Although it feels like my aches and injuries keep me out of sport more than my relentless motivation keeps me in it, I am yet to convert to birdwatching over climbing and running. I’ve been climbing for over 7 years now and still refuse to get involved with the faf-ridden cold stuff and the monotonous ploding. I like warm days in the Pass, even warmer days in Spain and days filled with horror on the likes of Gogarth and Pembroke. Even with all these wishes I still spend most of my climbing time caressing plastic holds. Since relieving myself of the South and moving to my spiritual home of Sheffield (Henderson’s relish made the perpetual drizzle worth it), I’ve been enjoying fair-weather fell running at every opportunity. Unfortunately, my pride still won’t let me race as I don’t want to be beaten by small children and old men.