The Beast
A blog entitled ‘The Beast’ conjures images of a skulking shadow, lurking on the misty moors with its hungry eyes reflecting glints of the moonlight and distant howls sending shivers down the spines of even the bravest of men but fortunately, this blog is not about such a creature but rather, a fun run.
That’s right, The Beast is in fact The Bay of Islands’ Beast annual fun run climbing the hills overlooking Paihia, traversing through the swamps of the forest and braving the mudholes of the local farmland.
We obviously didn’t want to wear our best clothes during the event for fear of getting them ruined, so we rummaged around for some garments that we didn’t mind getting splattered in mud and ripped on branches and rocks. I pulled out a pair of my old work trousers from when I was working in schools that now had a rather unfortunate rip that extended the entire length of the gusset and were now barely acceptable to wear in a professional setting.
I pieced my outfit together with an old running top, whilst the only old clothes Laura had were some of the finest fashion from the charity shop that I’d chosen for her when we’d scraped the hull of the Paihia Dive boat.
As a result, Laura was left to stretch into her leopard print leggings, a rather fetching matching leopard print top and a one direction jumper, just in case it got cold but mainly because (and I’m sure Laura won’t mind me sharing this) Laura loves Niall Horan.
We completed the outfit with a pair of black plimsoles each. However, we were both worried that without laces to secure the shoes properly, the footwear would end up getting lost in the inevitable claggy mud suction that threatens to rip off even the most firmly tied shoe and engulf it in its sludgy tomb to never be retrieved, so we stopped off at the local dollar shop and purchased some red sticky tape to firmly wrap our cheap school plimsoles to our feet.
Once off the bus at the start of the race, the day was starting to warm up. I had been planning to run up and down the unforgiving gradients in a pair of thick cotton work trousers, albeit with a modified rip for undercarriage air conditioning. I began rolling up my trouser legs and securing them in place with the bright red tape, before wrapping huge lengths of the sticky stuff around my flimsy footwear.
Laura had peeled off her One Direction hoodie to reveal her frilly leopard print top, which now matched with her leopard print tights. I can’t help but feel that even the most ostentatious of drag queens would have grimaced at the sight.
It was about now that we became aware of the three groups of differently dressed people. Firstly, there was the elite runners. The people taking it seriously with spiked running shoes, puffed out chests and with a distinct look that they’d been cheating by training for the event for months.
Secondly, were the groups of people dressed in fancy dress. There were Smurfs, tutus, tigers, people with ribbons and balloons. Darth Vader made an appearance as well as half a dozen Wonder Women.
The third category consisted of people dressed in really crap clothes, missing crotches, a lot of randomly placed red tape and far too much leopard print. People stared at us wondering what our costume was supposed to be. Finally, they’d come to the realisation that we weren’t in any form of fancy dress, this is just how we decided to leave the house. It was usually about now that the person staring smiled politely and proceeded to desperately avert their gaze in an attempt to avoid any further interaction whatsoever.
I was looking at the people who were clearly taking it seriously.
‘We could win you know,’ I said eagerly and a little too excitedly, hoping that Laura would turn around and in a thrilled shriek suggest that we cross the line in first and second place after we’d pushed all of the other competitors out of the way, into bushes and/or down ravines.
‘I thought we were going to run together?’ said Laura sensing that I might abandon her in search of muddy glory.
‘We can still run together. Let’s just win it,’ I said with a broad smile and encouraging eyes.
But Laura wasn’t won over.
‘I won’t be able to win it, Ryan! Plus, we’ll never beat those guys.’ She nodded over in the direction of some fit, young, healthy looking athletic men, as they laughed heartily in various lunged positions.
Hmm…Perhaps she was right but wait a second. ‘You could win the women’s race, especially with my help.’
Laura rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t want to win the race, Ryan. I just want to run with you and have fun. I want to finish the race together and cross the line at the same time.’
I sighed disbelievingly. How could she not want to win the race? Why would you deliberately choose to not win the race? It didn’t make any sense. Never mind though, I had an alternative plan. I thought if we started near the front and jostled our way past a few people. Perhaps, I’d pull Laura up a few hills and encourage her over the obstacles and before she knew it, she’d be in first place. She’d win the race without realising!
I nudged us forward through the patient crowd just as the starting gun fired but as we tried to move, we started sliding and scrambling to get traction on the ever increasingly perilous ice rink of mud. Other runners seemed to sail by in their footwear that they’d chosen for grip, whilst Laura and I almost slid back down the hill in our plimsols which provided as much traction as you’d expect from a duck on a frozen pond. In a twist of fate, our already bare plimsols had lost even more grip because of the near frictionless tape wrapped all the way around our feet to our ankles.
