Fast-paced peaks challenge pushed me past my limits

SO I came, I saw, I conquered. Ain’t no mountain high enough, and all that jazz. Except the mountains were very high, too high, and I use the word ‘conquered’ in the loosest sense of the term.

Did I summit all three peaks? Yes, but only by sheer delirious will. I hauled myself up, step by step, hour by hour, astonished by my own appalling naivety in thinking that I had done enough training to tackle this National Three Peaks Challenge.

Excitement mixed with nerves last Saturday morning as we lined up for a group photo with our fellow mountaineers, big smiles as Ben Nevis loomed ominously in the background. We had met everybody the day before as we travelled from Glasgow to Fort William on the bus that would be our home for the 24-hour challenge. A briefing led by our guides, Nic and Chris, filled us in on what to expect and soon the bus was filled with chat and laughter. We were fortunate enough to be doing this with a great bunch of people. Starting as strangers, ending as friends.

While in the thick of it, there were many highs and lows. At my lowest, there were moments on each peak when I thought ‘I’m not going to make this summit’. I only had to climb Ben for 20 minutes before I realised I was in a lot of trouble. This was an extreme challenge and my friends and I had thoroughly underestimated its demands. My base level of fitness and the little extra I had acquired leading up to this was simply not up to scratch. It wasn’t long before three groups emerged – the frontrunners comprising regular hikers and very fit, competitive individuals with their eyes firmly on that 24-hour target, a group in the middle which I found myself in, far from the heels of the frontrunners, and then a few at the back, which we had been warned was dangerous territory. This company meant business and anyone who was not looking like they were going to make a summit by the time required would have to stop where they were and turn back.

The carefree laughter and chat on the bus the day before was already becoming a distant memory as we steeled ourselves, a sense of the strong separating themselves from the weak. I was weak. Well, physically anyway. My friends and I had already got separated at this point. One up front, two at back, me in the middle, all girl code lost as our guides yelled at us: “The only person you have to worry about on this mountain is yourself.” It had suddenly got very lonely up here.

But that moment where the thought crossed my mind that I would not be able to do this, well I still can’t shake the overwhelming disappointment and shame I felt. The thought of not summiting Ben and then repeating the failure on the other two, having to admit that to my family and friends on return. It’s almost like I accepted it, but then suddenly my mind shouted ‘No!’ or maybe it was the guide Nic, who was leading from the back, and ended up being my guardian angel on those peaks, as she shouted encouragement at us, literally pushing me up a rockface at one stage.

The shock of feeling at rock bottom and then the high of the first summit at Ben brought me to tears. Scafell Pike was just as ardous, the dreaded staircase. I made the summit by the skin of my teeth, only to be quickly turned around to descend, headtorches lighting the way at 10.30pm as we tried not to kill ourselves. Four hours later, we hit Snowdon as the sun was starting to rise, exhausted and filthy, each step painful, no time to gloat at the top as we raced back down to make the 24-hour deadline.

This adventure pushed me past my limits. Yet I did it. Will I be signing up for the 9 Peaks in 72 Hours Challenge? That would be a hard no.