2013 Reports
Last updated: Friday, 08 March, 2013Harriers Ladies Outdo Hairy, Y–Chromasomer Talk!
Event: The Terminator
Time: 12:00pm
Date: Sunday, 24 February, 2013
Venue: Pewsey Vale School, Pewsey, Wiltshire
Pewsey is, sadly for the inhabitants, a rubbish place for running – full of ridiculously steep hills and deep mud. However, the local runners seem not to have noticed this. On the contrary, they revel in it and have created a race – the Terminator – in order to inflict their running conditions on people from more fortunate environments. Three White Horse Harriers went to sample the delights of vertical running in Pewsey this year – Clare, Robin and I. We had heard a fair amount of boastful talk from the taller, hairier, Y–chromosomed members of the club about how they were going to do the race too, but on the day the White Horse Harriers was solely, but amply, represented by women.
The mass start brought an apology from the race organisers, who seemed a bit embarrassed as they confessed that a drainage ‘problem’ meant that there was no longer a bog for us to run through. Most runners seemed to bear this news remarkably well. We were also feeling quite gleeful that the freezing weather meant that even the ordinary, non–bog mud would be reasonably solid. The shoe–elves, who usually creep out after the race and dig lost trainers out of the mud for re–use, were going to have a lean year.
The race is eleven ‘country’ miles long (– which means 12 miles. ‘Country’, in this context, means ‘we daren’t tell you how far it really is’). The first half is through fields and along a canal, and is all picturesque and lovely (– especially as the mud was frozen solid). This is to lull runners into a false sense of security. The first hint of what is to come is when you run up a gully, which comes to a dead end, with only a rope hanging down from the side. Yes ... that’s the running route! People haul themselves up on the rope, then stagger on up a chalk escarpment. This climb is short and sweet, and a few people even manage a gait that suggests an attempt at running. As I got to the top a man turned to me and said “Thank goodness that’s over”. Jokingly I replied: “if only we didn’t know what was still to come”. He gazed at me very solemnly and said: “I’ve not done this before. Are there more hills?”. I knew that there were three more hills much like the one we had just climbed – one longer, one much longer, and the last one just a little scramble right at the end to ensure that if you are due for a heart attack, you’ll get it. I may have played it down a little for him ... you know how it is!
At the top the scenery was absolutely lovely with views for miles and plenty of fresh air blowing in straight from the north pole. The next hill was both steeper than the first and longer. Nobody even attempted to run up it. The third hill was equally steep, but much, much longer. I suppose it could be that, objectively, the hill was shorter but I was more tired. Subjectively, however, the hill was far longer. The last hill was a totally unnecessary joke played on exhausted runners by Pewsey Vale Running Club. The land is open access, and the bridleway to Pewsey village goes from the bottom of the hill, just a few metres lower than the level we were running at. However, the open access bit allowed Pewsey Vale to put a line of tape vertically up the hill. We had to run (– crawl would be a better description) up the left hand side of the tape, then galumph back down the right–hand side before getting on to the bridleway. Many photographers stood on this hill recording the pain for posterity.
From the bridleway it is a couple of miles to Pewsey village. Normally all runners get directed through a river, to the amusement of bystanders on the nearby bridge. This time I hoped we’d be let off, as it was so cold, but I had underestimated the flinty–steelness of the Pewsey hearts, so through the river we went and ran the last mile with gravel in our shoes.
Of course, you will gather from all I have written so far that this a brilliant race. It is called ‘The Terminator’ because there is the eternal question – will you be back? To which the only answer is an enthusiastic: ‘Yes’, qualified with: ‘... but not in my best trainers.’ At the end Clare, Robin and I scoured the results and convinced ourselves that we had won the Ladies' team prize. We ignored the cake stall and placed ourselves within easy reach of the awards stage, put our White Horse Harrier t–shirts on over our coats and things, ignored Robin’s lips turning blue with cold, and had a glorious 15 minutes that was only dashed when we were awarded second prize.
Like the true sports people we are, we grumbled and left immediately. Once home, we scoured the website, developed conspiracy theories, emailed the organisers and discovered that WE HAD WON – a mistake on the day had deprived us of our moment of glory. But this just means that it is even more certain that we most certainly will be back.
Lucia Singer