Run Dem Crew

Run Dem Crew

Since developing my love of, and need for, physical training I have expended most of my blood, sweat and tears alone. Swimming, running and cycling are usually individual events. There are exceptions; synchronised swimming, sprint relays and the professional peloton but I enjoy being alone and sticking to my own timetable. I run when I want, where I want and I don’t have to wait for, or be let down by, anyone. I am in control. But running down by the canal has become a bit miserable of late. Dicing with death, or the aptly named Weil’s disease, to pound the same stretch of towpath in the dark is losing its appeal in these winter months. So, I joined a running club.

But this is not an ordinary running club. I have no experience of others to compare it to (so please indulge me in my flight of fancy) but I knew straight away that this would be no stuffy Lycra Mecca for wiry hollow-cheeked obsessives to look on my battered trainers with pity and then turn away to discuss ‘pronation’ and ‘the wall’. The name for a start – Run Dem Crew. It immediately made me smile when I heard it. And everyone who I have told about it since has reacted the same way. Run, yes, I get it. This is a group for running. Dem Crew; bucking the trend and sticking two fingers up at convention. There is fun to be had here.

Run Dem Crew was recommended to me by a friend and his enthusiasm immediately led me to the website where I read about the “collective of creative heads with a passion for running”. I emailed the founder, Charlie Dark, explaining my love of running and writing about it and my desire to join. It was after receiving his warm response that I found myself chatting with about a hundred other endorphin junkies at the RDC HQ in Shoreditch on a chilly Tuesday evening. The welcome was friendly, the energy was strong and the Lycra-clad ladies were, as always, amazing.

I chatted with drama teacher Chris and fashion student John while we waited for the evening’s session to begin, a crowd of eager people thronged on tiered seating and a babble of voices filled the large room. That many people in one place wearing running trainers? Something good was about to happen. Charlie began the evening by handing out the race medals to all of the members who had recently taken part in an event. They had each submitted a brief account of the experience, which was read out before they came up to collect the symbol of their success, to much whooping and applause. And there were a lot of medals. Many different times and tales but each one a personal achievement. From one of the running stars of the group smashing a sub three-hour marathon to the guy who has endured 9 operations following a serious accident and is now back running again. It was uplifting stuff.

On discussing running pace with my fellow oxygen-addicts I was give the choice between running with the Cheetahs or the Cheetah/Elites. The name sounded impressive and I was slightly nervous as to the pace that was going to be expected but not one to shy away from a challenge, I opted for the big cat hybrid group.

We set off into the wintry night led by the Nordic-looking, square jawed, Ed and I wondered what I had got myself into. Had my running watch been lying to me these past few months? Maybe its age had rendered it inaccurate and my times were wildly different from those I had registered. But the pace was good and immediately I felt a sense of surging purpose as our crew of ten burst out of the side street and onto the main road, flattening pedestrians against the wall, and eliciting gasps from evening drinkers. We were a team of Lycra-clad commandos on our way to attend a serious crisis that could only be averted by the rhythmic pounding of the pavement with our hi-tech rubber soles. Maintaining conversation on the move was a new challenge for me and I found that I would slip back through the pack as I made introductions and chatted with each of my fellow runners in turn. And then during a lull in chatter I would replenish the oxygen in my system, refocus on my breathing, and begin to pick up the pace.

Down through the City we charged, wisely waiting for pedestrian lights to turn green - a safety essential for group running. Across the concrete concourse by the office near Moorgate tube where I work, towards St Paul's and the river. The streets were quiet and dark and cold. We were reclaiming the pavements from the thousands of workers who pack them during the day. This was our time and London was a playground.

We ran onto Millennium Bridge and the beauty of riverside London glowing in the dark hit me like a brick thrown off a flyover. Simply stunning. The wide waterway stretched out on either side of us as huge buildings, old and new, crowded along the banks to catch a glimpse of the majestic silvery serpent, Old Father Thames, as he slipped through the night. The bridge arched over the river and carried us safely down onto terra firma in front of the looming Tate Modern. We swung west alongside the river, paying attention to shouted warnings from the group leader “Stairs!” or “Turning Left”. Pedestrians obligingly made way for our speeding phalanx as we wove between the benches and trees dotting the walkway on the South Bank, diverging and re-merging after passing obstacles, like a bait ball of sardines flowing around a predatory tuna.

