Eventrac News

The Drogo Ten…ish

23 Jul, 2024 04:01 By:

This is the second time I’ve run the Drogo Ten and it hurt just as much second time around. Do we not learn as we get older? I am asking this and looking at my dog Barney, who still chases his tail, even though he has caught it and tasted it many times, well in to K9 middle age. The Drogo is really 9.6 miles, oh pedants of the world, but as we were reminded pointedly at the start, by race director Pam Gurny (her tenth year in charge), this was not a 10k race. Did we look that stupid? We, the assembled mass of nervy sinew, bouncing up and down on the spot without music, waiting for a woman in a yellow bib to blow a whistle….And without even a fancy dress costume in sight to lend it a modicum of respectability. Hmmm.

But logic never did apply to these types of events and that’s why I love them. Why do we do it? Get back to me on that one. Nursing a phlegmy cough and tempted the night before, to stay up and party at the Totnes ball, I had my reasons to stay in bed. I’m getting too old to defer my gratification. I want it all now goddamit, as I’ve just hit forty. A layer of crusty ice had formed on my Sazuki windscreen. But this is a race, unlike any others…

Classified as a fell race (probably more for insurance reasons than anything), the route has two steep ascents of easily six to eight degrees, one at around three miles and another approaching the finish, on the infamous Hunter’s Path, leading back to the castle, with a smaller one in between. It teases runners as they career down the narrow foot paths and bridle paths from the castle, to the Teign Valley below. Down, head down, leg long in to the colourful sorbet of oranges and reds and rhododendrons. Did we appreciate it? I think so, as the guy from Tamar Trotters commented to me, as he mounted a carefree descent down to the zig zag, chicaning toe path to the first bridge. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ I agreed but couldn’t think of anything else more appropriate to add.

Drogo Castle has never seen a skirmish, a battle or even a minor siege, so whatever history we were escaping, striding down in to the bowels of the forest, it was of the more modern and domestic variety. Lutyens built it as a home, albeit a home that needs about half a million squid spent on it to renovate the roof. Last year, the paths down to the Teign and alongside the river, back to Fingle Bridge, were muddy and riddled with saboteur puddles. This year, flooding has washed away the top soil, leaving a jagged, stony path, making it difficult to plant a firm foothold on. Much fairer to those wearing road shoes than the grippy, fell variety.

Four weeks ago, I came here with some runners from my Wild Running group and we followed a trail of pheasant seed and picked up acorns from the verges, higher up the forest banks. No such leisurely pre-occupations now, as I found myself nursing a lead that appeared more by chance than design, coughing up the side effects of my efforts, in to lovely green globules, that should never be mistaken for acorn jelly. I was going to say last mile was lung bursting but I have just read an article about a guy who held his breath under water for 22 minutes and I feel it’s no longer an appropriate adjective.

Crossing the line, I saw Jill, who had torn her ligaments on a Thursday night run in Dartington, balancing on crutches. She was part of a group who were with Rory, a super enthusiastic fitness trainer at the Fitness Factory, who could almost inspire some people to go back out and do the whole thing again, just from the tone of his voice. Rory, who is also a triathlete, was excited for me that I had won in 61 and a half minutes and said that running was his weak element. For my part, I cannot imagine what it must be like to swim ten kilometres, as he had done recently in the Dart.

Last year, I sunk a couple of pints at the Drewe Arms in Drewsteignton to celebrate with Peter Mcliven. Peter couldn’t make it this year, so I drove straight back to Totnes and went food shopping at Riverfords. More deferred gratification…Must be time to start chasing my tail.