Motivation among the mamores
Searching for some sense of motivation to maintain fitness through another spell of injury, I find myself wondering about things once taken, if not for granted, then certainly as the norm. A few years back I ran the Scafell Pike race. If memory serves, I ran reasonably well, avoiding any painful collisions with walkers, dogs or boulders that littered the summit and first stages of the descent in equal numbers. There was little time to hang about at the finish, and wheel spinning through the mud – with a helpful shove from Joss Naylor whose account of the Wainwrights record I’d once again forgotten to ask him to sign – I was soon heading north to rendezvous with friends in Glen Coe. By 10am the next morning, we were high among the Mamores.
Compared to the hills of Sutherland, Assynt or Torridon, I have spent relatively little time in Lochaber, most trips being focused upon either the climbs on The Ben or recceing The Ramsay. It was the latter on this occasion. I’d not set a date for an attempt but was in no doubt I’d be making one before long. Still grubby from The Pike, a cold fresh wind and frequent showers on the tops proved invigorating though I recall no sense of tiredness or heavy legs from the race. And the big climbs, elegant ridgelines and sweeping aretes of The Mamores provided familiar inspiration. But still, Torridon beckoned. A relaxed outing over Alligin offered a rest day of sorts. It was followed by An Teallach, before moving north again. Cul Beag and Cul Mor came next with a final flourish over Quinag before driving south.
The week ended as it began, with another race, appropriately named perhaps, the Fryup Frazzler. I did Ok in that one too. None of which seemed particularly remarkable at the time, and the pattern has continued in the years since. Except the spells of injury seem more frequent, more persistent, and with each comes that nagging doubt about getting back to the same level. Still, there’s a few months yet before the next race on The Pike – I haven’t run it since and I’m pretty sure I can knock a minute of so off – perhaps this year I will.