Hellrunner: Scots to the Slaughter July 14, 2007 Mugdock Country Park
Who in their right mind would sign up for a race aptly named Scots to the Slaughter? Well, I’ve never been known for my mental stability, so I paid my entry fee and lined up for the first Scottish leg of the Hellrunner series, without a single clue what was in store. All I knew was that if was a tough adventure race and it was “not necessary to be able to swim”. The clue was in the latter part…
Paul Magner from Trailplus commented: “We created Hellrunner back 2004 when we came up with the idea of an off-road running experience that would put a smile on people's faces as well mud and sweat on their brow. If I were to ask any runner to describe their favourite run, almost everyone would describe an off-road route. Yet most runners stick to usual races, pounding away 10k, half and full marathons on concrete”. He continued: “Hellrunner is a multi-terrain race made up of three zones. There will be everything from trails to water-filled areas and plenty of steep hills. Everyone gets very wet and mucky. It’s nature at its toughest. Courses are marked but there are no mile markers - that’s for those softy road running types. All participants need to know is that the course will be probably more than 10 and less than 12 miles in length. But with what’s in store, who’s counting?”
Armed with a the checklist’s most important element – a sense of humour - a small field of less than 300 runners turned out on the sunny Saturday evening in July. A mixed bag of competitors – from the sprightly adventure race veteran to the novice in shiny new trail shoes to the guys who’d bet each other in the pub – gathered, ready to set out on the unknown. There was to be no chip, no markers and no route. The devil playing the bagpipes sent us on our way – through a cloud of smoke and fireworks.
The race started with a trot along a pleasant narrow trail, leading us into a false security. The biggest obstacle was the amount of people in the confined space. I’m sure I was more of an obstacle to others though, as I skipped around rocks and puddles.
The course – only distinguished with strips of tape from tree branches - made its way up the first of many hills. A few Londoners went racing up with excitement and then
burst at the top. I’m sure the only hill they experienced was the ascent out the tube station if the escalator broke down. The entertainment of watching them pussyfoot round the first mud bath was worth the entry fee alone.
There was no point trying to stay clean, so I waded though the shoe-sucking mud, thankful that I’d tied my laces tight. On through some the forestry, the swinging branches were the next obstructions. A pine tree branch in the face would definitely leave a mark, so most runners cowered and shielded themselves – whilst the not so cautious yelped and cursed.
Out of the forest and across a bogey field, there was gridlock as we queued to pass over a few stiles. Up and over, the path continued down some steep rocky hill sides. The momentum meant my feet were moving faster than my brain and my heart was racing from sheer exhaustion and adrenaline. On through more marsh and bogs, the challenge was to stay vertical and not dislocate a hip trying to retrieve my feet. Up a few slippy hills – smile at the photographer – and it was on to more welcoming pine tree forests. The spongy bed of pine needles was a delightful surface to run, but the army assault course of fallen trees stopped me from tuning out. Having to concentrate really made the minutes and miles pass quickly.
Deeper into the forest and further from daylight, we were suddenly thrown into darkness. My eyes adjusted enough to see my steps and the runner it front. The concentration was deathly silent. I could actually hear my blood pumping and faint sound of panting from the runner behind. Heading towards the circle of daylight, we tackled another deep bog. Back into the bright summer’s light onto a rocky trail, it was humorous to hear the slurping of mud and the shrieks and giggles of runners struggling with their balance.
We continued along a rocky trail for about a mile before turning up another steep hill. My thighs were aching as I reached the top and turned along the path before making my way down again. The gradient and slippy terrain was almost suicidal. Some runners gave up and actually went down on their backsides. Back on the trail, I tried to stamp off the mud as my feet were starting to weigh more than me. Another mile along, I was heading down towards the more familiar track of the West Highland Way, but not before a marshall directed me on a small detour – a completely unnecessary vertical incline. The high-pitched squeals in the distance suggested that we were in for another adventure. I slowed to a stomp as I struggled with the gradient. At the peak I followed the path round the corner and was faced with a very wet descent. Slipping and slushing about in the jungle-like environs, I was desperately trying to stop myself falling face-first. The angle forced us to gather a scary momentum and runners grasped on the long grass to stop themselves from falling. The St John’s Ambulance Crew stationed at the bottom reassured me that I wasn’t being a big fairy after all. I was starting to wilt in the heat, so I was glad to see the only water station, which marked the half-way point. I didn’t know whether to drink it or throw it all over me.
