I am in a real-life version of the Blair Witch Project. Snot is streaming down my face; my breath has turned into short, panicked gasps; and barring about a metre’s visibility from my headtorch, the woodland around me is pitch black and unnervingly quiet. I want to cry – but I’m afraid the tears will freeze my eyes in their sockets. There’s no time for tears, anyway. Not when also trying to thwart cardiac arrest, as a sudden crackle of disturbed stones indicates I’m no longer alone. I jerk left – then right – desperately attempting to capture my companion in the headtorch’s beam, but instead, am brought to a halt by a piercing scream, followed by a deep voice:
“Sorry. I farted.”
The Scotsman’s apology to his distressed girlfriend is uncannily Shrek-like. Her face, it transpires, was on the receiving end as the pair – also participating in Rat Race’s Mighty Deerstalker – scuffle up the steep slope a few metres to my left. I don’t even blame the guy. No one knows how their body is going to react in an extreme situation and – I am quickly realising – they don’t come much more extreme than this annual 10K (“and then some”) obstacle event. Allegedly the UK’s hardest off-road run, I’d agreed to put it (and myself) to the test for its 10th anniversary, something I’m now seriously regretting.
I’d been far too complacent three hours earlier, when my companion Grace and I had excitedly pulled up to the race’s tented base in Innerleithen, a hilly, Scottish border town about 40 minutes south of Edinburgh. Mighty Deerstalker, I’d read, “went back to basics and used Mother Nature to deliver the challenge,” requiring competitors to navigate the harsh terrain via freezing cold rivers, mud-filled trenches and steep ascents. But I wasn’t bothered. The great outdoor mother and I have always got on just grand and I’m a big fan of the Scottish countryside. It would be a wonderful opportunity to really experience it, even if our start time was 6.15pm, meaning most of it would have to be tackled in complete darkness. “It’s only 10K,” I’d assured Grace. “How bad can it be?”
Bad. At least, according to a more experienced soul we get speaking to at the start line who looks like he’s been dressed by a five-year-old, in his half running-half-hunting ensemble worn for the event’s “Do it in tweed!” theme. “It’s the second mountain that really breaks you,” he elaborates. Second mountain? I wasn’t even aware of a first. “Oh, and it’s not 10K,” he ruins the surprise. “More like 15K.” The news doesn’t go down well with Grace. “Sssh – it’s only five kilometres more,” I soothe. “That’ll be like an extra 20 minutes”.
Appeased, we enthusiastically set off in our earmarked wave – one of three whooping groups making up the event’s 3,000 competitors – into the Scottish wilderness. The first obstacle – hay bales – is a breeze; the second – the kind of thick mud which will take any loose trainer prisoner – prompts a few slips and squeals, but doesn’t deter. An icy river crossing numbs our feet, but does, as Grace points out, at least clean off the mud.
Then we reach the first “mountain”. Leading through a pine wood, the path is narrow and steep, meaning speed becomes dependent on the person in front. Still, the mood is merry and, with the sun rapidly setting, the views are stunning. We push to the top feeling rather smug to be smashing such a “hard” race.
Grace doesn’t like the downhill parts. I know, because she’s informed me about 58 times on the descent of Mount One. It is practically vertical, to be fair. Plus, the soil only seems to come in either dry and loose, or wet and slippery, and it’s now pitch-black. We’re about an hour and a half into the event when we eventually stumble through some bushes and back onto the road we started on, prompting a round of celebratory high-fives: one mountain down, one to go – right? Wrong. “You’re almost halfway,” a volunteer advises cheerfully. “You’ve still got the river – and that – to go.” he adds, pointing to what I think is fair to call the Scottish equivalent of Mount Everest. We’re devastated.
It’s an incredible sight, at least. Like something out of a sci-fi film, the headlamps of the thousands of competitors already climbing form a huge, white ring on the surface that looks eerily like something Steven Spielberg would use to contact intergalactic species. The lack of light pollution means that the stars in the night sky make a simply glorious backdrop. But first we have to get across the worst obstacle of them all: the river. With the temperature now easily below freezing, the last thing I want is an icy dip. So, of course, I spectacularly come crashing down – not only leaving me soaked through, but also rewarding me with a deep gash in my knee. Ouch.
The apocalypse has happened and we are two of the few remaining survivors. At least, that’s what it feels like as Grace and I scramble up the mountainside covered in mud, sweat and now – thanks to my river incident – blood. It’s so steep, we are forced to tackle it on our hands and knees. It’s physically and mentally tough: so much so that my survival instinct has kicked in. It’s now every man for themselves, I realise, as I simply crawl past two girls lying flat out with exhaustion, with a mutter of sending back a Sherpa.
Cold, wet, bruised, cut, tired, a bit hungry and very thirsty (for something strong), we crawl across the finish line over three and a half hours later (admittedly not great considering many people do it in about two hours). Grace can’t even look at me as she sits on the floor, rocking back and forth in a foetal position while muttering over and over: “you said this would be fun.” I feel a bit shell-shocked myself, as I try to work out how a 10K obstacle race got so intense. And yet – as what often happens with these kind of things once the alcohol starts kicking in – I can’t help but giggle. Hysterically. I’ve experienced a number of surreal events in my life (a few at the hands of Rat Race) and yet Mighty Deerstalker has topped them all. The last few hours have been like a horror film, Bear Grylls Mission Survival, and a reenactment on Crimewatch all rolled into one. A mix – I realise – that is utterly exhilarating.
I may not have done every 10K (“and the rest”) obstacle race in the UK, but I am left with no doubt in my mind: Rat Race Mighty Deerstalker is absolutely, unquestionably, unequivocally, the hardest.
Mighty Deerstalker costs between £38-60, depending on time of booking and team size. The next Rat Race event on the calendar is The Dirty Weekend
Vicky tweets @TravellerVicky
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