I’ll start this entry with an overview of what the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge involves. Pen Y Ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough are the three highest peaks in the Yorkshire Dales, standing at 691m, 728m and 723m respectively. The challenge, quite simply, involves starting at the Pen Y Ghent Cafe in Horton in Ribblesdale, circumnavigating all three mountains via a 26 mile route and returning to the cafe within 12 hours. Sounds easy right? Think again!
My journey to Y3P really begins over a year ago. I was dating a guy who was doing a year of physical challenges and we decided, somewhat vaguely, to do Y3P together. Of course it never came to pass, but it left me with a continual desire to do it anyway, so when it came time to make my 30 Things Before 30 list Y3P was the natural thing to put in position #1. Of course it helped that Sam (Adventure Buddy/Best Friend) and I were already concocting a rough plan to go and do it anyway, placing it on the list just meant our plans very rapidly became cemented. Here is the story of our journey to defeat Pen Y Ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough. The bastards.
Friday 30th August 2013 dawned bright and sunny. I bounced out of bed at 8am after a night of sleep that was broken with excitement and spent a few minutes checking and double checking my many lists of things I needed to take. Once satisfied that I had everything I retired back to bed to burn CDs for the long car journey ahead whilst happily chatting away on the Y3P Whatsapp group to Sam, John and Steve about what was ahead of us. The excitement levels were massive and we were all eager to get going but I had some last minute shopping to do and Steve had to wait in for Virgin to visit before he could pick up the hire car. Around 10am I set off in to Farnham and went to Sports Direct where I bought some Karrimor running tights and Sainsbury’s where I stocked up on lunch for the next day, pasta for that evening, porridge for breakfast and Jaffa cakes, dried fruit, seeds, energy bars and jelly babies for the walk. Once this was done I was London-bound!! I flew up the A3, singing my heart out in the sun, excited to finally be on the first leg of the journey but somehow still not quite able to believe that it was actually happening…after all the planning we were off to Yorkshire to take on 3 mountains and a marathon distance walk. This was crazy talk, surely! I’d never walked more than maybe 8 miles in one go and I’d only climbed 2 mountains before and they were on consecutive days. But no, it really really was happening and I couldn’t wait to get started! The drive in to London requires no more detail than to say it was long and the traffic was a brilliant as ever..but I arrived at Sam’s, parked up and we had a Team Tennis Ball squeal of delight that we were actually going before Sam headed off to take my driving license round to Steve’s, leaving me to make my sandwich for next day (chorizo, goats cheese and houmous in a sunflower seed & honey roll) and try on my new running tights (amazing, best £11 I have ever spent) and wait. After Sam returned and John arrived we all sat in the garden talking and having a beer whilst we waited for Steve to arrive with the hire car; morale was high and excitement was higher. This was going to be one amazing adventure!! Steve didn’t arrive until at 1415 so it was 1430 before we set off (1.5 hours later than planned!) and then with the horrible London traffic it was almost 1630 before we go to the M1 and switched drivers so I could drive the rest of the way. We didn’t have the greatest of runs up, the M1 was sticky a lot of the way, and with a couple of stops arrived at the bunkhouse at around 2200, tired, stiff, hungry and very aware that we had to get up at 0530 the next morning and we still hadn’t had our pasta and if there was ever a time for carb loading, it was now! The bunkhouse was fab, though a little low on showers (only 4 for 40 beds!), but very comfy and clean and spacious and everyone was obviously there for the same reason which was fab. Steve and John were desperate to go and watch the football so they buggered off to the pub that the bunkhouse was behind (The Golden Lion) to have a pint and watch that, leaving Sam and I to cook up the pasta for us all and crack open the two bottle of wine we had brought with us and generally revel in the glee of doing something fab. Sadly, Steve’s team lost which put him in such a bad mood that he came back, sat with his face in his arms for a while then refused any dinner and took himself to bed, which left Sam, John and I to eat pasta and kill off the wine before falling in to our bunks, complete with earplugs, at about 2315.
