|
By Don Heatrick
 Sunday 24th July saw a 15-strong crew from Unit One Gym complete the gruelling Spartan Race at Bassingbourn Barracks over 5 kilometres of extreme terrain and obstacles.
As the surging horde of honorary “Spartans” charged towards the lake from the start line, a fire hose discharged a high pressure water blast at the runners, setting the scene for what was to come.
The initial ascent led to the first obstacle, a low slung net which sent me scrambling on all fours, diving past slower Spartans. Launching from the net, back into my running stride. I continued passing runners on the outside – mildly aware of the thorns biting at the flesh on arms as I squeezed ahead.
I suddenly became aware of my breathing pattern, and the sound of rhythmic exhalation all around me. Glancing about, fellow Unit One Spartans James Wall, Matt Butcher, Simon Bowles and Rob Jones were right with me and looked purposeful as we approached the second obstacle. Hoisting car tyres aloft, we charged up a steep bank and descended uncontrollably down the other side under our loads. Looping straight back, we again climbed and scampered down the bank, slamming the tyres back in a pile before taking off once again along the trail, our heart rates soaring from the sudden exertion.
I kept on pushing my pace, passing others obviously feeling the effects of the tyre climb. The field was split and James Wall was now the only one with me as we bounded toward the chin up bars. We both powered our bodies skyward for the compulsory five repetitions then again hit the floor and set off along the track.
 A long straight strewn with more obstacles was now stretched before us. A zigzag balance beam, a series of hurdles, an 8ft rope climb and a twenty repetitions of a log shoulder press tested our fortitude. I was no longer passing runners between obstacles, only during the obstacles themselves, and James pushed on ahead of me as we now contended with the real runners. I was digging deeper as we scaled first one, then a second 5ft timber wall on the aggressively undulating path on the approach to a winding woodland trail.
Suddenly I was confronted by an 8ft vertical scramble net, strewn with Spartans like insects in a web. Taking a deep breath, I hauled quickly to the top and threw myself head-first over the summit, maintaining a grip as I somersaulted my legs back to the dirt. A gamble that paid off as I passed at least four others and I leapt on through the trees maintaining a consistent pace, aware that I was again ahead of James.
Then I hit, with hindsight, the most challenging obstacle of the course and the first major bottleneck. I dived onto my chest into the mud beneath a low-slung criss cross stretch of barb wire and began crawling amongst those there ahead of me. It quickly became apparent that many stuck beneath the biting low ceiling were whimpering back-markers from the previous heat. I powered through them on hands a knees, occasionally raising my back a little too high only to be clawed by barb-wire. The obstacle zigzagged, deceptively revealing stretch after stretch of slippery, scratching, energy sapping crawling. Finally I emerged, gratefully climbing back to my feet and running through the woods.
 The crawling had taken a toll, and running was proving far more difficult now. Then I found myself plunging down a bank into ditch and wading through knee-height water. The pace slowed, and it was impossible to pass those ahead in the precession along the ditch. I took the opportunity to recover a little and began washing the mud from my hands as we waded on – in case another gripping obstacle loomed ahead. But then, climbing out of the ditch I hit the biggest bottleneck of the course.
The queue filed forward, stooping into a claustrophobic concrete tunnel and shuffling ahead into total darkness. The pace was agonisingly slow, and amongst shuffling echoes I heard agitated voices shouting at those ahead to hurry up. Unable to see, I bumped into the person ahead, and the person behind me returned the favour. This pattern continued for the next pitch-black six-minutes, with a tunnel turn and the occasional discarded glow stick dimly colouring the water beneath our feet. Finally daylight poured through an opening overhead and we climbed up, blinking into the sunshine.
I called for my legs to resume running pace, and they responded. I quickly tore passed the pedestrian back-markers ahead of me – the cause of the hold up in the tunnel – finding the sudden contrast in light levels had left me sun-blind. The woodland trail led to a steep bank which descended onto a stretch of rough tarmac and a steep slag pile followed by the next challenge.
A marshal instructed me to carry a large bucket of concrete rubble through tall gates into a compound and beyond. A Female racer passed me with a smaller load parked on her shoulder, and I was unable to match her pace. The course looped back and I despatched my rubble load before racing on to a vertical 8ft wall which was proving a challenge for those ahead of me.
I threw myself at the wall, driving a foot into it, kicking my body upward and clutching at the very top. Pulling swiftly up and over, I jumped down the other side. “That's the way” commended the marshal as I ran on, back into the woodland right behind my female adversary – who splayed her elbows to prevent overtaking.
 We were suddenly confronted by a series of pulley hoists in the trees. As instructed, we pulled on our ropes until the payload reached the very top, and then lowered ensuring the load didn't thump the ground. My hasty female opponent failed in this task, crashing her load into the floor. “I heard that, go again!” barked the marshal. “No you didn't!?” protested the girl. I smiled to myself as I set off again leaving her to repeat the task.
Pacing though the trees I again found myself in a queue of back-markers, this time precariously stepping on floating platforms out into a lake. I impatiently stood in line and was nearly at the bank for my go, when the marshal declared “You can swim for it if you want?”
That was it, several Spartans lept forward, diving into the water and swimming past those floundering on the floats. Once at the end, everyone had to loop around the platforms and swim back – hampered by thick submerged mud. Finally I climbed out of the water and set off through the trees.
A second-wind was on me, and I attempted to accelerate along the slippery muddy paths, now lined with huddles of spectators. The noise from the finish line was clearly audible in the distance and I bounded on toward the next obstacle, a short section of low-strung barbedwire over a pool filled with ice. A lady gingerly climbed in just ahead of me, luckily off to one side. Continuing my momentum, I dived under the wire, sliding straight through to the other side while a marshal bucketed fresh ice on me as I glided on my chest. I hauled clear of the barbs and continued toward my next challenge as Unit One gym member Jamie Bowman bellowed from the sidelines “Come on Don, don't hang about!”
 A steep, slippery 8ft tall polythene-covered ramp loomed ahead with a series of ropes attached to top. I leaped at the rope, catching it near the summit and swiftly pulled myself clear before tumbling down the other side into a thin layer of straw. Picking myself up, I ran on, jumping over a flaming obstacle on the approach to the spear throw.
Grabbing a spear, I stood behind the rope, took aim and threw at the hay-bail target. Luckily I hit my mark, leaving those less lucky to complete 30 penalty burpees. The final obstacle now laid ahead, a pair of red-cloaked Gladiators brandishing pugil sticks. My luck held, and a side-step allowed me to face just one adversary, who's swipe at my legs failed to take me down as I sailed past to the finish line 46-minutes after setting out.
This was my Spartan tale, and the other Unit One warriors have their own heroic stories too. All pushed themselves hard and emerged victorious. Until the next one... AROO, AROO AROOO!
|
