Plenty to contemplate after a fall out on the moor

THERE was a moment this week when I thought I was in big trouble. I was lying on my back in the middle of the moor in brilliant sunshine. The sound of the skylarks was the only thing in the clear blue sky, and the only other things I could hear was the panting of the dogs – who were glad of a rest – and the very distant gentle hum of a road.

This idyllic scene was a little compromised by the shooting pain coming from my left ankle, and an intense fear that I may not be able to get up, let alone get back to my car. I was out cross-country running, and the clarity of the air and vastness of the moorland scenery had led me further off the beaten track than usual. My left leg had gone deep into a hole, there had been all sorts of awful tearing noises, and I had crashed to the ground with an almighty thump. As I lay there considering the worst-case scenario, and all the drama that would bring, I began to realise a few things.

First off was that I was a very long way from my car, probably about five miles and definitely with three steep river valleys to cross. My second thought was that the sun that seemed so wonderful when I was on my feet and moving, was really very hot. And thirdly, my six-month-old puppy was really very annoying indeed. The novelty of me lying on the ground made her so excited she had to alternate between jumping on my wrecked ankle, waiting for me to scream, and then jumping on my face. It wasn’t hilarious.

Once we had all, and I include the pain, calmed down a little I became thankful for two things. My running belt – a gift from Mrs Martin – had a space for a water bottle and a pouch for a mobile phone. Considering I go running to get away from the phone, I was never more glad that I had it with me, and in this particular middle of nowhere even had a strong signal.

Before I called anyone, I had to assess the scale of the problem, and after getting to my feet, or should I say foot, I established that I could move, slowly. I immediately ruled out trying to get to the car, and for once was glad that I could hear the road. As I hobbled towards the noise, I recognised distant landmarks. I knew where I was, and so put in an SOS call to Mrs Martin requesting rescue.

The next hour or so was tough. Your mind goes to peculiar places when you are injured and alone. I couldn’t help thinking about Touching the Void (if you haven’t read it you must) and that awful story about the rock climber who sawed his arm off after it got trapped. Neither helped with my morale to be honest. I limped on, steps that were level were bearable, anything downhill, which was most of it, was very difficult indeed. My flagging spirits were lifted by the sight, far head, of other walkers. One couple walked straight past me but just seeing them was enough to make me feel I was making progress.

The next pair, spotting a man clearly in distress, could not have been more helpful, replenishing my water and confirming I was heading where I was heading.

The dogs, who must have sensed all was not well, were mercifully good, both walking perfectly to heel as I gingerly descended. The path was busy, there were more offers of help, and as I got into my stride on the level path, one group even started to call out words of encouragement. It was nice.

I made it to the lovely lawn at the beautiful hotel, and collapsed to wait for rescue.