Yorkshire 3 Peaks.

There is an old proverb: Before you run, first you must learn to walk.  At its heart is the message that you should master a basic skill before you move onto anything more complex.  Well, with my knee preventing me from running I thought that a good walk would be no bad thing, a way to keep moving and keep flexing my aching joint without the strain of pounding the pavements for mile on end.  I suppose if I had followed the teachings of the proverb fully I would have started my forays into walking with a nice gentle stroll but no, that's just not me.

On the 23rd August, a couple of weeks after getting injured, I signed up to walk the Yorkshire 3 Peaks with a group from South Leeds.  In the back of my mind I knew it would be a long walk.  Of course it would be hilly, but I didn't really stop to think about the scale of the challenge.  I now know that Whernside, Ingleborough, and Pen-Y-Ghent, make Churwell Hill look like a billiard table.

Ribbleshead Viaduct

This Saturday our group of 30 set off from the car park of the Station Inn at Ribbleshead.  This in itself is unusual as it meant we were starting with the second peak.  The rationale behind this was that not everybody on the trip was going to be able to complete all 3 peaks.  Starting at Whernside gave people the chance to attempt 1, 2, or all 3 peaks.  This suited me down to the ground as to be honest I had absolutely no idea if my knee would be up for it.  I had heard that walking poles could halve the strain on knees so I borrowed a pair for the day, just in case.

I'll be honest, I had very mixed emotions.  I was excited at the challenge, race day nerves and adrenalin kicked in, our bus couldn't get to the start fast enough, but at the same time I was scared.  I was trying to stay calm, trying to be sensible, trying to remember at all times that I am technically injured.  The problem is my knee feels fine unless I'm running and as I've not run in about a month I had no idea if it was better, worse, or still just as bad as it had been.

The first climb was fine.  I started using the poles straight away so that I could get used to them.  Our pace was good and we passed a load of other walkers, but our group was already fragmented.  One team set off straight to Ingleborough, aiming to climb 1 peak then have an afternoon in Horton-in-Ribblesdale.  The Majority of us had come up Whernside, but at varying speeds.  We had agreed to stick with Ed, one of the walk organisers, who was intending to stick at the front, so we took our first break at the summit while he and the rest of the fast group caught up.

The first decent, in fact the first couple of steps of the first decent sounded alarm bells.  I soon realised that I lead with my right foot, leaving my left leg to support my weight.  With every step twinges became aches and aches soon became pain.  I had to remember to lead with my left leg and keep it as straight as possible but that proved harder than learning to walk again.  For the first time, and not for the last, my two walking companions (Debs and Mike), left me behind as momentum and a pair of working knees each carried them down Whernside.

They did wait for me at the bottom, and we in turn waited for the rest of the fast group at the brilliantly placed "tea room" nestled in a barn at the foot of the hill.  It was during this stop that I started to seriously consider what I was doing.  One peak down, two to go.  My knee felt fine again but I now knew what to expect on the next decline.

The steps of Cirith Ungol

"I'll get up and down Ingleborough and call it a day. I don't want to do any lasting damage.  Everybody knows I have a knackered knee.  There is no shame in only doing 2 peaks when injured." I told myself.

Unlike Whernside going up Ingleborough was hard work.  The initial walk through cow fields was fine.  We had lost the rest of the group by the time we came to the single file stone causeway across the bogs at the foot of the hill.  Then we came to the steps.  If you have never climbed Ingleborough I can only describe the way up as being akin to the steps of Cirith Ungol, the route that Smegol took with Sam and Frodo into Mordor.  Steep doesn't really come close.  Any steeper and you would need a harness and crampons.  The knee was still fine but a month of relative inactivity, give or take the odd swim, began to show.

I was thirsty, hungry, short of breath, and my head was starting to swim.  I needed a breather.  I had no idea that my fitness level had dropped so much, but I was close to the top of peak number 2 so I pushed on to the second trig point.  I turns out that my lack of pace was a blessing as I was the only one of the three of us who noticed the signpost for the path back to Horton during the climb.  I took on fluids, ate one of the nicest bananas I have ever consumed, re-adjusted my walking poles and set off again, knowing that the next section was going to be painful.

I was right, coming down from Ingleborough was bad.  Worse than the first decent.  The miles were starting to take their toll and I was still forgetting to lead with my left foot.  Debs was knocked off her feet while she was adjusting her footwear by Bailey, an over-friendly chocolate Labrador.  Mike fell over trying to get past a group of Sunday-walkers.  But camaraderie kept us going.  That and peanut butter sandwiches.

Mike, Debs, Sancho at the top of Ingleborough.

As we closed in on Horton we started to discuss the third peak.  We had come so far and, like me, Debs is very self competitive.  It's not about beating others, it's about completing what we set out to achieve.  We had come to walk the three peaks after all.  The plan set out by the organisers was to all meet up in the car park and anybody who wanted to climb Pen-Y-Ghent could do so and then come back down into Horton having climbed all 3 peaks.  We were at the car park early, having left everyone behind and the decision was quickly made by my companions that they were going to climb Pen-Y-Ghent and carry on back to the Ribbleshead Viaduct to complete the 25 mile walk.

