Mud, glorious mud

Run Dem Crew Met League men's team

I enjoy sport outside where I can pay homage to my hunting, gathering ancestors. So, when offered the chance to be one tenth of Run Dem Crew’s men’s team for a Met League cross country fixture I leapt at the chance. This is how I found myself lining up alongside hundreds of men in tiny shorts on a muddy field near Alexandra Palace to tackle 8 kilometres across undulating terrain against some serious looking runners. The atmosphere was one of nervous anticipation as we realised none of us had run cross country since school days.

My brand new Brooks running spikes looked like veterans of many races the moment I stepped off the tarmac and into the quagmire that had once been a wide stretch of grass. A day’s racing had churned the soggy turf into a runner’s Somme. That morning in Runners’ Need I had been reluctant to pay £50 for a pair of specialist shoes that would not see regular use but I was cheered at the counter when the sales assistant asked me if I was a member of a running club.

“Not so much a club.” I said. “More of a crew”

“Run Dem Crew?” he replied, immediately. It seems the name is known across the capital. “You get a 10% discount.”

Something for the weekend

Churning up the dirt on the way down - "Braaaap!"

So, with untested footwear I lined up to take my chances with the rest of the hardy souls who had chosen to pit themselves against hundreds of flimsy vested endorphin junkies as their weekend’s entertainment. A claxon sounded and we set off squelching. The race route led east across the lower slope of the fields below Alexandra Palace towards the space that is a cricket pitch in summer time. Soon, soft grass gave way to large puddles of deep mud and I felt a thrill at the madness of it all. I checked my Garmin and noted the pace of 4 minutes per kilometre, unsustainable across country. As the route swung north through the trees and began to climb I worried that I had started too quickly. We completed one lap of the cricket pitch and dug in to tackle the slope to the palace for the first time. The pace of the pack dropped dramatically. My heart was pumping at a furious rate as I leaned forward into the hill and sucked great lungfuls of air in a bid to keep my body running at peak power. The incline took its toll and my legs began to burn. I forced myself upwards past other runners, swinging my arms for extra momentum. The path levelled out for a time, a brief chance to recover, before plunging back down. All the competitors I had passed on the climb shot past me like mountain goats as I gingerly jogged downwards testing my new spiked footwear against the dual foes of thick mud and gravity.

I slid and slipped but stayed on my feet to be rewarded at the foot of the slope by a chorus of shouts from Cheer Dem Crew. This excellent bunch of loud-voiced Run Dem Crew supporters was made up of female runners who had completed their race and others along to show love for their crew compatriots in time-honoured RDC fashion.

My guardian angel

The adrenaline of race day made me go hard but I was feeling good as I plunged into what I thought was the final lap, mud-coated legs driving me on with my body literally steaming in the cool air. I thought of Mum a lot as I ran. Bringing her to mind reinforces my determination whenever things get tough and she lends me her strength to overcome whatever obstacle is before me. Every step on the crazy twisting path of life is now taken in her honour and each small victory helps me to believe that her struggle against disease was not in vain. I will make damn sure to extract every last drop of experience from this loopy mess before they put me in the ground, and Mum is going to help me do it. I know she will never be far away whenever I train or take part in a race. She is my lucky charm, my raison d’etre. Energy is not created or destroyed, it simply changes form. And I am attempting to turn grief into something positive by discovering what I am really capable of.

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” – Helen Keller

In the excitement of the race I had forgotten how to count to three and I caught up with the guy in front of me to ask if this was the final lap. Through deep breaths he replied in the affirmative encouraging me to ‘go for it’ which I duly did, turning the dial and digging in for the last couple of kilometres. I leapt a fallen tree in the woods and then a strange paranoia gripped me.

“It’s a trick”, I thought to myself. “It’s not really the last lap. He wants me to burn out early. What a bugger!”

I had stumbled into a murky world of amateur athletes out to ruin those who they couldn’t beat fair and square. I enquired again, but this time of a trackside marshal, “Yes, it’s the last lap.”

Kicking for the line

The final slog up the hellish hill with lungs fit to burst and my thighs and calves screaming. Shouts of encouragement echoed in my ears as I threw myself back down the slope, feet planing in the thick slop, arms flailing to keep balance. I acknowledged the huddle of RDC supporters with a cheer which came out more like a strangled yelp and kicked for the line. The Met League scoring system is based on a runner’s position rather than their time so I was keen to ensure nobody overtook me on the home straight. And there was the finishing gate. With a burst of speed I crossed the line, lost my footing and fell straight onto my arse. It felt like a suitably inelegant end to a very primal experience.

As the rest of the runners came in one by one there were hugs and high fives all round. The excitement of the event sent me on an endorphin roller coaster, babbling noisily as I shared snatches of the experience with the other RDC racers. It was a pure, post-race high. I came 192^nd out of 400 but I felt like I had won the race. When you challenge yourself physically as part of a group the feeling of achievement is enhanced and it is as if you tap into a swirling pool of energy to which all have contributed. On completion you are free to walk away with great armfuls of the positive stuff and surf the high until the inevitable crash that will come later.

The first of many

I shared the Met League experience with a group of people who I barely know but it was a pleasure to spend a muddy Saturday afternoon with kindred spirits. There are more fixtures in the New Year and as the Highgate Harriers are scratching their heads and wondering who in the hell Run Dem Crew are, I will be washing off my spikes and preparing to do mucky battle once more.

Thanks to everyone at Run Dem Crew who organised and took part in the race.