Highs and Lows of the Three Peaks

Well having entered this race on the back of several glasses of red wine, the prospect of running 23 miles up severe inclines in the cold light of day did not seem the best idea I have ever had. However, embracing the TAC ideal that you never know until you try, I faced the day with eagerness and more than a little apprehension.

The usual nutters were there at registration, each with their own goal for the day. Mine was simple: finish! That's not quite true, as anyone who is a keen runner always has a time in mind, mine was to be as close to four hours as possible, though anywhere from 4-5 hours would do!

The weather was not helping our dress code for the day, ranging from glorious sunshine to grey clouds threatening rain, all punctuated by cold winds! Much debate ensued regarding the kit check and caused a bit of chin rubbing regarding what is the lightest jacket or pants you can get away with packing! Not being blessed with a huge running kit wardrobe, this wasn't a real issue for me, so I walked confidently to the registration area with my tent, Calor gas hob, sleeping bag and hammock, happy that I had not over-packed and was ready for anything that the route had to throw at me!

Using TAC colleagues as a guide my race plan was simple: if I could still see the back of Paul Brown's head and could still hear Chris Campbell asking the race marshalls for a pint of real ale then I was going to get a great time. In reality this plan went out of the window pretty rapidly, and it was not because Chris was not speaking loudly enough, he was!!

The atmosphere at the starting line-up was great and with such a strong TAC turnout there a real sense of team spirit. Ryan, Paul, Darren H and Heath were all eyeing up TAC top spot and Lee, Matt R and W all had personal times in mind, Jenny had one eye on this race and her mind on Jim's too.

As the race got underway it was real bottleneck stuff till we got onto to the start of the climb up Pen-y-ghent. A nice steady pace was taken up and Chris and I were going well. The terrain pretty much throughout the race was tricky and often meant you couldn't appreciate the scenery as one large rock underfoot could lead to a nasty ankle twist. As we neared the summit the elite runners, like Formula 1 racing cars, sped down from the top. These men are not human and are powered by the same stuff Pete, Jim and Big T thrive on!

Spurred on by the stamina and speed of these boys, I dug deep and marched on up to the top to be greeted by the welcome sight of the marshals and their one man tent for shelter next to the checkpoint. I reached into my jacket and top searching frantically for the “dibber” round my neck only to find a few hairs on my chest and not one of them attached to an electronically monitored piece of plastic!

A chill went down my spine as all I could think of was that I had set off with my SAS survival kit minus my all-important dibber! I grabbed a marshal who appeared more composed than me and uttered a sentence littered with expletives, but the important words he understood were “FIND MY DIBBER!” Like a surgeon from E. R. he reached into my jacket and down my T-shirt and vest and pulled out a white piece of nylon with a fob on the end. The relief was immense and I quickly registered myself at the checkpoint and trotted off, slotting my medallion back into my vest, making sure I made a mental note as to which part of my pigeon chest it was lodged in!

Having conquered Peak 1, I was filled with confidence thinking I could beat this challenge, however just as this feeling invigorated me I fell victim to the elements as a brutal hail storm blast charged into both me and Darren at break-neck speed. Visibility was reduced in an instant to the sight of the feet of the runners in front, and my navigational skills were in their hands too for if they went wrong I was sure to follow! Thankfully after a few torturous minutes the shower ended and the descent began in earnest.

I saw runners flying by me like Russian ballet dancers skipping over rocks and boulders with the greatest of ease. I was less gracious in my downhill dancing and opted for the "better safe than sorry" philosophy putting safety before speed. I was aware that I did not have many good looks to protect but the steep rock face of Pen-y-Ghent would make mincemeat of me if I stumbled in what felt like clogs as opposed to trail shoes!

It was at this point of the race 5-7 miles in that it all started going wrong for me. It began with a little pinch above my knees and felt like a dart being fired into it that each step I took dug deeper and deeper into my muscle. Then another one in each calf. For no reason and only a relatively short way into the race, cramp started biting at my legs. Firstly with a nibble, then it gnawed away till it got hold of some meaty flesh and tore into me. Each step became more painful and instead of becoming a step closer to the finish it was a step further away from where I could retire. The sight of Whernside in the distance did little to inspire me and I rapidly lost sight of Darren and Chris.

My speed decreased, my stride lessened, my steady pace turned into a rigid trot, and I was looking for any excuse to walk. Strangely I was waiting for a hill that others were walking on so that I could blend in, but between the first two peaks there is little that justifies a walk. I passed the St John's Ambulance crew thinking they would laugh if I asked for help stating I had cramp at this point, so I just grinned and bared it and plodded on. If I could get to Ribblehead I knew that some TAC support would be there and I may find a renewed sense of wellbeing that could power me on.