At 0520 next day I was already partly awake when Sam shook my shoulder and told me it was time to get up. I think my first words to him were ‘Whose bloody stupid idea was this?!’ but within a couple of minutes I was up and about and ready to go. Three Peaks Day did not start well. Sam, it turns out, had been awake all night feeling sick. I hadn’t slept fantastically due to not being used to ear plugs, being in an unfamiliar single bed, excitement and waking up every time Sam turned over or got up (he was in the top of a metal framed bunkbed). Steve was still grumpy. But it was ok; we had porridge, I had coffee (sneakily brought over from the pub the night before when I ordered one and didn’t drink it but put it in the fridge for the morning), our daypacks were assembled and we were off on a mighty adventure! I took charge of the porridge making whilst the boys packed up the kit we needed and we were out the door and heading for the Pen Y Ghent Café by 0640 – hurrah!! There were quite a few people all filling in the clocking forms and getting their photos taken when we arrived so we filled out our form, got a Team Tennis Ball photo taken with the café sign, clocked our official start time (0700) and WE WERE OFF!!
We bounced off along the road and the path with a surprisingly large number of other people, admiring the view and speculating about what was to come, before turning off the road on to the path up to Peak Number 1. The sun was still coming up as we went up Pen Y Ghent, which made me really really regret not replacing my sunglasses as it was coming up round the side of the mountain and dazzling me for most of the ascent. Pen Y Ghent was a comparative breeze, a few uphill pulls but mainly gradual, then a last minute rocky scramble to the top and taadaa! there you were – the summit! I had lost my team somewhere before the last rocky part as they stopped for a sit down but I wanted to keep going, my determination to get round in 12 hours was already kicking in. My official time from start – Pen Y Ghent Summit was 1 hour 3 minutes; the others arrived dead on 5 minutes later, we got a team photo taken, drank some water and then headed off down the other side. Team spirit and morale were through the roof, we all felt like champions for having bagged the first one and we were being silly and laughing and talking…we even ran some of the way down Pen Y Ghent, just because we could, for sheer high spirits and to see who would break an ankle first. It was hilarious, intoxicating fun. It seemed like we might actually be able to do this after all!!
The walk from Pen Y Ghent to Whernside is the longest part of the whole route and, man, did it FEEL long in the end. Somewhere around mile 5 Sam and I ended up pulling ahead of John and Steve, further and further until we couldn’t see them anymore. Sam said he was sticking with me as he wanted to get a good time. The scenery was breathtaking, absolutely stunning, and we passed a few miles just admiring it, talking rubbish and discussing what time I wanted to get round in. My only requirement was less than 12 hours, I thought 11 something would be what I got and if I got 10 something I would be amazed, which was why I was pushing on, to ensure I got round in less than 12. Our route meandered across plains and past beautiful waterfalls, over a footbridge, through a farm (where I noted for the first time that I was starting to get aches in my hip flexors and right ankle, but only minor ones) and up to a road. The walk was gorgeous and the weather so beautiful and hot that I was just in my vest top, running tights and shorts. We felt truly blessed as it would have been miserable in the rain and wind. By this point Steve and John were nowhere to be seen and we noticed that some people had support cars waiting for them with water, food etc. In our minds this was TOTALLY CHEATING. We could understand the need for a support crew for something like the Welsh 3000s, but not for this. Anyway. I took the daypack from Sam for a bit but it was way too heavy for me so I only managed to carry it for about half an hour or so. I guess we must have been about 8 miles in when we reached the cross roads with the pub and burger van where we stopped, switched the daypack back to Sam, both taped up the emergent blisters on our toes, broke out the dried apple and carried on again. We had no idea where John and Steve were but we honestly thought they’d get this far, see the pub, stop off and call a cab back to the bunkhouse! After a quick walk past the viaduct we saw the first signs for Whernside and turned off to start the ascent. An ascent that seemed to go on for YEARS. At some point quite a long way before the 2 miles to the summit sign, I’m honestly not sure where as I was in a single minded frame of mind, pushing myself onwards and upwards, I lost Sam as his knee was hurting and he stopped to break out his trekking poles. For a while I kept looking back to make sure I could spot him but once I started losing sight of the path I