Tuesday 15 June 2010

Where are you?




Where are you?


I could've said I'm sorry
Perhaps a preamble to soften the palette
Yet no sooner shall it be raised to my lips
than I stumble, stutter and trip
and in the end I never say it at all

I miss how things used to be
how easy it seemed when I loved you like no other
and despite the insistent whispering of all these unsaid words
I couldn't have known the dangers of leaving them unheard
I never uttered a single one yet you were like a brother to me

You are my best friend, and my worst enemy
Recklessly I impart the withheld words I’ve clung to so long!
Be still and behold the pain you're imbuing
just stop for a minute and look what you're doing
I don't want to do this but I can't help myself
and now I want to be alone

I wish I could understand
but the hourglass sand is emptied and unspoken
words now stronger, I let go and contain them no longer
God help me
I'm losing my grasp on the leash of my tongue
words spew out like poisoned darts and you're stung

SAY IT!

Now you’re gone

© LWM 2010
Inspired by 'Unsaid Words', 2010 by Sarah J Trigg

Phrases in italics are taken from the list of unsaid words from the unsaid words art project. 

Thursday 10 June 2010

Welsh 1000m Peaks Race - 2010

Having arrived at the Royal Victoria in Llanberis after a 6 hour drive, waited at the check in desk behind a mile long queue of wedding guests and bemoaned the fact that for once I couldn't wave my Holiday Inn platinum card for attention, I attempted to speed the proceedings by explaining the difference between 'booked in' and 'checked in' to the poor reception clerk who was in a fair muddle. By the time Fran and I finally got to our stifling single bedroom (the only one left at the time of booking) we were starting to wonder whether 'Royal' in the hotel name was somewhat misleading. A bit like the presumptuously named chain of hotels called 'Quality Hotel Such and Such' which you simply wouldn't dare set foot in for fear of contracting some hideous disease from the sticky carpets, nicotine stained walls and the processed sludge served up as a 'continental style breakfast'.

Having realised the only water options in the bathroom were hot or hotter, I popped down to the hotel bar to find some cold water to fill my camelback (the only time it's had a slice of lemon and ice in it) whilst Fran did a spot of bedtime reading of the race rules and regulations, a hefty tome of which I was already familiar from previous years. After a momentary scare when Fran discovered that the use of GPS was banned for the first time, I hastily brushed up on my rusting map reading skills, conducted a quick kit and radio check, and we settled down for the night in rather close proximity.


0600 felt like a lie in after the 0445 starts that Hugh normally demands on such a day to check and double check the contents of his 1st world war backpack and tape his feet with army issue duct tape, not knowing that compeeds have been around for some years now.  That said, Fran had already woken me up at 0300 by inadvertently pouring a jug of cold water and ice over my head from which she was apparently attempting to take a sip in the dark.  Nevertheless, she took pity, made up some peanut butter sarnies and followed our 0645 bus to the start at Aber in time to watch the sending off of the scores of military and early starters at 0730. I collected my dibber (an electronic doobery wotsit that clocks you at each checkpoint) and joined the 27 other Mountaineers for the start, getting a friendly wave off at 0800 from my support team slash wife as we set off for Aber Falls and the first of our four 1000m peaks.


Luckily, with the GPS ban tugging at my nerves, navigation was a piece of cake this year with blazing sunshine and any cloud well above the summits, unlike the biblical storms of 2009. It actually made a surprisingly refreshing change to be technologyless for the day and learn the names of all the peaks I'd been running over for the last few years because rather than being a numbered waypoint or a beep on a handheld gizmo, some kind topographer at ordnance survey had been generous enough to write them on the maps for me.

That said, a new checkpoint at Aryg seemed a little excessive since checkpoints did mean actually using a compass; a device I thought had been resigned to the 20th century and the only one I have being a hand me down from Grandad, most likely his standard army issue. However, this apparently unwelcome checkpoint actually broke up rather nicely the first wild and remote slog upwards between the Bera's and toward the Carnedds and I have to concede, made one feel a small sense of accomplishment fairly early on in the race.

I finally made the first two 1000m peaks of the day - Carnedds Llewelyn and Dafydd, with spectacular views offered to the north and Conwy bay by the fabulously clear weather conditions and started feeling rather pleased with the proceedings.

Onwards and downward toward Ogwen and halfway, I took on and won a brief fight with a deeper than expected patch of marshland part way just to keep things interesting although this did leave me with some nasty cramp... Made halfway a smudge inside 3hr40 and refilled my almost empty 3 litre camelback. Support teams no longer being allowed to park here, Fran instead met me at the campsite at Helyg and came a few hundred yards with me up the most tortuous leg of the race toward Pen y Pass. With the blazing heat and gradients better suited to skiing down than walking up, even the gazelle-like fell runners were slowing down on this stretch and by the time I hit Pen y Pass at 5 hours 52, the fire in my thighs was starting to make me wonder whether my legs would hold out for Snowdon.

As good fortune would have it, Fran was passing the time at Pen y Pass, chatting up an RAF Officer and was all geared up for a clamber up Pyg Track with me. She set a good pace up Snowdon, pushing her way through a colourful array of tourists and their craghopping pets. Despite Fran's wonderful moral support, I moaned, grumbled and stumbled continuously on the way up, cursing at the thought of Ugain presenting another most unwanted challenge to my poor legs before I could head to the finish at Snowdon's summit.


With Fran pausing at the junction between the two peaks, I managed to 'slog up' and 'jog down' Ugain and then back up toward Snowdon although any 'jogging' at this stage was later revealed by some unfortunate photographic evidence as the running motion of the upper body, with relevant heart rate and facial expression, but with the legs disobediently trailing behind at half the speed.

Finally collapsing over the finishing line in 6th position after 7 hours and 58 minutes, 23 gruelling miles, 6500 calories and 8000ft of climb, I was suddenly presented by the beaming face of a friend who couldn't possibly have been at the top of Snowdon at that precise day and hour - none other than the infinitely cheeky Scott and his lovely and significant other, Catherine – an absolutely wonderful surprise to round off an otherwise particularly excruciating day gallivanting around the Snowdonia National Park. Furthermore, somebody had finally gotten round to finishing the summit cafĂ© refurbishment so we all popped in for a nice hot cuppa before making the 5 mile descent back to Llanberis and a mouthwatering stop at the local fish and chip shop.

Even the Royal Victoria redeemed itself with a right royal breakfast for two the following morning as the rain began to lash furiously down and Fran and I thanked our lucky stars it was all over for another year.



Elevation Profile:


Route Map:


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