The Tarmac was a blessed relief from the rocky farm tracks but my feet were like irons slamming into the ground by now. However, I stuck it out and reached to Ribblehead where I saw Diddy Dave and the Booth clan waving me on, so I trudged on to the foot of the climb, wading through a stream and a few bog monsters that hungered for my footwear.

The immense size of Whernside cannot be grasped until you stare up at it from its base and you see the stream of runners clambering up like ants on a rock face. It was here that the cramp snipers took out my thighs. Two shots into each and they became pretty useless in my futile attempt of trying to conquer the ascent with any speed or grace. It became an arduous climb, littered with thigh and calf grabbing moments and much bearing of teeth! I looked a pretty pitiful sight I can imagine.

Just when I felt alone in this battle, I saw Lee rapidly catching me up and offering me words of support. As much as I wanted to run with him I could not keep up with his pace going up to the summit. I reached it with some relief, Lee a dot in the distance by now, and as I checked in with the dibber I mentally marked off Peak 2 out of three, allowing myself a smile of personal satisfaction, and set off along the flat summit towards the descent.

However just as the hail battered me on Pen-y-ghent, to remind me who was boss the cramp assassins took more shots at my legs as my muscles adjusted from the climb to the level ground, and I instinctively grabbed my hamstrings and fell to the floor. At this point I resembled a ladybird on its back, complete with the black and red dress sense to totally pull off the look. I was unable to straighten my legs or stand up. Neil Worswick offered me some words of support - I think he has been there, written the book and wore the head scarf when it comes to injuries in races - and I got to my feet after a few minutes of wondering whether just rolling over the edge and down would be the quickest and least painful way to get to the next checkpoint!

I now resembled the Tin Man when moving and Ian W sped by, he loves his hills and was looking suitably pleased with his outing. I now had the Hill Inn cut-off to make and, in all honesty, if I was timed out at this stage I would not have been overly disappointed. My legs were screaming in pain, their muscles tightening with each step and the constant intake of fluids was not doing what I thought it would. As I approached the checkpoint I saw Sandra cheering TAC on and gave her the big thumbs down, which was not the toughest code to crack - things were not good! But with some determination I beat the cut off by 25 minutes and carried on to the last beast to beat.

Ingleborough is a totally different nut to crack and requires stamina and a positive mental attitude to get up the endless steps that ascend to the top. As I was struggling to keep up with the walkers and their dogs Matt W shouted from a distance “Come on Trawden!” Again this kept me going for a while and I so tried to keep up with him, but he was like Usain Boult striding past me and making the steps look like a high speed escalator to the summit. One moment he was next to me, the next he was gone!

As I neared the top I looked back and only a short distance behind was Helen, smiling like she had just started! She drew alongside me and enquired as to my wellbeing. Again I cannot recall my answer but if there was a swear box up there I wouldn't have had much change from a tenner! She offered me words of encouragement and said she would run with me to get me through, and we could reach to the final checkpoint together. However after that she set off like a missile destined for the finish line and off she sped, smiling all the way!

I felt a real sense of achievement getting to the top of the last Peak, and as such raised an arm in the air, punching towards the clouds in a victory salute, though just as I did I caught my foot on a rock and nearly went flying! Trying to make out that this was part of my cramp-guided stride and not an ill-thought-out celebration, I set off on what seemed like the longest 4-5 miles of my life.

There is no easy part of the Three Peaks and the descent to the end exemplifies this. Just when you think you have nearly done it, the race reminds you who is boss and almost lands you flat on your face. Rocks, mud, streams, bog monsters, snow, grease-like slabs of stone, the Three Peaks has them all. The descent to the end tests you, and as much as you want to relax and enjoy the sense of achievement, you cannot. You have to be on your guard until the very end otherwise it will take you out when the finish is in sight. A few more stops grabbing my thighs, calves, inner thighs (a place I've never had cramp before and do not want again) and knees, and I was nearly there.

I could see the huge white tent in the distance and knew there were enough TAC members who had passed me to ensure there would be people at the end to cheer me in. And I was right. The finishing line in any race is a welcome sight and none more so than this, when several hours ago you thought it not possible.

I finished in 4h 53m. This was 53 minutes more than I had ideally planned, but in reality with what I experienced during this time, visiting some dark places in my mind and some horrendous pain in my legs, I was happy that I got round and finished. I saw that those TAC members that had personal times in mind had all achieved success, though I thought some of them may have been doing it on quad bikes when I heard about the sub-4 hour times! Hats off to you guys!

I was quickly asked if I would do it again? I said that now was not the time to make that decision, I was hurt and angry at myself for letting cramp getting the better of me. On reflection, I now have a bigger nemesis to beat, a time to improve upon, and a longer and more encouraging report to write next year. Bring it on!