stopped looking and just kept going forwards. Whernside was HARD. It was a long long uphill slog that seemed to go on forever. You could see the summit round and to your left but you never seemed to get up to the same height as it. I’m not sure what I used to entertain my mind when I was on my own, I had no music or anything, I think I mainly admired the scenery, ticked off roughly how far I’d come and concentrated on keeping up my pace as I was paranoid about my timings and that I was going too slowly. I really wished that I had set MapMyRun going when we started, then I would have had distance, pace, timings, splits, the lot. I know it was around about now that my mantra kicked in though, the one phrase I said to myself on repeat for the rest of the walk – ‘self-transcendence’; push yourself above yourself, above your limits, above the pains in your body…only you can stop you doing this, it’s you vs yourself and you’re not going to let that bastard win, the pain is only in your mind, rise above and forget it. And you know what? It’s that that got me round, it really is. Shortly before the final slope to the summit was a steep, long set of rocky ‘stairs’ that really sapped the legs and pushed the heart rate up. It was somewhere towards the top of this that I had my first black moment of the whole trip (I only had two) when I realised that I had an inch of water in my bottle, I was dizzy and light headed and had pins and needles in my hands from low blood sugar, Sam had all my supplies (I didn’t even have so much as an energy bar in my pocket, idiot girl) and I had no idea, NO IDEA, whether he was still coming up or whether he had had to give up. Oh SHIT. It suddenly hit me that I might not make this, not due to my body but due to not having any water or food on me. I pushed on to the top of the rocky steps then sat down on the grass, straining my eyes as far as I could back down the path to try and make out Sam on his way up but I couldn’t see him. It really hit me then just how rubbish I felt. I was spinny, my hands and feet and face were tingling (a sure sign I’m close to fainting) and I felt really heavy. I pulled out my phone and was amazed to see that I had signal for the first time all day. I called Sam, he didn’t have signal…just my luck. I knew I had to keep moving, I was getting cold (I suffer very very badly with the cold anyway, and once I get cold I find it very hard to warm up) and I was aware of precious seconds ticking away on the clock. I would get to the summit, then wait for Sam there, I decided, because I knew that without food or water I wasn’t going to make the whole thing so at least I could get 2 summits before I gave up, if I had to. I text my friend Charlie and asked him to tell me I could do it and, more to the point, that I HAD to do it because right then I needed someone to order me to get it done, then I’d have to obey. Luckily Charlie came right back to me telling me I could do it and that I would be fine as long as I waited for Sam. With my resolve reinforced I got up and carried on upwards along the more gently summit approach, alternately admiring the view, feeling ill and trying to call Sam. Somewhere along the final approach I left him a voicemail, which he didn’t hear until we were back at the pub in the evening and in which I apparently didn’t sound very much like me and sounded very sorry for myself, saying that I was nearly at the top but I felt like shit and I hoped he was still coming up. I sent the same message to the Whatsapp group that we were all members of, adding that we could do it and to keep their chins up, then I pushed on for the summit. I tagged the trig point and got my photo taken at bang on midday. It was blowing a gale and freezing cold so I hunkered down in the wind shelter, wearing all my available layers, shivering like crazy and praying like mad that Sam would turn up. Ten minutes later, just when I was at the point of coldness where I couldn’t sit still any longer and was about to give up and head off for Ingleborough (on a wing and a prayer with no food or water!) Sam appeared along the path. I had never EVER been so happy to see anyone in ALL MY LIFE. And I think he felt the same. We threw our arms round each other, got a photo together at the trig point, exchanged ‘Whernside is a cunt’ stories and spent ten minutes rehydrating, exchanging my water bottle for a new one and munching energy bars (Sam) and my sandwich, which was without doubt the singular best thing I had EVER tasted at that point before heading off for Ingleborough. My hip flexors were really sore and my right ankle was playing up and I could feel it starting to swell but I didn’t care. We’d done 2/3 peaks, my Tennis Ball was ok and we were off! Morale had gone from rock bottom to pretty damn high again..no doubt helped by the fact that we could see Ingleborough and almost the entire path we were going to follow so it really didn’t seem that far away. Hurrah! 5.5 hours in and we had just one more peak to go! We could do this!
