It's a lovely day outside today. The daffodils have finally shown their face, the sun is shining, and there are rather too many people out there showing their mid-riffs who really shouldn't be, if you know what I mean! Actually, fair play to them, why shouldn't they? We're emerging from one of the longest winters in recent history so I say let them hang their pierced pot-bellies out. Show the world that you like one too many chippy teas a week. I might even join them! But on the basis that its still only 9 degrees, I think I'll keep my stomach well and truly hidden, and tucked up nice and warm for the time being. Besides, there's no six-pack there I can tell you. More like a keg of smooth to be honest.
I will say though that this walking malarkey is causing the pounds to drop off. However, just not in the right places I would have ideally liked (had I been given the choice, or got all "Pally" with a plastic surgeon). My legs have always been top of the list to go in to a "Room 101 for unwanted limbs". They've never carried too much weight, be it muscle or fat, and now that the latter form of tissue has now completely disappeared from my lower torso, my legs look like they belong to an anorexic turkey, after a knee-op! And as for trying to get a suntan on them - forget it! My upper-body can burn like a cheap sofa at a pyromaniac's convention. But I can drench my legs in Olive oil, Carrot Oil, even Crude Oil, and they still resemble one of those colours on your Dulux paint chart which is neither White nor Magnolia. (I think the current trendy name for it is "Frosted Dawn" if you were interested in decorating sometime later this month, which I should, but I've kinda got too much on my plate at the moment)
Anyway, I find myself in the familiar and frustrating (to you) territory of waffling again, and about a subject that none of you probably want to hear about or visualise come to think if it, so let's get back on the straight and narrow shall we?
So, this sudden but very welcome change in the climate has brought about a new vigour to the training effort. In the last 6 days I have completed 4 walks and been to the gym twice! Had you said that to me 12 months ago I would have probably stared at you for a while and then asked you what kind of medication you were taking, but a lot can happen in a year it seems. My life has changed beyond recognition. My outlook on everything is different, more positive, less selfish, and I owe most of it to the hypnotic powers of those mountains. It's been a gradual change sure, but the contrasts one can draw by comparing T.Bell circa 2009 to the revised, updated and reduced-emissions model of 2010 are startling! A bit like Nick Clegg really, only with slightly less hair.
There's no doubt the long, harsh winter has been good for training. Thick snow and often treacherous conditions have made the walks more gruelling and challenging, and in a strange way - rather a lot of fun! But with the short days and the sheer effort required for plodding up Helvellyn in sub-zero temperatures through 2 feet of snow, one walk a week was as good as it got. The changing of the clocks and the season has catapulted the enthusiasm in to a whole new ball park and opened up many more windows of opportunity.
Last week for instance, I had the pleasure of entertaining my good friend Niall whom I had not seen in nearly 6 years. So, I took 2 days of annual leave and on one of them I dragged him up Haystacks near Buttermere. Actually, as it transpired he was the one dragging me up as the shear fitness and stride length of this 6'4" monster of a Scotsman soon put any good work I had done to shame. It was only at 1500ft (the point that I'm normally doing my best Darth Vader with Bronchitis impersonation) that he confessed that one of his nicknames during his youth was "Mountain Goat". The sneaky bugger that he is! Good walk though nevertheless.
The next planned walk wasn't until the Sunday, however a very good friend and colleague of mine who shall remain nameless (although her name starts with a "D" and ends in "...eana Chesterton") had been making rumblings about my obsession, and was keen to see what all the fuss was about in "them fells". So, to satisfy her curiosity I took her on Saturday morning to my favourite short leg-stretcher, Helm Crag. She huffed, puffed but persevered through the initial cardio and physical shocks (see blog 2 for further details of expected symptoms) and once perched on the summit outcrop she had her "Epiphany". 24 hours later, and now armed with new boots, socks and breathable walking attire, she was accompanying my sister and myself up 2800ft of Blencathra's slopes, bouncing around like a spring lamb wired up to the mains. Another one converted then!