Finally I was on the West Highland Way, passing the Carbeth Huts. An easy pace for about a mile before an official sent us up a path less travelled. Living close by, the Way is a regular training ground, but I was totally unaware that these paths existed. Up though a faint track the route winded and twisted, with sharps bends and detours. “Is anyone else feeling nauseous” someone shouted from the back. Nods and agreeing sighs, before we climbed over the obstacles and ducked under trees. Heading down, the pace was dictated by the runners in front. It was like the M8 during rush hour. One person slows down and it has on knock-on-effect on everyone. Single file we dodged fallen wire fences, swinging tree branches and the remains of a Ned’s camping site. The combat-zone conditions triggered camaraderie amongst runners. There was respect and an unspoken non-competitiveness. No one tried to overtake and fore runners stopped to hold back tree branches. I’m sure it was a different story at the front of the field though.
With eight miles down, we were back along the West Highland Way. The adventure part was over. The last two miles consisted of a few more inclines and narrow paths. Retracing the track of early stages of the race, a marshall shouted: “Back to the castle. Just listen out for the bagpipes and you’re there.” Just when you thought it was over, it was just one more for good measure. With an evil glint in his eye, another official sent us up a vertical ascent up a steep muddy hill. And that is what the organisers call the “Hills of Hell”. Every race in the series has a killer finish. I grabbed on to grass and branches to pull myself up, as my feet came away from underneath me. I passed one runner practically going up on his stomach and a girl taking one step forward and three steps back. Sprinting down the other side - praying not to trip - it was back on the trail for the last 200m sprint to the finish line.
When I finished I was on a complete high. Although I looked like Worzel Gummidge and my shoes were only worthy of the bin, I think I’ve found my favourite race. It was a hoot. After months of long distance pavement pounding, my body and mind were in danger of cracking up. I was starting to fall out of love with running, but Hellrunner saved the day. If definitely put the fun back into to running. It’s your worst cross-country nightmare, but I’ll be there next year.
Fact box.
Scots to the Slaughter at Mugdock Country Park Glasgow was the Hellrunner’s first visit north of the border. Other events take place in Delamere Forest, Cheshire and Longmoor Camp, Hampshire. Following the success of this year’s event, the organisers will be back again next year. For further information, visit http://www.hellrunner.co.uk/, email info@trailplus.com or call 01628 820368. There’s also a Little Devil’s Fun Run on the day. See website for details.
Results
Male
1 Chris Steele 1:03:32
2 Nick Fish 1:03:49
3 Matt Williamson 1:05:18
Female
1 Megan Mowbray 1:15:59
2 Lisa Pettes 1:17:56
3 Claire Thomson 1:21:44
Paul Magner from Trailplus commented: “We created Hellrunner back 2004 when we came up with the idea of an off-road running experience that would put a smile on people's faces as well mud and sweat on their brow. If I were to ask any runner to describe their favourite run, almost everyone would describe an off-road route. Yet most runners stick to usual races, pounding away 10k, half and full marathons on concrete”. He continued: “Hellrunner is a multi-terrain race made up of three zones. There will be everything from trails to water-filled areas and plenty of steep hills. Everyone gets very wet and mucky. It’s nature at its toughest. Courses are marked but there are no mile markers - that’s for those softy road running types. All participants need to know is that the course will be probably more than 10 and less than 12 miles in length. But with what’s in store, who’s counting?”
Armed with a the checklist’s most important element – a sense of humour - a small field of less than 300 runners turned out on the sunny Saturday evening in July. A mixed bag of competitors – from the sprightly adventure race veteran to the novice in shiny new trail shoes to the guys who’d bet each other in the pub – gathered, ready to set out on the unknown. There was to be no chip, no markers and no route. The devil playing the bagpipes sent us on our way – through a cloud of smoke and fireworks.
The race started with a trot along a pleasant narrow trail, leading us into a false security. The biggest obstacle was the amount of people in the confined space. I’m sure I was more of an obstacle to others though, as I skipped around rocks and puddles.
The course – only distinguished with strips of tape from tree branches - made its way up the first of many hills. A few Londoners went racing up with excitement and then
burst at the top. I’m sure the only hill they experienced was the ascent out the tube station if the escalator broke down. The entertainment of watching them pussyfoot round the first mud bath was worth the entry fee alone.There was no point trying to stay clean, so I waded though the shoe-sucking mud, thankful that I’d tied my laces tight. On through some the forestry, the swinging branches were the next obstructions. A pine tree branch in the face would definitely leave a mark, so most runners cowered and shielded themselves – whilst the not so cautious yelped and cursed.
