After all that nonsense back in March at
The Mighty Deerstalker, I approached the
Men's Health Survival of the Fittest – run by the same company of
hardcore athletes and escaped mental patients - with a much greater level of
suspicion, a heftier training regime and several bucketloads more fear. I wasn’t getting caught out by half an hour of
surprise scree-climbing again, nor was I planning to leap into any rivers
unprepared. This time I was going to do things properly.
To my utter astonishment, it appears to have paid off.
Venture Trust’s showing at Survival was pretty weak compared
to the team we fielded at the Deerstalker. Whilst more than 20 VT types were up
for the mud-eating hill-climbing mountain-scrambling nonsense down in
Innerleithen, a mere half-dozen volunteered to test whether or not they were among
‘the fittest’ in Edinburgh. Perhaps the lack of sewage tunnels and mudbaths put
people off? Weird. But we mustered nonetheless and donned traditional green VT
warpaint, basing ourselves practically on top of the finish line in Princes
Street gardens, basking in the glorious October weather – bright, crisp, clear
and perfect for running – and distracting ourselves by the company of good
friends and an excitable Labrador puppy.
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| Rubbing the VT puppy for luck. |
Due to the narrow, twisty-turny course and the constraints
of the obstacles we would be encountering, the race sets off its 3,000
competitors in ten waves of 300 people, arbitrarily assigned so as to minimise
the potential for bottlenecking (something I had been darkly warned about by
Survival veterans). We had randomly chosen wave 7, starting at 11.30 am, and
thus had the pleasure of watching six other waves warm up and receive a
pre-race briefing before walking to the start line on The Royal Mile. A little
before we crowded round for our own briefing, the race winner appeared from the
western end of Princes Street Gardens. Laden with muscles but covered in
bruises and scrapes, as well as being completely soaked with water, this
Herculean figure nimbly leapt up and over the 8-foot high, 3-foot deep wall
that separated him from the finish line and his prizes. Second place was
nowhere to be seen for some minutes to come, but when he did arrive he was
snarling and lurching like a man possessed. The steam rising off his body was
more testament to how hard he had worked than how cold it was. We looked at
each other nervously. What on earth had we let ourselves in for?
Actually, I knew most of what we had let ourselves in for,
and had trained appropriately. A full (and exact) 10km of running, interspersed
with nonsense including monkey bars, cargo nets, almost endless staircases and
at least a small quantity of mud and water. My training had been adjusted
appropriately, regularly taking in some of the nastier staircases used on the
course, and incorporating the adventure/assault course recently installed in
Inverleith park. So when our time came for the longer-than-you-remember walk
from the event’s finish line in the gardens up to its start line in front of St
Giles’ Cathedral (which had services in progress, muting the starter’s pistol
to a quiet clap), I was energised, excited, ready to tackle what was coming up.
I knew that speed was of the essence in the early
kilometres, and happily jostled for position as I hurdled hay bales and
barrelled down steep closes. Dodging traffic was to become a theme too, since
none of the roads were closed, but before long I had already overcome the first
km marker and was preparing mentally for Jacob’s Ladder. But those sneaky
organisers had other ideas, and had set up the first obstacle section in a
vacant lot immediately before the stairs. We carried heavy cones, heaved
ourselves over pyramids of scaffolding, swung on monkey bars and otherwise
navigated a pair of heavily-obstructed finger loops, before eventually being
released to tackle the stairs.
They’re awful, no doubt about it. I’ve practised running
them at least half a dozen times, and they really don’t get much easier. I
wheezed my way to the top, clutching my exploding chest with one rugby-gloved
hand and propelling myself onwards with the other. Round to the summit of
Calton Hill my least favourite type of people awaited us: Army PT instructors.
Here we moved some sandbags around (I was pleased to help but unsure whether there
was a flood warning at the top of the hill – most confusing), launched on rope
swings, scrambled over more cargo nets (can anyone explain what this is
preparation for? How much modern warfare involves cargo nets? Are wars being fought
on container ships?) and generally spoiled a stunning view of the city, sea, Fife and the Borders with the kind of
nonsense you can only get from
Rat Race events. I was having a ball.
