So I’m fairly sure we can still call it a triathlon if the sports are running, walking and swimming, right? My original plans of seeing friends at the end of the Welsh 1000m race on Saturday were scuppered by having to work, but I managed to get through bright-and-early on Sunday morning. I started the day with a run up the North Ridge of Tryfan, which never disappoints for excitement or indeed cardiovascular distress when taken at speed. Despite poor forecasts the rock was dry and the winds were light, and my only mistake was taking the West Gully path in descent!

After a quick change in the car park, I met Gary and seemingly most of his research group for my second North Ridge ascent of the day. I’d been drafted in to assist potentially nervous novices with their scrambling, but everyone proved competent (even me!) which made for a relaxed ascent to a now windy summit. Lorentz scared the life out of me by jumping from Adam to Eve in horrific gusts, but made up for it by suggesting we all take a dip in Llyn Bochlwyd on the way down.

There was a time a few years back when I would not ever have entertained such a thought, but we all jumped in and I have to say it was thoroughly pleasant! I had a wonderful splash around and didn’t get remotely cold. There is someone in Nant Peris who is attempting to swim the length of everything called a ‘llyn’ in the national park, and I can sort of see the attraction now.

A swift stop at Ogwen for a bottle of lucozade and a packet of crisps (I felt they were the least I deserved) was followed by a return trip home amongst the crazy Sunday-afternoon antics on the A5. 24 hours later and my achilles feels fine, so fingers crossed everything is on the mend – hooray!