Aran Sharma

Peaks and Promises: Carrying More Than Miles

There are some conversations that stay with you. Not because they were dramatic or emotional at the time, but because they were certain. Clear. Settled.

The Cateran Yomp was one of those conversations.

After finishing the Yorkshire Three Peaks together, Bally and I knew what was next. No grand planning, no forms filled in, no dates locked. Just a promise between us. We’ll do the Yomp next. It was agreed, the same way so many things between us were — without doubt.

Then he was gone.

Suddenly, that conversation became something else. Not a plan anymore, but a line I couldn’t step away from. It was the last definitive thing we spoke about, and for me, that matters more than any official sign-up ever could.

So I’ve signed up.

Not because I know exactly how this journey will look, or who else will walk beside me. Right now, everyone is hurting in their own way, and that’s exactly as it should be. I’m doing this regardless — because some promises don’t expire just because the person you made them with is no longer physically here.

We completed the Three Peaks together. Twenty-six miles of laughs, stubbornness, silence, and shared effort. There were moments on that walk where Bally disappeared into the mist ahead of me, and I remember searching for him, calling out, waiting for him to reappear. At the time, it meant nothing. Now, it feels like something else entirely.

Recently, I found myself near the start of the Cateran Yomp route. The walk itself is still months away, but standing there without him was unbearable. The place felt wrong. Like something important was missing. And I know that feeling isn’t going away any time soon.

This isn’t about proving strength. It isn’t about fitness, medals, or miles. It’s about keeping a promise. About carrying someone forward when they can’t walk beside you anymore.

There will be days during this journey when the weight isn’t in my legs, but in my chest. Days where every step reminds me why I’m there. And that’s okay. This walk isn’t meant to be easy — emotionally or physically.

Bally pushed everyone around him to be better. To keep going. To not half-arse things. He believed in showing up, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

So this is me showing up.

Peaks and promises.
One was climbed together.
The other I’ll carry all the way.