Assault course finished, I flew back down Calton Hill,
looking forward to the next challenge. I had caught the back of the previous
wave by now, and was picking my way through slower runners, notably a group of
approximately a hundred million women dressed in hessian sacks labelled ‘Hot
Potatoes’ who were trying hard to stick together. Behind the Parliament and
into Holyrood park, the course posed no more obstacles for another couple of
km, as the real challenge involved picking one’s way up and through a muddy,
hilly section that would have suited trail shoes much better than my knackered
road Asics. But the reward was worth it – a huge waterslide, set up to launch
you sideways into the next part of the race along the Innocent cyclepath.
What surprised me here was the amount of uninterrupted path
to run on – for at least two kilometres this could just as well have been any
other road race, although imaginatively designed to take in footpaths, a very
long disused railway tunnel and some interesting parts of town. I picked off a
few more groups and individuals in this section, hampered only slightly by some
slightly rubbish obstacles that clearly were low on the priority list, being
placed at the furthest outreaches of the course around 6-7k. I would regret
these observations.
Because the next few sections were very, very tough. We
moved along the Cowgate for just a few hundred metres before slowly slogging up
another previously-unnoticed ancient close, popping out back on the Royal Mile.
An articulated lorry with its sides open
stood blocking our progress, and the challenge here was to haul ourselves off
the road and into the lorry and back down over the other side. Three times. For me this was – by far – the toughest obstacle on the course, and it left me drained
and aching. The merciful downhill back to the Cowgate came as some relief as I
tend to recharge on the run, and I hit the Grassmarket flying, weaving in and
out between groups of tourists. At the far end of the Grassmarket I barrelled into
a maze constructed of the kind of silver-grey mesh fencing you see at building
sites, a disorientating experience as the near- and middle-distance fences all
blended into one. I had two enormous guys running right on my shoulder, looking
for a spot to overtake in the impossibly tight maze, and was astonished to find
that when I eventually escaped the fence-tastic labyrinth they were nowhere to be seen. They must have given up
on overtaking and gambled on taking a different - much longer - route through the maze, because their mad-dash
sprints only overtook me another 500 metres later. Just luck, I suppose, as
they were definitely closer to the much-overused label ‘the fittest’ than me.
It was almost over. Back in Princes Street Gardens there was
more very important clambering to do, before a quick hop in a huge, inflatable
pool full of filthy water that bore signs of already having been trampled through by 600 muddy runners. A last
few hundred metres and then my own crack at the final wall, by now too congested
and covered in writhing bodies for anyone to attempt a solo leap. Just as at
the Deerstalker, runners now selflessly launched one another up and over, and
after paying my dues I took my turn, happily running the few yards to the
finish line.
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| Job done. |
Having estimated around two hours to complete the course, thinking that congestion and constant obstacles would be its MO, I was startled to find that I'd finished in just 64 minutes. The Crew Chief, who had planned to come and see me
finish an hour later, was still at home eating her lunch. I had overtaken
hundreds of people from waves ahead of mine, and secured a final position of
586
th out of nearly 3,000. High fives to the rest of the VT crew - Kathryn, Sherien and Ruth (plus a couple who I didn't even set eyes on!). I am a little bruised, very sore and
covered in scrapes, but utterly delighted and very eager to do it again,
knowing now that I can plan for much more running and much less cardio than
anticipated. This one – and by association its sister events in London, Cardiff
and Nottingham – come highly recommended despite the hefty price tag. (Which,
incidentally, is lower if you’re a real cool frood and
do it for Venture Trust).
Coming soon on irunbecause.blogspot.com – some thoughts that
may be of genuine non-narcissistic value, some exciting VLM news and more of
the usual tosh. Exciting times.
Happy running
Dave
2012 to date: miles run - 369.9, miles biked - 73.2, metres swum - 3950, races - 4
