Trying fun trailing

It was 05:45 on a Saturday morning and I was preparing for death.  Not death in general, but very specifically my death.  My imminent death whilst exercising.  I said goodbye at the brewery the previous day.  Their growth would be hampered when my weekly purchases dried up. I gave instructions to The Runner to make it clear that this was not the way I wanted to go.  And I tried to figure out how I came to be on my way to a "Fun trail run" . The words fun and run, whilst individually known to me, are as a single concept entirely alien.  So what was my motivation?  I would have remembered a lost bet.  Was it the idea of a wine tasting afterwards that clouded my judgement?  Which brings me to another mistake.  I should have started with an easy one.  And the clue was there for me to see.  Durbanville HILLS.  But there I was, travelling to my doom, casting furtive glances at my driver's rather excellent legs and planning my infirmity as a result of mucking about in vineyards.

With total death taken care of I moved on to half dying.  On the up side, I would be leaving in an air conditioned ambulance laying on a mattress.  We talked a bit about who would keep the car keys during the race and decided it would be unproductive for The Runner to try and get to nearby hospitals or AVBOB afterwards asking if they've seen her car keys.  We also decided that buying breakfast required some rules.  Firstly, breakfast would be bought by the longest living.  If both parties survived the run, it would be by the one finishing last.  Which seems fair.  I had 5km to do and she 10. Doing the same route twice.  But I am more than twice her size and several, crucial, knee years older.

I learned several things that day.  There is a sub-culture to running that with my team-sport and chess background is very new.  This sense of camaraderie.  Total strangers shouting encouragement.  Some of them could just be warnings as the faster runners came hurtling down the hill.  "Come on guys! Hang in there!" is as much an encouragement as a warning.  I heard "Just walk straight! Fit men with their shirts off coming through and don't want to bump into your fat arse!" Now I don't want to cast aspersions on their intellect, but with the sure footed way they navigated the rocky terrain at speed I would say they are several generations closer to the monkeys than myself.  In team sport the opponents don't encourage you.  Not to do well, anyhow.  In chess any communication is frowned upon and very often illegal.  But here, amongst people doing it for fun, recreation, masochism and other reasons that they can't remember, boosting flagging confidence is a done thing.  I was given advice about small steps up the hills. Careful on the down hill. I was given water to drink by a stranger. Thanks Pikkie!

 I also learned that runners and the designers of the runner's gear are colour blind.  That must be the reason for the sartorial smartie boxes that disfigured a lot of the rather pleasing figures ahead of me.  WAY ahead of me.  As was most people.  2 girls half my height over took me within a kilometre.   The race winner came flying past me after 1.5km.  For me.  For him it was 6.5 with only 15min head start.  I learned that to find the toilets you looked for the queue.  I learned that after enough walking sweat acts as a lubricant where my thighs meet. 

In the end I bought breakfast although finishing before The Runner.  That is because I adapted the route to my fitness level. Which bothered her as she neared the end and haven't gone past me yet. Wondering whether the male ego and stinginess was enough to propel me to victory. It wasn't.

My route enhancement in the blue dots. Picture from trailfun website

So what is the verdict?  Was it fun?  No.  Was it at least enjoyable?  Well, sort of.  I got this story out of it.  Will I do something like this again?  I will have to.  I bought shoes that is currently costing me R600/hour.  The hours will have to be put in.