48 hours after that, and having spent a day in the Lakes on a training course, the pleasant evening weather drew myself, Vanessa and the afore-mentioned nameless colleague back up Helm Crag in an attempt to smash the previous set times for this particular ascent. Needless to say, they did it and what a wonderful feeling it was to be sat on the Lion and the Lamb feeling the last warm rays of the sun on our faces before it sunk gracefully behind the Langdale Pikes for another day.
So the fells are taking over all my spare time at the moment, but the addiction has gone so much further than just causing my television to gather dust. It's taken over my house!
My wardrobes and cupboards are now like the "rejects" store room of a Millets shop. Thick fleeces, thin fleeces, very thin fleeces, summer socks, winter socks, waterproof socks, winter gloves, summer gloves, breathable t-shirts - short-sleeved, long sleeved, zip-collar, no-collar, red, blue, black, green and orange! Walking boots, all over the house and woe-betide you walk in to them when your barefooted and heading to the loo with your eyes closed at 4am (Bloggers compulsory Toilet Humour note coming up, so please skip to next paragraph if you're easily offended) I don't know about you lot, but I've noticed that since the age of 30, the bladder, despite being completely drained before retiring at midnight, still manages to wake me up several hours later with another belly-bulging 4-litre "reserve" of the warm, yellow stuff. Where on earth did this extra liquid come from? Am I a camel? Have I been intravenously-fed whilst dreaming about Blondes and Buggattis? I only had 2 glasses of wine earlier on and surely that should be now making its way down some clay pipe somewhere to the Lancashire coastline! Anyway, it's one of life's mysteries and I've just had to accept it. I do fear now though that my 40's could involve more than one trip to the porcelain throne during the night, and that will drive me clinically insane! After all, it's taken me 6 years to perfect the art of doing the 4am toilet run whilst keeping one eye asleep and the other half-open so I don't break my toes on a size 10 Berghaus Boot! Ok, "toilet tale" over, back to the walking!
Today, 4 of the 5 walkers have been strolling around on the Helvellyn range. (We're down by one unfortunately folks, due to Hannah's work commitments which have prevented her from coming on the training walks, but she's still coming along to help with the driving. Bless you Hannah!)
The Wythburn ascent of this notorious mountain is a calf-cruncher, but a safe one. Most people however opt for the Striding/Swirral Edge ascent to the top. But we're trying our best to avoid any unnecessary dangers in our training regime. Helvellyn has claimed many lives over the years, and we're not about to add any more to it in the name of adrenaline.
The last 3 attempts of Helvellyn have been slightly frustrating affairs, mainly on the account that this magnificent summit chose to stay hidden in thick clouds and snow, and she stubbornly refused to give even the slightest, teasing glimpse of those white-knuckle/brown-trouser edges. Today however, the big man upstairs kept his Cumulonimbus collection well above the peaks so we were rewarded with a 360 degree panorama that made me speechless (yep, it is possible folks). And with the top reached with relative (and surprising) ease, we opted to head south down the ridge and take in 3 more summits as opposed to a quick descent back to the car park. Do remember to have the Ordnance Survey handy though if you're gonna go and do a bit of ridge-rambling. One slight mis-judgement with the internal compass, and one could find oneself miles off course. Been there, done that, got the blisters!
So, it's less than 6 weeks to go now! It's time to wake up and smell the gore-tex! Although, (and I think I can speak on behalf of the whole group here) I think we're ready now! We've got the drivers, we've got the equipment, we've got the fitness, we've even got the post-walk BBQ menu sorted down to the final detail, including which champagne will used to wash down the celebratory sausages at Snowdon's base. It starting to feel quite real now, and I love it!
The justgiving page for Open Arms International http://www.justgiving.com/24-hr3peakschallenge has been updated with some more pictures and details of this fantastic charity, so please pop by and do remember to drop a few quid in won't you? Remember, every minimum £5 donation allows you to guess the time we actually take to complete the challenge, and the winner gets a luxury night stay in a Lake District Hotel with dinner thrown in for good measure. Once again, many thanks to http://www.elh.co.uk/ for their kind support, especially as they are lending us the company minibus for the whole trip!
Frustratingly, we're in a long, drawn-out paper trail with the second sight for Primrose House, but we're hoping to have it up and running before the challenge begins, so hold a few quid back for this one won't you?
Right, off for a bath now, I smell!
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