I’m not sure what the residents of the leafy, chocolate-box-Surrey village of Nutfield thought last Sunday morning, as their rural community was overrun by swarms of semi-clad men and women, who whooped, hollered and puffed up their chests like wild animals ready to fight to the death.
This was no normal Sunday….
This was a Spartan Race Sunday.
The Spartan Race, originating from America, is an extreme race that covers 5 kilometres of terrain, combined with a range of challenging obstacles. Before I actually read up on the race details, I imagined the ‘obstacles’ would be similar to an ‘It’s a Knock Out’ competition, think giant inflatable’s designed to be clambered upon and slippery rotating balance beams positioned under a pool of shallow water.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The race waiver I had to sign, before taking part, pretty much summed it up: “The risk of injury and/or death from the activities involved in the Spartan Race and its related events is significant including, but not limited to the following: (i) drowning; (ii) near-drowning; (iii) sprains; (iv) fractures; (v) the potential for permanent paralysis and/or death.
The list went on.
I signed the waiver anyway.
I asked my best friend, Priscilla, if she’d like to take part in the Spartan Race with me. I scooted around the important details, mainly the death part, and so she willingly signed herself up. On Sunday morning, as I travelled by train to meet her, I checked my Facebook feed, and saw that Priscilla had updated her status; the following ensued:
As I said, I did scoot around most of the details….
Upon arrival at the Spartan Race, we queued up to receive our timing chips and hand in our waiver forms. Priscilla started to look a little pale, and I noticed that her eyes darted left to right as she scoured the scene that played out in front of her. “Nobody looks happy, Liz”, she said, as she pointed to the throng of competitors who has already completed the race. “I’m sure they’re just tired”, I replied reassuringly. However, I’m pretty sure my face told a very different story.