I was not staying put.  My head was telling me that I should stop.  One climb left.  One more trig point to touch.  Just one more hill to come back down.  I was still concerned that I my knee was just going to pop and leave me stranded, or worse, tumbling down a sheer drop.  My heart however wanted to finish the challenge and wanted my head to shut up.  We tried to contact the other walkers, leaving texts and voice messages, and set off for the final 9.5 miles.  We calculated that we had just enough time to complete the walk before sunset at 7pm.

Most people I have talked to about the 3 Peaks have told me that Pen-Y-Ghent is the best hill because it's quite short.  I can guarantee with almost 100% certainty that these people have only ever walked up Pen-Y-Gent as the first of the 3 peaks.  Doing it last sapped what was left of my energy.  True to form Mike and Debs waited at the top.  As I pulled myself towards that last trig point they were sat in the lea of the wind, tucking into dried fruit and nuts, as if they had just stepped out of the house and were waiting for a bus to take them shopping.

All that was left was the final decent followed by a 7 mile slog back to the start.  It didn't take long before, in true Top Gear fashion, I was left behind like Richard Hammond, with my aching knee, being taunted by a back-up car of dubious prospect.  I hobbled down the shale path as fast as I could but there was no way I could keep up, not until the gradient levelled out.  Then, from nowhere, I ran using the poles as propulsion.  I must have looked like a cross between a red setter and one of the Wheelers from Return To Oz.

The finish in sight

Reunited we crunched, chatted, and laughed our way back to The Station Inn.  We were not 100% sure we were heading in the right direction as our maps were low quality copies and lots of the sign posts had missing arrows.  Around every twist and over every crest the longed for sight of the viaduct was acting as our chequered flag.  Every now and then we would catch a glimpse of a far off bridge and it gave us hope.  Just as the sun slipped behind Whernside we made it back to the pub, where we waited, celebratory beer in hand, for the mini-bus to carry us home.

Against my better judgement, relative lack of fitness, and gammy knee, I had completed the 3 Peaks in just under 9 hours.  The poles were a Godsend at all times.  They were like I had my own personal banisters.  I could pull myself uphill and steady myself going down, and of course they helped me keep up with my more able walking mates.  I honestly don't think I would have made it around without them.  However, as glad as I am that I completed the challenge, I now know that I am still on the long road to recovery as far as running goes.

It's still a couple of weeks before I see a physio but I've waited this long so I'll just keep up the swimming until then.

Massive thanks to Ed and Mark for organising the day out, to Al for lending me the poles, and to Debs and Mike for getting me home in one piece.  This was my first attempt at the 3 peaks, I had no idea what lay in store.  Once my leg is in better nick and I have built my fitness levels back up, I will head back to Horton-In-Ribblesdale, clock in at the cafe and tackle them again.  Only next time, I'll be running!

You know you're a runner when...

It's been over a month since I stupidly kept running for an extra couple of hundred meters while my knee was telling me to stop.  It's almost a month since I went out for an exploratory run to see if I could work out why my knee had caused me so much pain.  It's been four weeks since I went for a slow short run, to test my knee, only to have to walk home under a darkening cloud after under a mile with my clearly not well knee refusing to straighten and aching with every step.

It has been a month since I managed to get an appointment to see my GP, two weeks since I had an x-ray and it will be another month before I finally get to see a physiotherapist.  Today however I got some news.  The x-ray results have come back clear, there is no bone damage to my patella and there are no signs of arthritis.  This is very good news!

For the last month I have felt like a caged bear.  I know that I have been tetchy and more than a bit of a grump, but I hadn't really put it down to not running.  But I have realised that running was not only befitting me physically, but it seems that it was also having positive effect on my mental health too.  Or rather not running has had a negative effect on my mental health.

To counter this I've started swimming, once a week to start with but I'm upping that to twice a week.  I'm also considering cycling to and from work.  Swimming has been hard.  When you go for a run there is every chance that you will pass two or three other runners, but there are always lots of other swimmers as pool time is limited.  That is a lot of people to witness you swim and it turns out that I am rubbish at swimming, probably as bad as I was at running a couple of years ago. 

Both swimming and cycling are aimed at keeping me fit and strengthening my knee in preparation for running again, but I hope that they will go some way to giving me the endorphins that my mind craves.  So far swimming is not doing that as I am constantly the slowest person in the pool.  I know they are not, but it feels like every pair of goggles is watching me tread water.  It feels like I'm being passed by the man in the panda suit during last years Leeds 10k every time I get in the pool.  But I'm sure, as with running, I will get better if I only keep going.

New Boots.

I know that I am not not ready to start running again yet, my knee feels kind of hollow and it creaks like a barn door on a cold winter night, but when I am ready I have my new trainers to look forward to.  I'm not going to rush things but there is the small matter of the Abbey Dash in November, a month after my first physio session, assuming I haven't gone crazy in the meantime.

I tend to stay away from labels.  Foodie, blogger, runner, are all things that others have told me that I am.  Not being able to run has shown me once and for all that I am a runner, all be it not a very good one.  I miss it.  Seeing other people out for a run upsets me.  Volunteering at ParkRun is like putting myself through Chinese Water Torture.  But I know that I will run again.  It will be tough to start with, but the thought of putting my headphones in, starting my watch and running down the road, injury free, is enough to make me smile at those running past, happy knowing that one day I'll feel the runners high again.