Until yesterday I’d never done a cross country race. Cross country was merely something that I avoided (very successfully) at school. I could get a medal for cross country avoidance, in fact. But unfortunately for me, that running club I decided to join are very big on cross country and it became very clear to me that I wasn’t going to hear the end of it until I agreed to do a race.
“You could just start with one of the summer ones,” suggested someone, “they’re basically like a grassy parkrun”. Well I didn’t think there was a lot of point in that because I have already done grassy parkruns and found them unsuitable, so I said that I wanted the muddiest, wettest, hilliest, treacherous, ankle breaker of a cross country. In fact, I said, I was going to enter the Benfleet 15 Mile! I knew I had gone a bit too far with this last statement as the other members tried to talk me down and gently suggest it might not be an appropriate way to begin my cross country career. It was the first time I’d heard them suggest not doing something so I knew they were serious. Instead I decided to plump for the Chingford League Epping Forest Fixture. Those with long memories might remember the last time I raced in Epping Forest I finished dead last and was openly mocked by the race director on two consecutive laps with resulting ugly scenes; I figured that if I didn’t fall over, finish last or end up in a shouting match it would already be an improvement.
The last time I raced in Epping Forest it was also the middle of summer and therefore not proper cross country. This time there was mud. It started in a muddy bog (“is it all going to be like this?” I wondered aloud, unanswered) and then it got muddier. Even though I was wearing the fancy mudclawtalongripslidstoppers or whatever they are called I was still slipping and sliding all over the place. The mud was already coming over the top of my shoes and I was really glad I had the £30 waterproof socks that a clubmate had recommended on. Yes, I am officially All The Gear, No Idea. Then the hills started. Now I don’t mind hills but hills with mud are another thing entirely. Pole Hill with mud was utterly ridiculous. Have you ever seen that competition where people roll themselves down hills after a giant cheese and break their arms and legs? It was a bit like that. Then after that there was an even worse hill where I briefly contemplated getting down on my bum and just using it like a water slide (it would certainly have saved me a bit of time) but I decided staying upright throughout was a good aim for the race and concentrated very hard on doing so, utilising skills learned at Hotpod Yoga. The whole process felt more like cycling than running to me – all thoughts of forward propulsion and pace were really out of the window, it was really more of an exercise in staying upright and uninjured in increasingly ridiculous circumstances. For comparison my “walked with a bit of easy jogging” parkrun pace earlier that day was 8:00 min/km, going as fast as I possibly could my pace for this race was nearly 9:00 min/km.
Next followed a part where a very proud marshal pointed at the very trecherous patch of mud he’d been entrusted with. He said the word “trecherous” about fifteen times when I was in earshot. He also provided a count of fallers so far – five on my first lap, eight on my second. “I reckon it’ll be double figures by the end!” he said. I momentarily stopped worrying about falling over to gleefully note that this meant there must be at least two people behind me.
At some point there was a very steep hill that was a bit like a travellator because no matter how fast I tried to walk up it I kept sliding back and moving precisely nowhere. This was when the faster runners started to lap me and I marvelled at how people were actually running when I was having trouble with walking. It seemed like they might have been deploying magic. Though this isn’t to say they weren’t falling over too, in fact if anything they were falling over more and altogether less bothered about it. Maybe this is the knack to it, being able to fall without caring or injuring yourself?
Next we were completely loose on a big field with views all over somewhere I couldn’t identify and the faster runners were absolutely bounding down, like lemmings throwing themselves off a cliff. I seriously feared for their safety. I have snaffled a couple of pictures not of me from Facebook (credit Karen West and Steve Bennett) to illustrate this and other bits of objectionable terrain.
After what felt like a ridiculously long time to run five miles – oh, it was – the finish line finally beckoned. I attempted to get a sprint on, overtook someone who’d fallen in the mud and probably reached the dizzying heights of my usual walking pace. My clubmates were all waiting for me at the finish! Well they had to really, after they’d made me sign up for that. I felt really proud that I had finished without fall, injury or getting into a barney with anyone and quite relieved when they said that they had all found it really hard too and that if I could do that, I could do any cross country race. Looks like I’ll be signing up for Benfleet next year – if I don’t break an ankle in the meantime, obviously.
7:07 