It seems to me that a lot of the "fun" in a fun run can be retrospective. This exact thought occurred to me more than once today as I slogged it out around the 10 miles of HellRunner, my first cross country race since my school days.
Back in the day I'd try and smuggle a cigarette or two in my running shorts. If I jogged out for the first mile I would have enough time to stop for a quick smoke out of range from the teachers before the last of the less athletic wheezed past and I could then run back with them. I never did make the school team. When I left school there were no teachers around to catch me smoking so I never felt the need to doing any more cross country running.
Fast forward almost 30 years and I found myself lining up for 10 miles of leg sapping hills, puddles and a jaunt through The Bog of Doom. What was I thinking? When I talked my running partners Ian and Paula into it (yes it was my idea) it had all seemed like so logical...Avoid that post Great South slump by having another target race lined up already, do something different, get out in the country, a bit of waist deep mud will be god for the skin surely.
I hadn't reckoned though on doing it with a serious dose of jet lag, zero prep runs, a belly full of hotel food and the tail end of a two day hangover (well if you're in the local area it's compulsory to drink Long Island Iced Tea isn't it??). I couldn't have felt less like getting out of bed this morning and running felt like an impossibility. But a commitment is a commitment and in any case Ian and Paula were coming round to pick me up, so I had little choice.
As it turned out I'm glad I did get out of bed and get into the bog. Cross country is a different sport entirely to road running. You just can't get into a rhythm in the same way that you can on the road. Every slippery mud soaked descent is followed immediately by an ascent that will leave your legs crying out "enough" and your lungs bursting. What's more you get to do it over and over again. How can that possibly be fun? Simple, you get to jump in muddy puddles, hundreds of them and your mum won't be there to tell you not off either. You also get to satisfy the inner juvenile in you and wade deep into a stinking bog while they blast you with smoke and assault your ears with Chesney at full volume. It took us a lot long to cover ten miles today than it ever would on the road, but we did it as a team and we had a whole heap of fun. I'll definitely be back for more, but next time I'll hide my smokes in a waterproof bag...
Back in the day I'd try and smuggle a cigarette or two in my running shorts. If I jogged out for the first mile I would have enough time to stop for a quick smoke out of range from the teachers before the last of the less athletic wheezed past and I could then run back with them. I never did make the school team. When I left school there were no teachers around to catch me smoking so I never felt the need to doing any more cross country running.
Fast forward almost 30 years and I found myself lining up for 10 miles of leg sapping hills, puddles and a jaunt through The Bog of Doom. What was I thinking? When I talked my running partners Ian and Paula into it (yes it was my idea) it had all seemed like so logical...Avoid that post Great South slump by having another target race lined up already, do something different, get out in the country, a bit of waist deep mud will be god for the skin surely.
I hadn't reckoned though on doing it with a serious dose of jet lag, zero prep runs, a belly full of hotel food and the tail end of a two day hangover (well if you're in the local area it's compulsory to drink Long Island Iced Tea isn't it??). I couldn't have felt less like getting out of bed this morning and running felt like an impossibility. But a commitment is a commitment and in any case Ian and Paula were coming round to pick me up, so I had little choice.
As it turned out I'm glad I did get out of bed and get into the bog. Cross country is a different sport entirely to road running. You just can't get into a rhythm in the same way that you can on the road. Every slippery mud soaked descent is followed immediately by an ascent that will leave your legs crying out "enough" and your lungs bursting. What's more you get to do it over and over again. How can that possibly be fun? Simple, you get to jump in muddy puddles, hundreds of them and your mum won't be there to tell you not off either. You also get to satisfy the inner juvenile in you and wade deep into a stinking bog while they blast you with smoke and assault your ears with Chesney at full volume. It took us a lot long to cover ten miles today than it ever would on the road, but we did it as a team and we had a whole heap of fun. I'll definitely be back for more, but next time I'll hide my smokes in a waterproof bag...
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