Nearly four years ago, like the Princess of Wales I undertook the Three Peaks Challenge. Like Kate, too, it was for a cause which meant the world to me.
On December 6 2021, seven months prior to the challenge, my beloved daughter, Neave, was stillborn at full term. In the weeks which followed, my grief, confusion and disbelief left me practically incapable of doing anything but moving from one day to the next. When the initial wave of shock passed, however, I felt an overwhelming need to do something to honour both Neave and the legion of unsung heroes who work in baby bereavement services.
As a youth, many a family holiday was spent in the Lake District walking the fells, and while fellwalking took a back seat as I entered adulthood and pursued other pastimes, typically less wholesome, a love of the mountains has always been in me. So when I decided to test myself, I knew exactly what I wanted to do: the Three Peaks Challenge.
I rounded up a group of my closest friends, and come the morning of September 24 2022 we were all nervously gathered at the foot of Ben Nevis waiting to start the challenge. Unlike the Princess, we weren’t personally chaperoned by mountain rescue teams across the 24 hours, but we did have the support of an outdoor pursuit company, meaning we had guides and transport provided for the duration.
Opting for a company also meant we were part of a larger group – good for camaraderie but bad for speed as we were at the mercy of its slowest members. Indeed, it swiftly became clear many of those taking part had underestimated the difficulties presented by climbing three pretty hefty mountains in quick succession.
The perils of underestimating the mountains
We were only about an hour into the walk when our ragtag bunch suffered its first casualty. The lady in question had told me on the minibus that she had upped the length of her morning walks by way of training, but unless those morning walks happened to involve serious elevation, that sort of preparation was never going to pass muster. In between her various royal engagements and family duties, the Princess will almost certainly have needed to do some mountain-specific exercise by way of preparation (think lunges, squats, glute bridges and plyometrics).
Making our way farther up Ben Nevis, the stops got longer and more frequent. As someone who had trained diligently – albeit hampered by Achilles tendinopathy – I was getting a little frustrated thinking my chances were being jeopardised by people who weren’t taking it as seriously as me. Keeping your emotions in check is another part of the fellwalking challenge; mountains don’t just test your physical endurance, they test your mental endurance too. While Kate may have had a support party dedicated solely to her, I can guarantee she will have had moments where she questioned the sanity of what she was doing.
While it looks like she would largely have avoided climbing in the dark, nighttime undoubtedly adds both to the masochism and majesty of mountaineering. All of my friends safely summited Ben Nevis but on our nocturnal ascent of Scafell Pike, the wheels started to come off.
A nightmare on Scafell Pike
One chap (whom to preserve his dignity shall remain nameless), decided that he was too afraid of the dark even to try the climb. Another (again nameless), started to feel unwell and got separated from the group halfway up the mountain. One more made it up and back but at various stages looked more like he was in The Blair Witch Project than out for a walk. And in case you think I’m being smug, while I was okay going up, on the descent my knees started to feel like they were being brandished with hot pokers on every single step. The Princess of Wales looks like a naturally light and lithe lady, so her knees may have been slightly preserved, but she will have needed lots of muscular strength to get up Scafell’s unrelenting slate and scree paths.
Like Kate, we finished the challenge at Snowdon (the typical sequence is Ben Nevis, Scafell and Snowdon) where this time two of my friends sat it out, completely exhausted.
There are various routes up Yr Wyddfa – and thankfully we avoided the vertiginous Crib Goch ascent – but at this stage even going up on Snowdon’s legendary train would have seemed daunting. Eventually, I made it to the summit where I was battered by howling winds and torrential rain. Beyond the physical discomfort, I felt a paradoxical range of emotions: elation and sadness, momentousness and insignificance, bone-sapping tiredness and effervescent energy – and I can only assume the Princess felt something similar.
Why the mountains are places for healing (when they aren't injuring you)
This is what the mountains can do to a person and why, for many people, mountain climbing is less of a pastime and more of a religion: the peaks make you feel both literally and figuratively closer to God.
When you add the fundraising aspect (for me Sands, for Kate The Royal Marsden Hospital), the emotions become even more intense... You aren’t just battling a mountain; you are battling for everyone who has experienced what you experienced. If Kate did shed a tear at any stage (though her picture on Ben Nevis was one of customary radiance), then I wouldn’t blame her. I shed plenty.
For context, we were all late 30s at the time of the challenge so not exactly ancient. Princess Kate is mid 40s and of course had cancer, so it is a real testament to her fortitude that she completed the trio this weekend. And for any naysayers questioning the achievement, just because the three peaks in question are in Britain and not the Andes, it doesn’t make them a doddle. So well done to the Princess of Wales – I just hope her legs aren’t feeling it too badly today!
