I drove down towards Midhurst with a mixture of feelings. It is only two weeks since the operation on my upper jaw and sinus and my fitness has hardly begun to recover and the M45S course is 6.2km – about 1/3 longer than I usually run – part of me thinks it is very stupid to even think about running. On the other hand, the British is not often in your club’s home territory, I have entered and paid a long time ago and as a loyal club member, I have volunteered to help. Plus, there is a new map on what is rumoured to be a very good new area in fantastic hilly countryside. Whether it is stupid or not, I am going to do it.
It has rained for days and is only just clearing as I leave home. By the time I reach the car park the sun is shining, but there is surface water everywhere. The assembly field is like something out of the first world war. Within moments, everything is covered with a layer of wet mud. As I left the car, I realised I had left my O shoes behind. I had thought of going out in the trainers I had in the car, but one look at the mud and the hills and I have visited a trader and bought a new pair of VJ lops – this time with “dobs” (spikes). I had been thinking of doing this soon anyway.
I am off early. There is a very efficient start team and I keep the excitement under control as I pick up control descriptions then stand by my map box waiting for the bleep and the off.
The first control is fairly easy – run along the ride, plunge in to the left looking for a distinctive tree which appears where I hope. A quick punch and on. Two is a little trickier, and I slow down, but the control comes up just where I was expecting. I am already panting hard – a combination of lack of fitness and some pretty stiff climb. More climb comes and on the way to control 5 I waste several minutes because I contour along rather than go down, along a path and back up a steep slope – which is a much simpler and more obvious route but crossed lots of contours and I have a long way still to go.
Control six is the problem one. It is in the bottom of a semi-circular “bowl” with a path ringing round the rim. Needless to say, there has been an awful lot of climb to get to the attack point but I am looking forward to plunging down to the control. Unfortunately, I drift right and am distracted by three different controls before I relocate and slowly go in to the control.
Another problem now – the new shoes are taking the skin off my heels. I try not to think about it, but it is a real issue. I manage to pick the pace up for a while but gradually find myself slowing as my feet become almost too painful to run on. The course takes us through some great looking areas, though all the rides and paths are incredibly muddy and unpleasant, and much of the woodland is heavily brashed. There are a couple of runs across open fields, which should be a relief but hurt my heels even more. Navigation is fine despite everything and I feel encouraged that I am never lost.
The last few controls are classic. One is in a huge collection of water-filled pits. The water is clean and full of life, with the pits only a metre or two apart, about two metres across: a quite amazing piece of land. Then we drop over an earth bank into wet open ground and have to pick through carefully. The last control is at the end of a 200m downhill (thank goodness) curving run-in which, despite the agony of my heels (and under my feet too by this time) I manage to run through to the finish.
Final result is 39th in 117 minutes (against a winning time of 51) but I have managed to beat several who finished and there are a couple who have retired. Given how I felt coming in, I am quite content with that result.
After a fantastic baked potato and incredibly sticky cake from Wilf’s I go on duty as a run-in marshall. There is little to do, except that people have crowded onto the only dry land – the public footpath up the side of the field and are reluctant to move when asked. We compromise by keeping the bags and tents off the path itself, though you would have to be a pretty militant rambler to get through on the path. I also have to stop a few kamikaze spectators who cross the run-in without looking. Thankfully, standing around, rather than running, eases my feet into a dull ache. I decide not to change shoes – there is at least three inches of mud everywhere. The sun has been shining all day. The sky is sharply blue and the countryside is just stunning – tree-covered scarp line and unspoilt meadows tucked into forest.
Whether it is the mud, or the event, there is not much sense of spectating or encouraging runners. The commentary is good – clear and efficient – but there is little interest in who is coming in when. The prize-giving is similarly low-key. Most people are long-gone.
The clear-up team moves into action. Five or six of us have to lift the chestnut paling (fencing) that was put down as a walk-way through the wettest part of the field. This is a filthy, back-breaking job but we get it done. The field is too wet to take vehicles, so we have to man-handle absolutely everything up to the top corner of the field (where there is a little track that vans can use). This takes hours.
I get back to the car when it is just dark and peel the shoes (and most of my skin) off my feet. I am deeply exhausted but enjoy a few moments of amazing quiet in the empty car park area, watching bats flit and hearing tawny owls. On the way home I have to stop because a young stag is standing in the middle of the road – refusing to move until I nudge the car up to him. The stars are bright in a clear, cold sky.
