Earth, Wind, and Fire - John Hyde
By John Hyde
John Hyde and partner Jon Emberton came second in the 1998 Karrimor International Mountain Marathon - class B.
You normally get rain on the Karrimor. Or wind. Or mud. This year we got the lot.
Wind wind wind. We had chosen a contour route, instead of up and over, hoping to dodge the gusting winds that make running impossible. But coming round a bend in the path, we were both blown sideways. Twenty metres further we were both blown into the air - picked up by the wind and dumped down. Picked up again, and blown down again. We crawled along on hands and knees, grabbing tussocks of grass to pull us forwards. I looked behind and saw everyone else doing the same - crawling through the eye of the storm.
Another fifty long metres and we were off the ridge, running along a good path into the second control.
It was tough climbing up out of the control - we were both struggling and this was early, on the first day. Then came the needle rain. Like hailstones, whipping at your face. Lashing, prodding, stinging. You are in your own private hell, plodding along, running when you can, shielding your face with your hands. Other people loom out of the mist then fade away.
Another high control as the weather got worse, the sky dark and ominous. Then we lost some height and seemed to move away from the wind. Now on the other side of the map - the weather was better, but the terrain was worse. Tussocky grass and bogs.
We started crossing a stream. Lots of people were crossing further down, but our line was higher. We got to the middle then retreated as the water rose to waist height.
We ran down the bank to where everybody else was crossing. We got across the first channel OK. Then the last bit. It was deep but we could touch the other bank. Then we were away, swept downstream. I let go of Jonathan and grabbed a rock. I crashed into something, ripping my trousers and gashing my leg. I grabbed another rock. It was all happening very fast. I was losing control. Whoosh. Then it got shallower, and I stumbled to the bank, looking round: Jonathan was OK. Another team had come back to rescue us. We said something, but at times like that you don't need to speak - you know how everyone is feeling.
Another control and some energy juice. And a bar. Its OK to eat your emergency rations when you're having an emergency.
One last climb, then a downhill route to the campsite. A flash of lightning, then a clap of thunder just to round the day off. Followed by a hailstorm. Jesus wept. We tried to hide in a peat hollow. The hail stopped and we carried on running down through the bogs.
Squelchy squelchy campsite. We struggled to put the tent up in the least awful spot. A cup of tea. Then some grub. It was good to stop moving. We lay in our bags eating our rations, sipping tea, nibbling biscuits.
The high spot of our Saturday Night was cooking our grundies on the stove to dry them out. One pair at a time, please! Somebody in the next tent said there were only three teams in the chasing start - blah blah, Hyde and Emberton, and blah blah. Our ears pricked up. Well, mine didn't cos I still had my thermal balaclava on. We were thirty-seven minutes down on the leading pair. They must have had a blinder - we had both done our very best. A good morale-booster, knowing that our training and preparation had paid off.
By morning, everything in the tent was wet and cold. The campsite was nearly empty - less than half the teams had finished on Saturday, and some had scarpered overnight. The rain had stopped and there were patches of blue sky. We swallowed our astronaut-style protein bars and packed the tent away. The wind was still strong enough to blow one of our maps away.
At the start Steve Willis told us we would be running a cut-down version of the cut-down emergency course. The sun broke out as we set off up the hillside to the first control. Two short legs lined us up for a pearl of a route-choice leg. Down a valley and round the edge of the moor, or up and over the ridge. On the map it looked like even stevens. Jonathan had been counting the contours, and the scientific view was clear cut: up and over.
The running was good down the ridge and towards the control. We got really excited when the marshal told us we were the first through. Had they gone the other way ? Had they made a big mistake ? Had we made a big mistake ? We checked our control sheets as we raced out of the control, buoyed up by this news. Later on we found out that the first team had been through before the marshal arrived ! But we didn't know that. We stepped up the pace, knowing we just had to keep going for another half-hour. We met other teams who had chosen the long and level route. Just. Keep. Going.
Teams on other courses started appearing now as we converged on the finish. The last five hundred metres was on tarmac. We were speeding up now. Nobody was going to pass us. See a team in front and aim for them. Faster and faster. Your legs are hurting, hurting, hurting. Keep going. Just another hundred metres. No guts, no glory. No pain, no gain. Push, push, push. Only fifty metres now. Aargh ! Dig deep. Dig for victory. Puuush. Suddenly its all over. "Well done lads." Clapping. Second place. Applause. Shaking hands. Just. Stop. Moving. Now.
