The Final Ten: Concluding My 25 Peaks in 2025

The alarm ripped me from sleep at 5am on Sunday, September 7th. My body was still battered from the day before, when I had pushed through four brutal peaks on the Pen y Fan Horseshoe in the Brecon Beacons. But today was different. Today was the day. The conclusion of my 25 Peaks in 2025 challenge.

My kit was stripped back to the bare minimum—a running vest, a small bottle of water, hiking poles, and shorts. A gamble. The forecast said rain at 1pm, but I was determined to be finished long before then. With a coffee in hand and nerves in my stomach, I set off for the Malvern Hills.

At 6:45am, I arrived. The Malverns welcomed me with their familiar charm—clear skies, crisp light, and visibility stretching thirty miles into the horizon. They never disappoint. My journey began from the Wyche Inn, right in the heart of the range.

Southward, the peaks fell before me one by one: Perseverance, Jubilee, Pinnacle, Black Hill. Each summit felt like an old friend greeting me for the final leg of this extraordinary journey. Crossing the road, I climbed British Camp, where history clings to the earth. I was moving fast, making great time. On my descent, I even treated myself to a coffee from the small shop tucked at the base—a surreal luxury mid-challenge, sipping warmth as I turned northwards to face the final stretch.

But fate had other plans.

At 9:45am, the heavens tore open. Rain didn’t just fall—it attacked. Sheets of water hammered the earth, turning trails into rivers, and me into a drowned rat. I had gambled everything on the forecast being right, and I had lost. No waterproofs, no extra clothing, nothing to fight the storm. Within minutes, I was soaked to the skin.

Still, I pressed on. Summer Hill. Then the long pull towards the Beacon. But I bypassed its familiar crown, pushing myself into the storm, covering Sugarloaf, Table Hill, and North Hill. By then, the downpour had reached biblical proportions. My clothes clung like seaweed. My phone threatened to give up under the relentless soaking, making it almost impossible to capture proof of each peak. At one point, I was so wet, I swore I was growing gills.

Every step became agony. My legs screamed with the memory of the Brecon Beacons the day before and the miles I was piling on today. I had only water left to fuel me. I was unprepared, exposed, and exhausted—but the fire inside me would not go out.

At North Hill, I turned back. The Worcester Beacon, the final peak, loomed ahead. My legs trembled as I climbed, rain still pounding, when I crossed paths with a group of hikers—strangers, clad head-to-toe in waterproofs, dry, warm, and prepared. We shared words. I told them about my challenge. Their kindness shone through the storm—they promised to donate. Their encouragement was a light in that grey, soaking morning.

Then came the final steps.

I reached the summit of Worcester Beacon, the last of my 25 peaks. As I touched the trig point, a wave of emotion surged through me. I shed a tear. A single, unstoppable tear that carried with it two and a half years of struggle, of growth, of resilience. I thought of my mom, fighting her own battles with courage and grace. I thought of the friends, family, and strangers who had supported me along the way. I thought of where I had been, and where I had now arrived.

I had done it.

The rain hammered down, but inside I felt nothing but warmth. Pride. Relief. Gratitude. For the hills, for the journey, for the cause I was raising money for. For the people who had believed in me—even the strangers I met that morning, who later donated to my page.

This was not just the end of a challenge. It was the closing of a chapter. A moment that will stay with me forever.

The 25 Peaks in 2025 challenge is complete.

What comes next, I don’t yet know. But first, I will rest. I will reflect. And I will carry forward the pride of what has been achieved.

Because on that storm-lashed summit of Worcester Beacon, I didn’t just finish a challenge. I proved to myself that I could endure, that I could overcome, and that I could climb higher—no matter the storm.