The family
My dad first entered me into a race when I was about eight – a three-mile “fun” run on the North Downs. I never knew if he was more disappointed with my pitiful performance (I came second-to-last) or the pride I took in beating a girl with a hole in her heart. You see, the thing about my dad is he’s very fit. And the thing about me is I’m very lazy. So why he persists in entering me into competitive activities I don’t know.
“Let’s make sure we start at the back, so we don’t get in anyone’s way.” Encouraging words from Dad. We have entered an “adventure challenge”. It’s a team-of-three event involving 25km of cycling, 10km of running and 1km of kayaking – plus a series of surprise “challenges” at the end. “If you’ve ever fancied a filthy threesome then look no further!” is the organisers’ malapropos tease.
Our team consists of me, 30, and recently a mum (all right, it’s a year now but it still feels recent), my dad, 53, and training for a 100-mile ultra marathon, and my boyfriend, Bevis, who effortlessly maintains his fitness without actually doing anything.
The training
I should have known, really. The last team event my dad entered me for saw me losing four toenails (during a 100km non-stop walk), while he barely broke a sweat. Still, I needed a reason to kickstart my fitness post-baby. And the toenail incident was long enough ago for me to have forgotten the pain. So when he suggested the Trail Plus Adventure Challenge on Staffordshire’s Cannock Chase, it sounded like a good idea. “It’s suitable for all levels of fitness, anyway,” Dad reassures me.
So here I am. I have trained. I’ve cycled to work – and back again. It’s at least three miles. I’ve endured a chronically embarrassing step class. I’ve even worked double-hard at my post-natal yoga class. Am I ready? My dad’s statement probably says it all.
Going solo
We start somewhere in the middle. First is a short run, which passes problem-free. I’m feeling pretty good, in fact. There are even people more out of breath than me. Switching to bikes, I feel like a proper athlete. Bevis disabuses me of the notion by pointing out I have my helmet on back to front.
So off we ride. We agree to stop and wait for each other since this is, you know, a team event. About 15 minutes in, I stop and wait. Cyclists whizz by. I wait a bit longer. The cyclists thin out. Where are my dad and Bevis? Soon there are no more cyclists. Reluctantly, depressingly, I head back the way we came. They must have a puncture. I return to where I saw them last. No sign of them – or anyone. I head on again. “What are you doing?” My dad is coming back towards me. Apparently it’s not a good idea to wait for someone who is ahead of you.
Less than half an hour in and we have already proven our inability to function as a team and have fallen about 20 minutes behind everyone else.
We pelt off, pretending we’re not irritated with each other. The cycling is more technical than any I’ve done before. Narrow, bumpy paths, made muddy by the 600 or so bikes that have just sped over them. I fall off a few times, the scariest being when I get back on after a fall and try to brake on a steep downhill, only to discover my handlebars are facing the wrong way.
Two hours of this and it’s time for some more running. I did some running in training, and I did some cycling. But I didn’t do one after the other. The run is hard, the terrain hilly. When we pass a marshal shouting hortatively, “Just one-and-a-half miles to the kayaks,” it doesn’t provide the desired encouragement. There are now people running back past us as the route loops back on itself. I realise that every step we take towards the kayaks is a step we will have to run back again. And these people look tired, very tired.
“You’re doing really well, sweetie,” Bevis says. This is not helpful. This event is becoming like childbirth: there is nothing he can say to make me feel better and it just annoys me he isn’t suffering as I am.
Surprisingly, my dad manages motivation quite well. One of my earliest memories is having to run alongside him to keep up, but today he stays by my side, instructing me to go as slow as I can, just keep going. It works and I manage some pretty tough hills without walking.
The kayaking comes as a relief. We are all in the same boat (though not necessarily paddling in the same direction), so I have a rest. And the run back isn’t as bad as on the way there.
It’s not over yet, though. The final three-mile cycle feels more like five: it’s mainly uphill. And we’ve still got to face the challenges – the elements of the event supposed to make it fun, rather than just gruelling. A three-legged sack race where I am squashed into the noisome underarms of my team-mates feels as if the organisers are having a laugh, at my expense. Then we are all strapped at the feet to two planks and have to walk a short course. It is here that we finally find our team spirit and get into a great rhythm. Next we scale an 8ft wall and crawl under a net, commando-style. And then we are done.
And we’re not last! We’ve overtaken at least a dozen teams. And, as far as I know, not one of their members had a hole in their heart …
Your turn
• Trail Plus organise several Adventure Challenge events each year at locations across the country. Team entry costs £135. Further details at trailplus.com/helly_hansen.cfm
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