Snowdon (1085m)

So we arrive at Llanberis station, park up, patch up, steel ourselves for the ordeal ahead and we're off. As the land starts to rise, we are hampered by the pain and slow down. As one would expect, the scenery is mountainous and we notice, in a detached kind of way, that there are lakes and stuff but no-one is really enjoying it; our minds being pre-occupied with more immediate hardships. We round the first shoulder of mountain and can almost see the summit, covered by cloud in the far distance.
"You have got to be having a laugh", says Baylis. "There is no chance we are going to get up there and back to the car in 3½ hours".
And it hits me for the first time that there is a very real chance we'll not do it. We'll've put ourselves through all that pain and trauma only to fail at the last. Well I'm not having that, so after umming and ahing for a few minutes I press ahead. After all, I tell myself, the Llanberis path is well laid out, so there's no chance of anyone getting lost. There are loads of people using the path so if anyone gets into trouble, help will be at hand. And I need to be making as much progress as possible before the ibuprofen wears off.

Injured

Yeah I know, as excuses go, it's pretty weak. Really it comes down to the fact that I can't face giving up when we're so close. So as I stride off I alternate between feeling determined to get up this damn hill as fast as possible and feeling somewhat ashamed of myself for breaking away from the team. After all, we undertook the challenge together so we should be sticking together. It's not very teamwork of me to just march ahead when things get difficult. However walking in the mountains is supposed to be about examining one's soul and finding oneself, so it's nice that I got to do a bit of that.

The first part of the Llanberis path is quite gentle and I'm making pretty swift progress. Passers by wave and smile at me and I smile back. There may not be a song in my heart as such, but there's one on repeat in my head which is good for hill climbing cos it keeps your rhythm going. With Baylis, we often blast out a few Weezer or Jimmy Eat World numbers at the tops of our voices which other walkers always love. I and Dale should be famous for our Cypress Hill renditions which are just the ticket for Sunday walk in the hills. However on this occasion, all I can hear is that 'soldier soldier, won't you marry me?' nursery rhyme and it's getting really annoying by verse 10. I was going to change it for this account but unfortunately, I thought I'd stick to the truth. I'm no longer too sure about this honesty lark; it's ruining all my street cred. Meanwhile MORT also has a mountain song playing in his head which is, aptly, 'she'll be coming round the mountain'.

The path follows the railway line virtually the whole way up and when I pass half-way station, it's still touch & go, timewise. Rain starts falling and it's getting cold. Can't see the others behind me. On, on. Slope is getting really steep now and hauling myself up with right leg only; left knee having ceased to function. Some guys in navy uniform approach. They are Snowdon Rescue or Mountain Patrol or something. They shout something like "Am I okay?" or "Am I aware I might miss the last train down?" I smile weakly and point down the hill. "Friends..." The path winds its way under the railway in quite a cool way which is thoroughly unappreciated. Then it steepens again and the ordeal continues. Mind goes slowly numb and progress is made on autopilot.

It's going no better for the rest of us. As Baylis recounted afterwards: "I felt sick, stupid and in huge amounts of pain. I was also considering a life without football and whether a wooden leg could be classed as 'cool' if I tried hard enough." Dale has taken out a personal grudge against the mountain and is close to shouting at it for being so bloody long and difficult. Though he now concedes he may not have been right in the head at that stage.

Then after an indeterminate period of time, a large black monolith appears through the mist and a wave of relief floods through me. It marks where the Llanberis path is joined by the Pyg Track and it means we're nearly at the top.

A National Disgrace

I reach the top at 15:20 and am presently joined by Dale and Baylis. We shiver uncontrollably for a bit until I and Baylis decide to wait for MORT in the café. We agree with Prince Charles that it's the highest slum in EnglandandWales, but the key thing at this point is that it's a warm and dry slum. MORT arrives a few minutes later looking like hypothermia personified; though that didn't stop him chatting up the local women folk during the climb. This girl was also doing the 3 peaks challenge, though her party were running an hour ahead of schedule. B*stards. We quizzed him about it later and he failed to get a name, let alone a number, though that may be forgivable given the circumstances.

Proof of achievement photos are still required so MORT manages to drag himself up the cairn to take snap of a rather forlorn looking bag and stick.

Lonely

Time is of the essence but we take a few minutes to patch ourselves up with knee supports, ibuprofen and deep freeze. Energy levels are stocked up with chocolate / Scottish Tablet / high energy gel and we would be ready to leave on our 1545 target, but Dale is washing his hands.
"Why is he washing his hands?" cries Baylis (he is getting hysterical). "We're covered in two days worth of grime with more to come, and we're late enough as it is! Why is he washing his hands?". Dale emerges and we're ready to go. "Now let's get off this ...... mountain", says MORT who only swears when quoting others.

The descent is obviously extremely painful but also quite fun. The sun has come out and we have all developed bizarre gaits in order to keep things as bearable as possible. Baylis is using his stick as a makeshift crutch. I find the only way to avoid bending my left leg is to walk backwards, and MORT's legs are each going in different directions. Only Dale seems more or less okay. Baylis is suffering the most; the grimace is now a permanent fixture and there's a stumble and fall every 15 minutes or so. And time is ticking on. But the further down the mountain we get, the more confident we are that we're going to make it and as we limp through Llanberis itself, we know we've done it. Unbelievably, Baylis manages to put on a last minute sprint (I say sprint, it's more of a lolloping charge) and Dale's off in hot pursuit. My competitive spirit urges me on but I can't do it and arrive at the car a disappointing third. MORT brings up the rear as has become traditional during this challenge and we are all officially finished in 23 hrs, 48 mins and 52 seconds. Hurrah!

What a Team.