I lost Sam again within 5 minutes of leaving the Whernside summit. The descent was down a very steep set of rock steps and I was springing down them and soon go ahead. Having sight of Ingleborough and seeing the path to it shining off in to the distance really helped as it seemed not so far away after all. The path led steeply down then through a farm, which had set up to sell cold drinks to walkers. A lot of people had stopped off here and I admit it was tempting but I powered on past and out the other side of the farm. My hip flexors were very sore by now so when the path came out of the farm and in to some grassland I found a flat area and stopped to do some quick stretches. I stretched my glutes and hip flexors and did my lower back stretches for the problems I have with my sacroiliac joint (although this wasn’t hurting, which surprised me) then tried to stand up to stretch my quads and hamstrings. I was hit with vicious double hamstring cramp which had me crashing down on both knees on the floor in agony, frantically rolling about trying to relieve it. I couldn’t get it to release L I was in so much pain and as insane with worry that this was it, I’d be out just because I couldn’t actually get up again. I was preparing for Sam to come past and me to have to say ‘that’s it, I’m done, I can’t actually get up’ but luckily it passed and I managed to very gingerly stretch off and then walk it off. The route crossed a road by a pub and then entered fields on the approach to Ingleborough. I was in a lot of pain during this time, and on and off dizzy and tingly, but I kept up my mantra, talked out loud to myself a lot…telling Ingleborough that I could see it and it was a cunt and I was coming for it, telling myself that I was amazing, that I could do this, to just keep going and it wasn’t much further. I sang out loud (Buck Rogers by Feeder – ‘I think we’re gonna make it’, also made up songs about the mountains an how I wouldn’t let them beat me), I mentally tried to map the route and work out how many miles I’d done and how many were to go, I tried to work out why various bits of me hurt, I thought about the pint I was going to have when I was done and how good it would taste. ‘Self-transcendence’ went round and round in my head. And honestly, despite the pain I was in, I was really enjoying myself. Yes, it hurt, yes, I felt dizzy periodically but it was GORGEOUS weather, stunning scenery and I was doing it, I was REALLY doing it…and I was most of the way there. Fuck me, I was amazing! I crossed the boardwalk over the marsh and that was when I saw where the route up Ingleborough went. I’d been trying to figure it out, as I couldn’t see the path until I came over the marsh but I couldn’t work out where it could go. Then I saw it. It zigzagged pretty much vertically up the side of the mountain. GREAT. At the bottom I met up with a couple I’d been playing tag with for the past few miles, they were having a rest break. We exchanged looks as I passed and I said ‘This has to be a joke, right?’ and we all had a giggle but I didn’t stop off, they called after me ‘You can do it, don’t worry!’ and with that renewing my resolve I set off up the rocky path. I say ‘path’ but at some points it really was a proper scramble, hands and feet and clambering. Scrambling is what I really love, I love it more than endless walking. It’s more challenging, it’s harder but it’s also somehow easier because you just focus on where to put your hands and feet next, which way to go to get round the obstacles to get to the top, and suddenly you’re there, at the top..somehow it doesn’t feel so never ending as just walking and walking up a shallower slope. So, hard as it was, I actually loved this bit, had a massive grin on my face when I got to the top. A grin which faded very rapidly when I saw that this was not the top but there was another steep rocky path to be tackled. My hips were in so much agony that I made slow work of the next path but I was sure that this must be the final push, that I would get over the top and there would be the trig point, waiting for me. But no. Over the top and you are greeted by a long, open, bleak expanse of rocks and grass with the trig point a seemingly distant dot. Hell. I stumbled off towards the summit, hips and ankle hurting with every uneven stone. Eventually, after several days, I got there, got my photo snapped (time: 1441) and collapsed down in the wind shelter. I felt rubbish. Everything hurt. The wind was howling, the sun had gone in and I could not get warm despite piling all my layers back on. I decided I would give Sam 10 minutes and then I’d have to head down again. They were 10 miserable minutes, then I gave him 5 more. I went through shivering to just being icy and not shivering and my hands started to go blue (I told you, I feel the cold very badly) and I simply couldn’t sit any longer. I got up (which wrenched all my now cold muscles) and started back across the bleak expanse the way I had come (you go back the way you came then take a different path down). This was when I got my 2nd black point and my biggest one. It seemed to take forever for me to get across that few hundred metres. I was hobbling along, the stony ground causing me to twist my ankles and pull my sore hips, the wind was like a hurricane across from my left, I was cold to the bone, I was close to tears. I just wanted to sit down on the floor, get the weight off my legs, curl up to get warm and cry. Even self-transcendence had left me. I just wanted to stop. But then, over the ridge came Sam’s face. Hurrah. He grabbed me, squeezed me tight, threw his DofE fleece round me and headed off to get his own tag of the summit.
