It’s all over now. I can finally move on with my life. What felt like a century of training on dozens of walks and costly fitness classes have now come to a timely, sofa-ridden end. Thank the maker.

 

Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t completely awful. The first night we spent in Fort William was an illuminating experience – I did the touristy thing and ate haggis, neeps and tatties while another of the Three-Peakers had something that looked like a radioactive curry on soggy chips in a restaurant that reminded me a little bit of Acorn Antiques. We – all 13 of us – made merry at a fantastic pub called the Grog and Gruel, which had the creepiest replica of a pig’s head I’ve ever seen in my life, hanging over the bar. We didn’t drink too much though; we all knew we had a taxing couple of days ahead, and our bodies needed to be toxin-free.

 

 

It rained all day in Fort William before we started the ascent of Ben Nevis at 5pm. But, as soon as we stepped off our mini-bus, the clouds broke and sunlight poured through like a divine blessing on the path ahead. It took us just over two hours to reach the top, which was actually in the clouds – there was even a big patch of snow that we couldn’t help having a slip and a slide on. The descent was swift and beautiful, with views out over the Highlands and silver lochs. There was just no time to stop and take it in. I got barked at if I tried. When we got back to base, I was ecstatic to be presented with a cup of tea by the driver, to sip on the bus on our way to the next mountain.

 

The drive to Scafell Pike took six hours. I slept for twenty minutes of it. And ate half a tub of salad and some chocolate. I don’t think any of us managed to get much sleep or anything down our necks, so the 5am start of the second ascent looked pretty hairy. And it was hairy. I’d never known my body to respond in such a way as it did as I took those first few steps. It felt like someone had slipped a dumb-bell in both my shoes and a couple of canon-balls in my rucksack. Every inch was an effort, and it was when I noticed this, that doubt started to creep in.

 

The weather didn’t improve the grey-ness in my head; it began to rain heavily as we were halfway up, and the grassy ground beneath us turned to scree. Despite it being the smallest of the three peaks, I decided I didn’t like Scafell Pike. In fact, I hated it. It could ruddy well blow over into one of the nearby lakes for all I cared! A couple of the other Peakers shared my sentiments; one of them had to turn back after an asthma attack, and another twisted his knee and had to descend the mountain like a crab.

 

We arrived back at the mini bus, truly exhausted, at 8.30am, to more tea and more bars of chocolate. I didn’t care who saw my bare behind as I peeled off my wet layers and climbed into my fluffy pyjamas. A short but lovely sleep was had on my boyfriend’s shoulder as we jostled off to North Wales to battle it out with Snowdon. The mini bus had gotten pretty stinky by this time.

 

Rain, rain, rain. Oh rain. That was what bashed our weary heads as we slid open the bus door at 3pm. We knew we’d arrived too late, and wouldn’t have time to climb and descend Snowdon by the 5pm deadline. Our bus was simply too slow, and the traffic too heavy. But that didn’t break our spirits. If we could do it all in 26 hours, it would still be one hell of an achievement. Heads held sort-of high, we plodded into the mist like a troupe of guerilla soldiers, feet squelching in our boots.

 

Oh my life. Never have I been more wet, cold and tired as I scrambled up rocks that had transformed into mini waterfalls. At least I didn’t have to stop to drink from my bottle though – I could just open my mouth for half a second and have a litre of rain! I’ve been up Snowdon before, on one of the hottest days of the year, so this was a rather different experience, and I couldn’t see any of the stunning scenery I had previously witnessed. I could barely see five metres in front of me.

 

All I can remember of being at the top of Snowdon, was me looking for a teleporter to get me back down to the mini bus in a nano-second. No such luck. It was a long walk down.

 

We proudly completed the Three Peaks Challenge in just over twenty-six hours and raised nearly £3,000 for our chosen charities. Looking back on it, I wish I'd eaten more and slept more on those long journeys between the peaks. It's vital, if you're putting your body through such strain, to look after yourself. I think I was a bit negligent.

 

We all went to a beer festival the following day and drowned our aching brains and muscles in ale and cider. I think I even went on a bouncy castle. What on earth did I do that for?