Training day...Pen y Fan

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Just got back from a march up to the summit of Pen y Fan.

I can feel the familiar ache in my feet. My calves are straining, flexed, waiting to see what I ask of them next.

Pain comes in many forms, this one is welcome. Although, to be frank, it hardly qualifies as pain. Anyone who's been up Pen y Fan will know it's not exactly a hard task. And the sun was shining today. The wind, however, obviously had one too many last night and decided to take it out on the foolish humans daring to venture above a thousand feet. Cold, very cold. I doubt you want to know this but it did clear out masses of undesirable matter from my sinuses.

Too many people on the hills today and all far too chatty. The summit is flat and wide but a cairn marks the spot. It's currently marked with a British flag, a small collection of poppy-bearing wooden crosses, and a wreath. Sad thoughts are the first ones when I see that but they are swiftly followed by pride in the remaining humans who chose to walk up there and mark the (pointless) passing of their kin. Swiftly followed by annoyance and disdain at the fools sitting beside the cairn spouting self-aggrandising tosh because they've made it up a wee hill and want their partners to know they're not suffering. I didn't stay long on the summit. I love summits but idiots have a habit of lingering there and spoiling them.

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Photos

20101113_Cribyn
Cribyn from the summit of Pen y Fan (highest point in the Brecon Beacons (and southern Britain))