We travelled down some of Ingleborough together, both in agony, both saying it was the hardest thing we’d ever done, both swearing at the bastard Ingleborough for being horrendous. We scoffed ¾ of a bag of Haribo between us, I warmed up and stripped all my layers off again, we took paracetamol (which didn’t help) and our spirits lifted. We were nearly there! I lost Sam again somewhere on the way down. I was in such pain that I was walking faster just to get back faster to escape the pain. I was also unsure how many miles I had left and was concerned for my timing. My phone battery was almost dead and I wanted to get back with enough battery to get a photo at the finish. My single-mindedness returned and with it came anger at my body for trying to let me down, anger at myself for wanting to stop so I grabbed the anger, held on to it and, frowning all the way, marched onwards. Every step hurt, the flat ground hurt my ankle, the uneven ground hurt my hips. Stiles were objects of hatred, gates took every ounce of energy to open. Sheep! Bloody sheep being rounded up by bloody sheepdogs and men in trucks. They got in my way at a bottleneck where the path went through a wall. They made me MORE angry. Every time I caught my foot on a rock and sent a dagger of pain through my hips or ankle I GROWLED OUT LOUD. But my teeth were gritted and I wasn’t stopping for anyone now. I could see Horton in Ribblesdale. The last sign had said 2 miles. It was just a case of not stopping walking. An eternity later (actually, 15 minutes when I checked my phone) another sign came in to view. 1 mile. 1 FUCKING MILE. YES. Yes yes yes. Somehow that last mile seemed to take as long as the first 20, and be twice as hard but eventually…blissfully there was Horton in Ribblesdale station. I powered across the tracks, through the platform gate and down the hill to the village. Round to the right, over the bridge and there it was, the Pen Y Ghent Café. I could see it, just a few hundred metres down the road, there it was. I sped up. I didn’t know what my time was but I was determined to not take any longer than necessary. I jogged a few steps..no, that was a mistake..I stopped running but power walked down the road and round into the car park where, oblivious to the number of tired looking people sitting about outside, I threw my hands in the air and let out a massive ‘YESSSSSS!.’ Lots of people giggled and clapped. It was amazing. I checked my phone, then double and triple checked. 9 HOURS 34 MINUTES. Really? Really really? Really. I snagged the nearest person to take my finish photo then headed in to the café to clock in before collapsing at a table to wait for Sam, too tired to even start filling out my sub-12-hour club membership form. Sitting down was the nicest thing I had ever felt!
Sam arrived shortly after and we hugged, congratulated each other and flopped at a table with coffee, water and crumpets whilst deciding what merchandise we should buy. We both went for the club lapel pin and car sticker as well as the woven patch and certificate that you get for completing anyway. We were sure that John & Steve must be at the bunkhouse or pub but we couldn’t get hold of them on the phone. When a message came in from John to say that they were about a mile from the finish we both laughed and message back saying ‘what, in the pub or the bunkhouse?’ and were incredibly surprised and pleased when they both turned up half an hour later obviously having actually completed the walk. SO MUCH respect for them because we honestly thought they would have quit, given how hard we found it and how hard they were finding it at the start. There was much congratulating and a feeling that FUCK YES we are all champions. After a recovery stop at the café we decided to go and shower and change before hitting the pub. Getting up and walking to the bunkhouse was incredibly painful and took ages as we all hobbled along. In hindsight we should have gone straight to the pub as by the time we’d showered, changed, limped back to the pub and ordered drinks the tiredness had hit and we all just stared glassy eyed at each other, the menu and our drinks. Despite how hungry we were we were all too tired to eat properly, leaving half our portions despite the fact that I only ordered soup and chips then limping slowly back to the bunkhouse and passing out asleep by 10pm.
