Mountains to climb

I've got the Winter Olympics on in the background while I tap away on the keyboard. I've always been fascinated by normal people doing super human things. If you've seen cross-country skier Johanes Klaebo in action, you'll know what I mean. There's something slightly unsettling about watching him charge up an 18% incline like a Viking Beserker.

Speaking of super human, I was reading about Jasmin Paris recently. I was vaguely aware of her breaking the 268 mile Spine Race ultra marathon record in 2019. I didn't appreciate the enormity of her achievement until I read "Dirtbag Dreams." Paris smashed the previous record by 12 hours. She became the first woman to win the race outright. She did this while expressing milk for her 14-month-old Daughter. Training? 4 am runs in the dark before juggling full-time jobs as a Vet and a Mother. I am in awe.

But we all have our own mountains to climb. Mine has been simply to get back to a level of fitness I'm happy with. 12 months ago, as I waited for round 2 of chemotherapy, my weight had plummeted to 71kg. I struggled to walk to the end of the Ward. On Sunday, I finished another Club Cross Country race in a respectable time for any 43-year-old, chemo or no chemo. I've got to be happy with that.

The day before, Valentine's Day, we enjoyed the first bit of sunshine for weeks and had a walk out in the Peak District. This was rounded of perfectly with a carvery. I was stood in the queue for the bar, we'd been waiting a while, and an old chap tapped me on the back and said: "Excuse me, I was thinking we could have brought a box of draughts." I'm not normally one for small talk but I indulged his quip about the waiting time and we ended up chatting away like old friends. As he was leaving with his Wife, she approached our table, thanked me for chatting to her Husband, and said I'd "restored his faith in humanity." While I'm glad we shared a moment in the carvery queue, it's a sad indictment of society that being nice to someone and chatting for a bit is out of the ordinary.

I've got an appointment in a few weeks for blood tests and bone marrow samples. Having my pelvis drilled is not ideal preparation for a race the day after but so be it.

We're planning a trip to the Lakes, which I'm very much looking forward to. Alfred Wainwright wrote: "Up here you are near to your creator; you are conscious of the infinite; you gain new perspectives; thoughts run in strange new channels; there are stirrings in your soul which are quite beyond the power of my pen to describe." I'm inclined to agree and I can't wait to go back.