Strict Machine

I was just a couple of miles into my long run on Saturday morning when Goldfrapp randomly shuffled from a Spotify dance playlist. I’d kind of forgotten about Goldfrapp but within moments I realised that I too am having my life dictated by a Strict Machine. It’s called Bob.

I didn’t particularly fancy a run on Saturday. It was cold. I’d been good at the eating part of training but the sleeping part went less well. There was ice on the ground. And I’m sure at the time there were some other excuses too, but I can’t remember exactly what they were.

But here’s the kicker; I didn’t decide whether to run on Saturday morning. I decided whether to run when Georgia and I had a FaceTime and settled on a date for our Bob Graham round attempt. In that moment I made not just a decision on what to do that day, but for the four and a bit months between now and then.

Most people who fail the round fail because they don’t go deep enough

Richard Askwith

It was never a question whether I’d run on Saturday or not, that decision was already made. Just like it wasn’t a question that I’d eat bigger portions of carbs every day, up my protein intake, go to bed earlier, and start doubling up sessions.

The only lens for those decisions is whether or not they move me towards a Bob or not. Like suffering, strict discipline isn’t optional.

I was listening to an interview with Richard Askwith, author of the seminal classic Feet in The Clouds, and he said that most people who fail the round fail because they don’t go deep enough. That won’t be us.

I spent months of last year with the map pinned above my desk. I’ve read books, blogs and articles, ran through all 42 summits in my head. Traced the contours of different route options and wondered which circumstances favour which one. I’ve listened to Beth Pascall and Finlay Wild talk in detail about their rounds.

You don’t train so it won’t hurt, you train so you’ll not quit when it does.

When we leave Moot Hall on the 14th May, it’ll be the culmination of a dream years in the making. And while I can’t guarantee how I’ll endure the ascent of Yewbarrow — 14 and a half hours, 66km and 5,500m of vert into the round — I can say that the pain won’t be down to a lack of preparation.

There’s a masochistic undertone to the Goldfrapp song and I guess that’s there with the Bob too. It’s a strange kind of obsession that will drive you to months of this. It’s not rational, I’m not sure it’s even sane. Bad weather, tiredness, pushing yourself through the pain cave, it’s all diminished by the size of the goal.

It’s like the fella said, you don’t train so it won’t hurt, you train so you’ll not quit when it does.

When I originally blogged about the Bob Graham, I quoted T.E Lawrence about the dreamers of the day acting on their dreams to make them a reality. And that’s where I find myself most days after work, putting extra miles in on the treadmill, staring at a brick wall, dreaming of the hills.

This year we go big.