The next day everyone woke at 7am and it was amusing to see that everyone in the bunkhouse, without fail, was doing the ‘Three Peaks Hobble’ and that getting up or sitting down or doing the stairs was accompanied by groans and muffled mutterings of ‘oh. My. God’ or in our cases ‘fuck a duck’/’christ on a bike’/’fuck my life’. We packed up the car and slowly, very slowly, made our way back to the café for sausage and egg sandwiches, full Englishs and cheesy crumpets before getting in the car and heading home. My ankle was swollen like a tennis ball, bruised and almost impossible to bend so the drive home was ‘fun’ – I had to stop off at Asda in Leeds and get codeine and a compression bandage or we’d never have made it, I also had to keep taking my foot off the accelerator and we stopped at about 6 services for me to walk it off and rest it…but we made it. The atmosphere in the car was very different going home, tired, grumpy, exhausted but with a quiet sense of achievement and satisfaction. I think we all found it hard but we all learnt a lot and were glad we did it.
Looking back now I can say that I would definitely do it again, just maybe not very soon! I can also say that I feel like a changed person, mentally. I learnt a lot about myself around those 26 miles and 3 mountains. I didn’t realise that I possessed so much grit and determination. I didn’t realise that I could push myself on that far and that hard without someone else to motivate me and keep me going, that in fact I would find it easier to keep going when I was alone than when I was with people who were also struggling. I never knew that when I was at rock bottom, when I really thought that I had nothing left to give that I could find more, that I could push myself above pain and above my limits. Things seem so different to me now. Whereas before the idea of going out and running a 10k terrified me with the distance, now I know I can cover 5 times that distance. I may not run it all, I may have to walk some of it, but I CAN go that far. And as soon as my body is healed, I’m going to do it. It doesn’t scare me anymore, it doesn’t seem unattainable. It might take me a while but I can do it, and I will do it. Also being alone in my head for so many miles gave me a lot of thinking time. I didn’t think about anything specifically but I feel so much more serene and balanced mentally than I did, like I’ve come to terms with things and am at peace with things that I wasn’t before. It’s hard to describe. I feel like Wonder Woman. I feel like I can take on anything and defeat it. I feel strong, physically and mentally. I feel like a new person. It’s taken 3 days, but I feel amazing. The day after and even the 2nd day were hell; I felt emotionally and mentally wrung out, physically I was in pain and walking like a cripple, I was tired all the time but barely sleeping because of the pain in my ankle, everything was getting to me and my emotions were all over the place. It’s taken 3 days to sort out but I feel brilliant. It’s also taken 3 days for the swelling to go down in my ankle and for me to be able to walk relatively normally (though I am still limping a bit and my hip flexors still ache at a low level)! I’m still dehydrated and fighting a 3 day headache and I am still exhausted and want to sleep most of the time, I’m still hungry 24/7 and stuffing my face yet still losing weight, I still ache in places but I’m starting to feel the difference and the sense of achievement.
So, that’s another thing off the list and probably one of the hardest things on there, and the hardest thing I have done in my life! I owe a MASSIVE DEBT OF THANKS to Samuel David Charles Michael Tupman. More thanks than I can possibly possibly express. He carried both our supplies, didn’t give up and was there when I needed him most. My Adventure Buddy, my Best Friend, my Tennis Ball, my goddamn Y3P hero! Thank you Sam. I love you more than you can imagine. Team Tennis Ball forever! Also to Steve and John for showing insane amounts of stick-to-it-ness. WELL DONE. More respect for you guys than I can say. You’re amazing. We’re all amazing!
Here’s to the next thing!!
Laura xx
(Photos of the whole trip can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151630976352219.1073741842.525087218&type=1&l=33cb885917)
30 Things Before I'm 30 