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| 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”
