I'd heard a lot about the Tough Guy but had never bothered to enter it thinking it's not really for me. A team from the club had taken part sometime in the early 90's and the tales of woe from them didn't really inspire me much. Anyway a few years on, a change of heart looking for new challenges instead of the same old road races which combined with a new breed in the club, we had the makings of a team. So sit back and be inspired by 'Team Bitton Road Runners Tough Guy - 2001'. But first, a brief history of how it all began:
Once upon a time Mr. and Mrs. Mouse took a dozen young offenders to work on their farm looking after neglected horses. Soon, their work attracted over one hundred animals to look after and fundraising to support this work became necessary. After many events it dawned on Mr. Mouse to combine his interest in running with the need to identify any philanthropic outlet that would enable the farm to continue its work. Hence in 1986 the start of the "Tough Guy Run", held anually at the end of January.
The Tough Guy is another of those few races that develop a 'cult' status, that will always fill up every year - it just sells itself. People will keep on coming back for more of the same punishment and the tougher it is the more you will want to go back and test yourself once more. I suppose in our cosseted lives that we lead these days, anyone with a bit of spirit needs a physical challenge at least once a year (some people need it every month). It's a bit like the Grizzly I suppose - you soon forget the pain and realise what a wonderful experience it is; however that's about where any similarities with the Tough Guy end!
Arrival at the start and you soon realize what a big race this is - we are quite early and the place is already swarming. We troop off following the masses and get our race numbers printed on our foreheads so we all look like the thousands of other competitors. Add the moustaches which were compulsory even for the ladies and team Bitton resembled a gaggle of escaped Victorian convicts.
The changing rooms are great; plenty of room, just pick your spot amongst the manure in the cowsheds. Off to the start and the thronging masses all converging on a narrow gap in the fence. Soon we were packed in tighter than sardines. Above us on a steep embankment were the Front Row squad (those who had donated more money to charity - yes you can buy your way to the front, and it also included last year top ten placings if they wanted to have another go) and the Tough Guys - those who had taken part before. We were the Gween Team and we would start 2 mins behind them and there were various other teams behind us. There was no getting pass the marshal at the gate, however, and up to the front, but there again this was no ordinary marshal in a fluorescent jacket, this was a burly storm-trooper complete with machete and side arm, all part of the unique atmosphere that this race generated. High above us the Tough Guys were baiting us, and the inevitable mooning soon started. With the bagpipes playing it resem
Suddenly they disappeared out of sight, gone in a flash, the gates swung open and we charged up onto the embankment to await our start. What a sight as the stragglers disappeared into a smoky haze and to each side the spectators lined the banks, a terrific spectacle and like nothing I'd seen at any race before. The start was straight down a near vertical bank and with hundreds of us gathered I envisaged an almighty pile up at the bottom, Chris edged forward to be clear and I subtly followed him. Suddenly we're away like the Charge of the Light Brigade seemingly into our own unknown valley as we race after the hundreds already way ahead of us.
The course is mainly like any good multi-terrain race, but with a lot more obstacles thrown in. It's about 8 miles long and is designed to thin the crowds out considerably before you arrive at the notorious 'Killing Fields' for the final mile.
It was quite satisfying continually passing hundreds of people, but also frustrating as they kept on coming and coming, there seemed like thousands in front of us. I had one thought on my mind, get past as many as possible before I get to the obstacle course as I just envisaged enormous queues developing. You know what it can be like just getting over a stile in a multi-terrain race let alone 30ft towers and tunnels etc.
On and on, passing all the time, through ditches, streams, a bit pushy in the endless woods otherwise you get stuck in the snake, and up and down the zigzags forever and a day. Finally you can hear the noise. The din of the spectators as you approach the 'Killing Fields' the final mile comprising some 30 odd obstacles of every shape and form. I now know what the gladiators felt like when they entered the coliseum, there were crowds lining the banks and you entered an inescapable route that lead you right to mighty towers and rope bridges over icy waters. Straight away I was totally immersed in the icy water, and an instant head ached developed, the hands were numbed, I could hardly breathe, and I lost all feeling in my legs, I felt wasted and it had only just begun. Up towers, over cargo nets, across burning straw, through the 'Vietcong' tunnels that were totally dark as you entered - just try and pick a clear one so that you don't get stuck behind someone throwing a 'wobbler,' under the barbed wire crawl
Water and more icy water, then you arrive at the dreaded duck - you approach already immersed right up to your neck, you cant breathe due to the gripping cold and now you've got to duck under a beam and surface into an enclosed pocket. Now you're trapped so you have keep going for two more ducks, on emerging my head hurts like hell and I my legs seem to be missing. A diver in a dry suit grabs my arm and directs me to the bank where I make a pigs ear of getting out.
By now you're terrified of the water, you try and stay on the rope bridges with all your might to keep out of the freezing water, your heads splitting, your hands can hardly grip anything, your shaking uncontrollably if you have to wait at all. I lost all track of where I was, I was totally disorientated, and you just keep going, taking anything that they put in front of you. And get to the finish, it was somewhere up ahead but where? Time and distance counted for nothing in this mayhem. The 12ft high straw walls, you all have to help each other to get up, I try hurling myself at it, I can't hold onto anything and fall to the floor, a feeling of desperation quickly engulfed me. There's an outstretched hand from a marshal high above me, I grab straw, will it hold, I'm off again if it doesn't, I clasp his hand and I'm up.
So it goes on, and finally the finish is there, they slap the biggest brass gong you are ever likely to receive in your hand. The most technically difficult part of the whole event was trying to carry a full cup of what felt like the elixir of life, back to the barn. I tried it three times and only ever came back with a third of a cup full. Such is the effect of catastrophic shivering !
There's a chance of a cold dip to clean up, if they think I'm going anywhere near water, not a chance. A sorry sight I must have looked as I shook my way back to the barn, and to cap it all I had to contend with a wild hog which looked to aggressive for my liking. The door into the barn was tempting but could I get there before the pig got to me. That was all I needed, I couldn't get to my kit - stopped by a pig, I ducked out of sight and it trotted off so I quickly hobbled along and dived through the doorway before it looked around. I thought to myself I will quite relish a bacon buttie on the way home now.
Simon was already there, being helped to get changed by his wife. There were no inhibitions now; the lot came off but gradually in-between bouts of uncontrollable shivering. The cold plunge pool they had erected in the corner didn't get a look in, not by me anyway but I believe Chris got in it. As the others filtered in we all mucked in to help each other, a good team effort right to the end! A few said 'never again', but while you're still cold and tired that's easy said. I'm sure most will want another go although I'm sure standing on the start line next year I will feel more nervous knowing what's coming. This year we ran blind, that could have been better, but on the other hand we weren't mentally prepared for the shock of that icy water and I personally reckon that counts for a lot.
Now that was what I call an event!, I would like to think that it will inspire those of you with an inkling of interest to give it a go and find out what's it's all about.
Where did we finish? It doesn't really matter, we all finished and nobody was hurt and we all had a memorable experience, some good some bad but that's what matters.
Don't believe what Bryan says? Here's a photo from the '99 event and the official website.
