There are very few races with which I have unfinished business, but after two years and several scars the Red Bull Steeplechase is one of then.
The steeplechase is a run/crawl/aerial running battle with 1,400 metres of ascent, spread over 21 miles. But of course, that in itself is never going to be extreme enough for Red Bull, so they have added to the competitive element by cutting half of the field every six miles or so. This creates a sense of mania throughout the field: sensible pacing is replaced by panic.
Following a spectacular fall where I used Win Hill as a human cheese-grater last year, I was out at 18 miles. So the steeplechase was the first race in my diary for 2014. I vowed to return stronger, fitter and wiser, and earn the zipped hoodie for finishing in the top 30. How wrong I was.
Following a 10-week layoff through injury, a stint of fuelling at Oktoberfest and a night on the floor of Munich airport having been abandoned by easyJet at 3am, I set off to the Peak District with a body made purely of achilles heels.
The shout to “Go!” bellowed out across a mist-filled valley, and 500 runners sped off for 200 meters before turning sharply onto the face of our first ascent. I think there was a path up the peak, but the rabble scrambled in every direction, trying to find any route to the top. As the incline increased, we were forced into a crawl over bracken and around thorn bushes. Some 550ft of climbing later and we summited, trying to break into a run with shredded quads; the hardest start to any race I’ve encountered.
The panic had not dissipated and runners hurtled along the ridge, faster than their 5K pace, desperately trying to make up the time they had lost on the climb. Another ascent, accompanied by a brass band (where was the Rocky theme tune?), before we veered off into a steep 800ft descent. The path was too narrow for the group and the slope too steep and tufty for most, a few runners sliding on their sides, a few tumbling. Confident in the grip my Inov-8’s gave me, I finally had a chance to run without the limitations of my fitness holding me back and it felt glorious.
Down and back up we continued, until we passed our first checkpoint and found out our positions – mine was 134th. I’d only make it through the first steeple unless I picked up the pace, but my lungs were burning and my legs had forgotten that it was possible to run up hills and not just down them. Each runner ahead became a challenge, trying to remember how many overtakes I needed – 135, 136, 135, wait no 136? Why can’t I count and run?
At eight miles in we meandered through Bamford to our first steeple. My injured leg had held out, but I didn’t want to risk another stage. Yet I was hesitant to stop, as I would miss out on the camaraderie of “the running dead” – once runners know they’re not going to make it through the next checkpoint, the atmosphere transforms. Everyone relaxes and starts to chat.
But sense prevailed – my injury was not sufficiently healed to take on Win Hill and I had neglected to bring any Clif gels. I ducked to the side, just short of the checkpoint and waited for the 250th runner, not wanting to deny someone the chance to continue on. Some charged through the checkpoint, others held their hands aloft: “Hurrah! I’ve made it through to the next leg! … Oh no, I’ve made it through to the next leg …”
So no special zipped hoodie for me, but the standard finishers’ hoodie was still wonderfully warm and I donned it with pride. Having been eliminated so early also meant that for the first time in any race I had run, I could also watch the winners finish. First in was Andy Greenleaf in a time of 2 hours 37 minutes. Particularly impressive when you consider that he trains on the flats of south London with Serpentine (one of three Serpies in the top four, an incredible result for the club.) Even more impressive was first lady Emily Collinge, with the fourth-fastest time of the day. When you consider that the ladies started behind the men and she therefore had to run through the entire men’s field often on single-track trails, her time is even more remarkable.
So once again, I was beaten by the steeplechase. It remains one of the most picturesque races in the country and undeniably the best value for money. But what really sets this event apart though is the atmosphere. No one runs for times or stares at their GPS. As you battle for places, competitive mania sets in, but then melts into camaraderie. It is rumoured that I might have to wait two years for the next steeplechase, but wait I will and when you see me in the autumn of 2016, I hope you’ll be able to compliment me on how attractive the zip is on my nice new hoodie.
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