Out of the forest and across a bogey field, there was gridlock as we queued to pass over a few stiles. Up and over, the path continued down some steep rocky hill sides. The momentum meant my feet were moving faster than my brain and my heart was racing from sheer exhaustion and adrenaline. On through more marsh and bogs, the challenge was to stay vertical and not dislocate a hip trying to retrieve my feet. Up a few slippy hills – smile at the photographer – and it was on to more welcoming pine tree forests. The spongy bed of pine needles was a delightful surface to run, but the army assault course of fallen trees stopped me from tuning out. Having to concentrate really made the minutes and miles pass quickly.
Deeper into the forest and further from daylight, we were suddenly thrown into darkness. My eyes adjusted enough to see my steps and the runner it front. The concentration was deathly silent. I could actually hear my blood pumping and faint sound of panting from the runner behind. Heading towards the circle of daylight, we tackled another deep bog. Back into the bright summer’s light onto a rocky trail, it was humorous to hear the slurping of mud and the shrieks and giggles of runners struggling with their balance.
We continued along a rocky trail for about a mile before turning up another steep hill. My thighs were aching as I reached the top and turned along the path before making my way down again. The gradient and slippy terrain was almost suicidal. Some runners gave up and actually went down on their backsides. Back on the trail, I tried to stamp off the mud as my feet were starting to weigh more than me. Another mile along, I was heading down towards the more familiar track of the West Highland Way, but not before a marshall directed me on a small detour – a completely unnecessary vertical incline. The high-pitched squeals in the distance suggested that we were in for another adventure. I slowed to a stomp as I struggled with the gradient. At the peak I followed the path round the corner and was faced with a very wet descent. Slipping and slushing about in the jungle-like environs, I was desperately trying to stop myself falling face-first. The angle forced us to gather a scary momentum and runners grasped on the long grass to stop themselves from falling. The St John’s Ambulance Crew stationed at the bottom reassured me that I wasn’t being a big fairy after all. I was starting to wilt in the heat, so I was glad to see the only water station, which marked the half-way point. I didn’t know whether to drink it or throw it all over me.
Finally I was on the West Highland Way, passing the Carbeth Huts. An easy pace for about a mile before an official sent us up a path less travelled. Living close by, the Way is a regular training ground, but I was totally unaware that these paths existed. Up though a faint track the route winded and twisted, with sharps bends and detours. “Is anyone else feeling nauseous” someone shouted from the back. Nods and agreeing sighs, before we climbed over the obstacles and ducked under trees. Heading down, the pace was dictated by the runners in front. It was like the M8 during rush hour. One person slows down and it has on knock-on-effect on everyone. Single file we dodged fallen wire fences, swinging tree branches and the remains of a Ned’s camping site. The combat-zone conditions triggered camaraderie amongst runners. There was respect and an unspoken non-competitiveness. No one tried to overtake and fore runners stopped to hold back tree branches. I’m sure it was a different story at the front of the field though.
With eight miles down, we were back along the West Highland Way. The adventure part was over. The last two miles consisted of a few more inclines and narrow paths. Retracing the track of early stages of the race, a marshall shouted: “Back to the castle. Just listen out for the bagpipes and you’re there.” Just when you thought it was over, it was just one more for good measure. With an evil glint in his eye, another official sent us up a vertical ascent up a steep muddy hill. And that is what the organisers call the “Hills of Hell”. Every race in the series has a killer finish. I grabbed on to grass and branches to pull myself up, as my feet came away from underneath me. I passed one runner practically going up on his stomach and a girl taking one step forward and three steps back. Sprinting down the other side - praying not to trip - it was back on the trail for the last 200m sprint to the finish line.
When I finished I was on a complete high. Although I looked like Worzel Gummidge and my shoes were only worthy of the bin, I think I’ve found my favourite race. It was a hoot. After months of long distance pavement pounding, my body and mind were in danger of cracking up. I was starting to fall out of love with running, but Hellrunner saved the day. If definitely put the fun back into to running. It’s your worst cross-country nightmare, but I’ll be there next year.
Fact box.
Scots to the Slaughter at Mugdock Country Park Glasgow was the Hellrunner’s first visit north of the border. Other events take place in Delamere Forest, Cheshire and Longmoor Camp, Hampshire. Following the success of this year’s event, the organisers will be back again next year. For further information, visit http://www.hellrunner.co.uk/, email info@trailplus.com or call 01628 820368. There’s also a Little Devil’s Fun Run on the day. See website for details.
Results
Male
1 Chris Steele 1:03:32
2 Nick Fish 1:03:49
3 Matt Williamson 1:05:18
Female
1 Megan Mowbray 1:15:59
2 Lisa Pettes 1:17:56
3 Claire Thomson 1:21:44
