Ever dream of pushing your limits and seeing what your body is really capable of? On Saturday 30 October a group of 120 adventure-hungry participants fulfilled this dream at the Merrell Eden Duo in George. I can’t say I’d ever subject myself to the grueling route this lot of dreamers endured but I certainly envy their commitment to fitness and the great outdoors.
The lowdown
So what sets adventure racing apart from your regular run or cycle? For starters it’s a 24-hour event! The last team crossed the finish line at 3h45 on Sunday morning, a mere 23 hours after kicking off. The race is divided into three broad categories, none of them designed for the feint-at-heart. The Junior Race covers 100km, the Classic covers 150km and the Wild Man a staggering 200km.
All three categories involve a beach run, kloofing, mountain hiking/trail running, cycling and paddling. Participants work as 2-4 man teams, with the option of entering as a relay team and switching at each transition point. Wild Man participants live up to the title by doing an additional 50km mountain run with a map as their only navigation – no markers or paths to make things easy.
A painful start
Christie Fynn and I had the pleasure of waking up at 3h30 on Saturday morning to make it to the starting line by 5am. We arrived at the beach grumpy and tired, put to shame by the perky participants who were all laughing and throwing each other high-fives. My disgruntlement grew as my camera made fun of my clumsy fingers and the nip in the air grew colder. “˜What the hell am I doing here?’ I grumbled under my breath. “˜What the hell is anyone doing here? This just isn’t normal!’
Before I could make sense of it all, the shotgun sounded and they were off – at a speed I couldn’t quite fathom in that soft, disobliging sand. From the beach we headed to Touws River to get a glimpse of participants kloofing. We watched the leading teams in awe as they boulder-hopped effortlessly and waded through unpredictable rock pools.
Up and away
After breakfast we crept up the ludicrously steep Montagu Pass to see the transition from mountain biking to trail running taking place at Herold Wines. From the safe confines of the car, the pass was remarkably beautiful. Mist was settling over the bottle-green valley and a light drizzle fell from thick white clouds overhead. My heart went out to the bikers we passed on the way although the determination on their faces suggested they weren’t in need of sympathy. At Herold Wines we ate again, wondering how the racers could cover so much ground with energy bars as their primary source of sustenance.
From Herold Wines, Christie and I headed home. We were knackered (with very little right to be) and didn’t fancy driving in the dark. Back in the car, we took stock of the event. It was flawlessly planned and executed; we got on famously with the organizers and were inspired by the participants. Something, though, was bugging both of us. We felt guilty for not partaking in the race, for not having the strength of will to partake. My mind screamed at my still-young-and-able body for being so lazy and accused me of being an insincere nature-lover. I decided then that I would one day grow a pair and push my limits as far as they would go. Probably not this year but maybe next.
If adrenalin-fuelled adventure is your thing, keep an out for next year’s race. It’s sure to take your breath away!