Somehow, we managed to clamber over the first crest where we found a brown creak with roots and uneven surfaces. I jumped straight in with the same enthusiasm as all of the surrounding children, whilst Laura gingerly edged her way down the bank as hordes of other runners thundered past.
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Now, I don’t entirely blame Laura for her hesitation here. She’s a great runner you see. Her best marathon time is edging on elite and certainly puts any efforts I’ve made to shame. As well as this, she’s a very majestic runner, a bit like a gazelle but imagine strapping a pair of completely smooth plimsols to a gazelle with red gaffa tape and asking it navigate a serious of hazardous obstacles. Even a beautiful creature like a gazelle would lose some of its grace as all its limbs tried to escape in opposite directions.
Over the stream, we started to ascend an unforgiving gradient that kept revealing yet further unending slopes at the summit of each crest. We were starting to claw back some places as the surface had been worn away to bare rocks that provided enough grip to propel ourselves onwards and upwards.
The top men were well gone but I was starting to get belief back that Laura could possibly challenge for the ladies’ title. We panted and dragged ourselves further up the standings until we came to a large puddle that was almost verging on lake size. I leapt in and then waded as fast as I could muster through to the slope on the far side and then hauled myself up the incline that was so steep, there was a rope to assist with the almost rock climbing ascent.
I looked back over my shoulder and Laura was nowhere to be seen. Other runners were storming through the muck and sludge and overtaking us again. I craned my head back down the slope and finally Laura emerged, slowly drudging through the lagoon of ooze.
‘Come on! What took you so long?’ I shouted in an attempt to motivate Laura but when she looked up her face suggested that she wasn’t in the mood to be motivated. Her facial features contorted to the brink of rage, she was clearly in pain.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked sympathetically, hoping to soften the barrage of abuse about to come my way.
Her face still burning with fury, she paused, so that she could find the best words to articulate her love for me at that present time.
‘No dickhead!’ she yelled.
She pointed to her leg that now had an egg-shaped bruise starting to swell and turn a rather lavish shade of purple.
Thankfully though, it was just a bruise and Laura was able to hobble on.
From now on, I thought I’d be a bit more sparing with my motivational pep talks as we continued climbing further and further upwards but what goes up must come down and it wasn’t long before we started to descend down equally steep slopes. We started off cautiously, as it would have been easy to let your legs get carried away on the slopes and before you knew it, you’d be hurtling uncontrollably with a flurry of expletives spouting from your mouth as you careered into the nearest tree.
It wasn’t soon before I realised the best way to not fall over repeatedly was to fall over once and stay there. From this position, it was then easier to slide down on one’s backside. The slippery plimsols were now an advantage as the tyre tracks on the path had turned into giant slurry flumes that enabled us to pick up considerable speed and zoom past other runners who were stumbling around trying to tackle the slope on their feet. My trousers were now completely ripped to shreds on rocks and stumps, the material barely managing to cover my buttocks as we continued to descend.
By now I’d realised that we weren’t going to win but I didn’t mind as I was more impressed with Laura’s hardiness, her egg now bulging to form a second kneecap on her shin.
The final section wound its way following a boggy creek. The reeds and grasses almost forming a spongy mattress to bounce along on top of the quagmire below.
Next thing I knew, there was a yelp from behind me. I turned to see that Laura had disappeared past her midriff into the muck, down a rather deep hole in the otherwise shin deep slime.
‘HELP!’ squealed Laura, ‘I’M FANNY DEEP!’
I could only agree with her frank assessment as I attempted to get close enough to yank her free but inevitably I sunk down past my unmentionables into the hole too. My rescue plan was starting to look rather flawed.
We were left with no choice but to roll like pigs in an attempt to free ourselves from being ingested into the ever-consuming slurry. Laura pushed off me and managed to get one leg out whilst my plan of thrashing about uncontrollably seemed to be providing surprisingly successful results.
Back on our feet, we rather suspiciously navigated the rest of the swamp before climbing the final hill and spotting the finish line with just a few more steps, rocks and roots to overcome. I waited for Laura and helped her over the final challenges.
Now it was just the downhill slope to the finish line. Laura had got her wish to cross the line holding hands, to finish side by side but the next thing I knew, she was sprinting at full speed for the line. One of her plimsols flew off, the gaffa tape finally giving way to the pressures and strain of the course but Laura wasn’t stopping. She didn’t care. Nothing was going to stop her as she hurtled at full speed towards the finish.
Behind her, I slid about trying to pick up any momentum I could, trying desperately to make up lost ground but she’d already gained an insurmountable advantage as she crossed the line in one shoe and beating my time by one second.
Laura looked thrilled with herself.
