that small achievement, I walked it out at the top, letting the brightly coloured lycra disappear over the summit, allowing me to return to MY moor and my own private world. 

A conglomerate of MAMILs

The hill had sapped my energy and my entanglement with the MAMILs and subsequent chat with another lone female runner had lost me valuable seconds, so I gave up on trying to improve on my previous best time.  As I hit the downhill section towards home, all I could think about was keeping going, just as fast as I could manage. Passing the signpost, sweating and knackered, my watch told me I had been faster than I thought, bettering my previous time by 41 seconds. I had achieved something. 

As I stretched at the car, I became aware that my mood had significantly lifted. I must have left the black dog somewhere on that moor. I only hope he stays there for a while.

Home, happier and settling in for election night...

Return to the rock

The rock felt warm as I yelled 'CLIMBING' to my unseen partner and carefully stepped up onto a small ledge. I had intentionally asked to not be told the grade of the route, but the holds looked positive and the crack appeared friendly.  I was happy in the sunshine and despite the outcome of my last trad outing, I felt surprisingly relaxed and confident as I began. Although the first bit of gear seemed intent on spoiling my day, the rest of climbing was enjoyable and I felt like I was moving well. Arriving at the top of the solid rock, my partner finally came into view and we discussed the best way to negotiate the chossy, grassy, nettle ridden top out. Standing safely next to the fence, he told me it was a V diff. I nearly remarked that V diffs seem to have got a lot harder lately!

Spot the V diff

After an abseil and a fair bit of hammering by my partner, the pesky hex was retrieved and as the guide was consulted to find the next route, it transpired that the 'stiff' V diff on which we had begun was, in fact, a Hard Severe. My confidence was boosted - the last time I tried an HS, I had to be hauled up a sea cliff in tears!

We moved on to the next route. As I looked up at the corner, the bedding of the rock, the nature of the crack and the small positive footholds reminded me so much of Roseness that I half expected to turn round and see the sea behind me. I wished Donna could have been out with us too: in my mind I could see her bridging her way up the route, just as she had done on several climbs back in Orkney. 

The climbing was enjoyable, with a few moves that required a little thought and a little nerve, even as a second, and I particularly relished the layback manoeuvre near the crux.  Reaching the top, I felt I had again climbed well, but that the route had been harder than the first. The guide said it was a Severe, while my newer guide at home only rates it as HVD! Lies I tell you!

Looking towards Manningham Mills and the hill between here and home

Finishing a few hours later, as the clouds began to gather and a cool breeze began to blow, I felt that overall it had been a good day. In particular, I had really enjoyed the familiar nature of the rock and the type of climbing required.

Today was all about getting time on rock, at the right grade, in a positive environment. I really hope that there are many more sessions like it.