After ending up a bit fucked up after Mt Crawford last weekend, I was really looking forward to taking a break to rest and recover and, oh look, there’s an adventure race coming up. We have hardly any of these in South Australia and thankfully it wasn’t til Saturday which, by the time I saw this one on Wednesday, gave me three days to train and taper and she’ll be right mate.

I haven’t been on my bike a single time since Rockleigh65 a month ago (my ass has only just recovered) and haven’t even been in my kayak since, ah, March. And, well, that’s quite a long time ago, isn’t it?

The ‘Elite’ distance was a 7km kayak, 20km MTB and an 8km trail run which seemed like something I should be able to do easily enough. On paper, or screen, it seemed fine and the ‘Intermediate’ distance of half that hardly seemed worth packing all the gear up for. I literally can’t even remember the last time I did a 4km run. I mean fuck, that’s not even a parkrun.

But something about the word ‘Elite’ spooked me because the only thing I’m elite at is being a dickhead so I sign up for the ‘Intermediate’ course, or ‘kid’s race’ as I start calling it, because I’m an elite dickhead.

The great thing about trail running is you only need a pair of shoes, or some of those bullshit sandals the Tarahumara Indians run in, and you’re good to go. Except not really because we all know you then need five pairs of trail shoes, hydration packs, various drink bottles, a selection of socks of varying heights and toes, buffs, seam sealed waterproof jackets, (unless you’re Angry Guy), Spi Belts, race number belts, bandaids, vaseline, bodyglide, and a pantry full of hydralites, gels, anti-cramp stuff that may or may not work and the list goes on.

At least trail running is simple. All you need is a pair of shoes. Or twenty.

But Adventure racing… fuck.

Kayak. Paddle. PFD. Straps to get it secured to your roof rack. (Or in my case insecurely add it to your roof rack and have to pull over half way to stop the thing from fucking launching.) Mountain Bike. Helmet. Two GoPros (obviously). And various other bits and pieces. And fuck, it’s only a 3.5km paddle and a 10km ride and so. much. stuff.

You also have to remember to take shoes and socks, because unlike a run you don’t turn up wearing them, and then there’s the logistics of where you leave everything. The transitions for this race are a bit fucking random so you drop your kayak at a different place you start, and drop your bike at a different place you start. So for all those who had their running gear laid out neatly with their bike thinking that’s where they’d end up, big fucking mistake people.

(Luckily my planning was more luck than elite, and I heard someone talking about it before the race and managed to get most of my shit in the right place and you beauty.)

I turned up at sparrow’s fart thinking 7am would be plenty early for a race that didn’t start til 9:40am, only to find the car park was already quite full and fuck, that’s gonna be a long way to carry my kayak down to the water. Most people have those super thin, super light racing ones made out of unicorn farts and are just carrying them down with one finger, whereas mine is made of what I’m guessing is Adamantium and I don’t honestly even know how the fucking things floats it’s so heavy. I’m reminded of the time I did my last adventure race and everyone was in their fancy ones and I turned up in my touring kayak and some fuckhead asked me where my fishing rod was. I know we shouldn’t have regrets in life, but I have plenty, and one of them is not punching that fuckhead in the fucking throat.

I literally drag my kayak from the carpark down the hill on the wet grass after deciding trying to ride it down might not be a great idea, get my bike set up, and I suppose I’m as ready as I’m gonna be. Some people duck out in their yaks for a I don’t know what. Warm up? Fuck knows. But I’m saving my energy, except it’s now 9am and even colder than it was when I arrived at 7 thanks to a wind blowing straight off Antarctica and it seems I’ve brought everything except my balls.

There’s all sorts of official speeches and people, we’re literally fucking dying of hypothermia here so wrap it the fuck up and let’s race. I’m in wave four which means I get to watch the elites start and wait, is that guy in the water instead of on it? Sweet baby jesus someone’s flipped their kayak and the race hasn’t even started yet and fuck that’s gotta be cold in there. (As far as I know he is still alive and started in the next wave.)