Having left the robots climbing up the side of the Hayward Gallery alone with their precarious scramble, the pace picked up and the group began to string out. We were going at a good clip and there was no talking now. I was quite comfortable sitting just behind the leaders and focusing on my breath and the beauty of the nocturnal metropolis. The excitement of this new route through places more accustomed to daylight was invigorating for the mind as well as the body, in the same way as scrambling through streams had been in the Welsh Mountains, or encountering deer in the forests of North Norfolk. It is possible to escape whilst remaining in the city.

And on we ran. To Vauxhall Bridge where we crossed the river to the north side and began our return journey. Through the heavy metal barriers guarding the Houses of Parliament, and passed two Bobbies freezing in their plastic observation box, “Evening all”. An admiring glance towards the ever impressive stonework of the Palace of Westminster where the elected representatives of the UK ply their trade and beneath the benevolent gaze of the Elizabeth Tower before crossing onto Embankment and a nice long stretch of unbroken pavement to really test the legs.

An interval training game called “Catchphrase” was set up. We split the group into pairs and ran in a column, military style. The pair at the back of the column were to think of a famous catch phrase (“At my signal, unleash hell”, “You talkin’ to me?” etc), holler it at the top of their voices and then charge to front of the group before screaming the line again, which was the signal for the pair at the back to begin their lung busting sprint. It was hard. Physically, with the sprints taking their toll on legs eight miles into a run, and mentally; I couldn't think of a single line! Luckily, the other half of my pair, an Australian called Matt, was feeling more inspired. Although this did mean we were subjected to the Antipodean classic, “throw another shrimp on the barbie” - an unusual thing to shout when running through a freezing December night. Even as I uttered the words I felt a spark of national pride and thought I might come up with a quintessentially British come back. But “Have another ten pints of Stella” didn't seem quite appropriate and the next pair beat me to it with the classic Michael Cain line, “You’re only meant to blow the bloody doors off”.

Trawling through the memory banks for specific information while the body is operating near the top end of its capabilities is not easy. Someone hit the nail on the head when they exclaimed, “I like running because it’s time when I don’t have to think.” But it was far simpler to ignore burning lungs with the brain busy and unlike when you are on your own, when running with a crew there is no opt out and you do the next sprint whether you like it or not. The pack fed off each other’s energy and we charged on through the darkness.

A sprint finish up the steps leading from Millennium Bridge to another iconic landmark, St Paul’s Cathedral, and we paused to let the stragglers catch up and the group reformed. Passing so many beautiful buildings as we had I wondered if there is a niche tourist market waiting to be developed; city running tours. A keen runner with the lung capacity of a Blue Whale leads a group passed the sites while sharing interesting historical trivia and doing their best not to expire from oxygen-deprivation. Dragon’s Den here I come. “I’d like £50 for some new running trainers please”.

We set off again and powered the final stretch back to Run Dem Crew HQ through the deserted streets of the Square Mile, at one point being subjected to wolf whistles from a group of businesswomen drinking outside a pub.

“Just makes me feel like a piece of meat”, remarked one of the group.

We really let fly for the final few hundred metres through Shoreditch, eking out the last vestiges of energy from tired legs, before arriving back where we had started to high-fives with the Elite group who had returned before us. What a run. As my heart rate subsided I felt the familiar sense of peace, calm, and contentedness settling over my mind and I thanked my body for performing well, like a jubilant trainer patting his steaming steed and whispering kind words after a successful race. It was half past nine at night and time for home and a hot shower and food. I thanked my fellow runners and Charlie, explaining what a rush it had been and how inspirational to meet such a diverse group of individuals who all share one passion. I felt like I had arrived somewhere good, somewhere I was meant to be.

As I write this now on a cold Tuesday morning, listening to the squeal of buses’ air brakes cracking the dawn like the plaintive cry of an abandoned infant creature, it’s much easier to think of cheesy catchphrases, with Google only a click away. And if I had to choose one to sum up my experience of Run Dem Crew?

“I’ll be back”