It's half a lifetime since I took my first tentative steps as a runner on the English fells. I can still feel the dark menace of the cold Cumbrian clouds and the stomachchurning vastness of that first, mountainous ascent.
On the bright side, the air was pure and the studs of my newly-purchased shoes bit nicely into the turf. For an hour or so, I enjoyed myself, relishing the challenges of a form of running that tests agility, daring and balance as well as speed and stamina – in a landscape of wild beauty.
Then fatigue kicked in, followed, a few hours later, by utter, despairing exhaustion. Each joy of fell running, I learned, has its grim flipside. All that glorious open space lures you into attempting too much. The…