Eventually it’s my turn and we’re off. I go out hard confident 3.5kms isn’t that far and am doing well as I come up to the 200m mark when my arms realise 3.5kms is actually quite a long way when a) you haven’t paddled for six months and b) usually when I paddle I just fuck about and look for dolphins and shit. I push on and manage to stay what I’m guessing is in the front half of the pack and on the way back I realise that’s probably because a lot of people have hired kayaks and some of them are in those teeny tiny kayaks that are designed for racing down rapids and wait, is that person actually going in circles, and yes, yes they are. 

On the way back I pass at least four people battling their way out to the turn around point in those little kayaks, two of whom are struggling to keep them going in a straight line, one is literally doing doughnuts, and one of them is next to his in the water swimming for shore. And suddenly my race feels like it’s not going so badly and I’m glad I went to the effort of packing my yak instead of hiring one there.

I land the kayak and head for the bike transition and running on gravel in bare feet reminds me of that time I did a Tony Robbins fire walk and well that’s a story for another time but for your amusement, here’s a pic and my bud Big Tone about two lifetimes ago.

I extract as many pieces of gravel from the soles of my feet as possible, whack the shoes and socks on, jump on the bike and head off for what I’m assured is a ‘green’ level course and “our committee person’s 7 year old can do it” and what. the actual. fuck. Who is that kid? Lance Armstrong’s son? The fucking under ten world champion? Because I’m all of about 2.5kms in when I’m pushing my bike up a muddy, rutted hill and 7 year old my ass.

Early on we go through a massive, deep, muddy puddle and I’m now wetter than I was in the kayak and my running shoes are literally filled with mud. Other than coming out of a creek crossing a bit later on, I manage to stay on the bike for the rest of the ride and only get overtaken by about 5,000 people along the way – including plenty of Elite’s on their second lap. Ironically, the ride is through Mt Crawford forest where I was the previous week, and at times I feel like I’m actually going even slower on the bike than I was on foot, with the exception of some of the downhills where Strava tells me I was dumb enough to hit a top speed of 47.5kmh and fuck. yeah.

I had my GoPro facing too far down most of the time but here’s a few shit snippets anyway even if mostly it’s just me heavy breathing and hey, if that’s your thing this is your lucky day:

https://www.facebook.com/Swashbuckler/videos/1223260288164673

With just a 4km run to go I’m confident I can put in a strong performance over such a short distance aaaaand… my legs don’t work. If you’ve never run straight off a bike before you can’t possibly know the phenomena of completely forgetting how to use your legs for self propulsion after pedalling for a while. I take off in a gait resembling a baby giraffe’s first steps and realise this is seriously gonna be the longest 4kms of my life.

I get to the 2km turnaround point just as Morgan (The RD for events up in Murray Bridge like Rockleigh and the upcoming Murray Bridge Marathon) catches me, not because I was in front of him, but because he’s doing the elite course and has already paddled and ridden twice as far as I have, and suck shit mate, I’m turning around to go back and you’ve still got 6kms to go.

I keep up what can only be described as a workman like pace of just under 6min kms and can honestly say this race was amazing, but also the toughest short race that looked easy that wasn’t that I’ve ever done in my life.

The showbag at the end was pretty rad with a little camera case (very handy thanks!), lollies (best! And may or may not have had some for breakfast the next day!), a ‘Beware what you share’ pen I’ll try not to take personally (could be a health thing, could be about social media?), a Yowie stubbie holder (straight to the pool room), and the latest 388 page Jaybro catalogue which should provide many hours of fascinting reading and, I assume, also stopped the bags blowing away in the wind and has kept the company that used to print phone books in business.

Big ups to the ROAR (Reservoir Outdoor Adventure Race) team for putting on such an event, and although I’m no massive fan of any government really, big ups to our state government for opening up our reservoirs so we can do stuff like this. And apologies if your next glass of tap water tastes a bit sweaty.

 

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