Me at my peak. Long's Peak, Colorado. Early nineties.Though I was not particularly competitive, I'd placed respectably in the Great North Run and The Karrimor International Mountain Marathon. I'd completed fell races, orienteering events and "10k"s. I also climbed and cycled and more laterly, I've potholed. I felt fit and would turn on the speed if I felt I could just catch the guy in front.
In good rock-climbing form on Frensis Direct, Brimham Rocks, North Yorkshire. A strenuous E1.However, over the last few years my activity levels have tailed off. I've put on about a stone in weight and rock boots, running shoes and mountain bike have seen much less use. However, to a degree, I've maintained the delusion that it'd just be a case of putting on the Nikes, heading out the door and it'd all come back. I still thought myself fit.
In Ravenglass, Cumbria at the start of an off-road Coast-to-Coast. Less than 48 hours later I was in Whitby. I did this not by going fast but by going light and going for a long time. Off at dawn and stopping when it got dark, I slept in hedges.Today I put the lie to the test.
- 2 minutes in I was thinking "yeah, this is how I remember it". I was enjoying the movement of the ground under my feet and the rush of the air past my ears. Feeling, if not totally fluid, at least effectively mobile.
- 2 kilometers in I was dizzy, my legs like leaden jelly, each breath a slight wheeze and yes, I felt nauseous. I leant against a tree and pretended to stretch then ran-walked the rest of the way back, chastened.
My new work pattern should allow me to achieve some of my previous running form and a little more care with diet to drop at least half a stone. More importantly though, I want to recapture the sense of well-being that comes with being able to run 10 kilometers in under an hour without suffering major injury, and the zen-like calm that comes with relaxed, fluid running.
Then maybe, the cycling and the climbing.
Wish me luck!


Around one hundred dedicated birders can't be wrong and the striking (gaudily ostentatious, if you ask me) looking bird, showing well but sporadically in the area was, indeed, a large colonial thrush on the wrong side of the Atlantic.


