ANACONDA ADVENTURE RACE
Sunday 4th December 2005, Lorne

• Suffer in Your Jocks by Di Astwood
• My First Adventure Race by Christian Steguweit

This comment really does round it up rather nicely. Well, more like “suffer in your lycra knicks”, if you want to be specific. What a day.

I have only ever done one adventure race as an individual – the JLL Challenge. This was in 2000. Originally I was meant to be on a team for Australia Post. Then, my cyclist pulled out, so I became the cyclist and runner. And then my paddler pulled out. Soon to follow was the phone call that sealed my fate – Brendon Grail called me with an “offer” to do it as an individual. Being completely ignorant as to what was actually involved, I accepted this kind “offer”.

I nearly killed myself twice in paddle training – once on the Yarra River on my own, while it was in flood – the second time was on Lake Eildon. Well to be specific, I nearly killed Rob Russell on Lake Eildon. He was assisting another guy who was assisting me and my capsized TK1– to cut a long story short, Rob ended up being taken away by the water ambulance with a dislocated shoulder after a rather aggressive support stroke that popped his shoulder out. Ouch!

When Brendon announced nearly a year ago that the guys were putting together the Anaconda Race, I decided to do it as a team. However, finding a paddler was proving to be a challenge in itself. I had a scary sense of deja vue when I got the phone call from Brendon again providing me with an “offer I couldn’t refuse” – the laughter down the other end of the phone said it all really.  Yet again, I was preparing for an adventure race with a paddle leg with minimal paddling experience under my belt.  I was adamant that this time I wasn’t going to have any disastrous paddle training stories!

Wrong.

On one of the training sessions we went out and launched the surf skis at Cumberland River, the “put in” point for the paddle leg on race day. Brendon had previously told me of a training session they had where NO ONE could get out at Cumberland River as it was so rough.  Being inexperienced, I didn’t appreciate the size of the waves breaking – it didn’t look so bad from the shore.  I mentioned to Rob.H that perhaps he may want to stick around to watch us go out as it could be “interesting”.  By the third attempt I didn’t find it so “interesting” anymore.  I’m quite sure Eric Ward didn’t find it “interesting” as my ski whizzed past his head by mere centimetres on my second dumping.  At that stage, I realised why helmets were going to be compulsory on the paddle leg.  On the third dumping, I lost my drink bottle, kayak, paddle, hat and sunglasses.  When I resurfaced, I saw that Rob was standing on shore with my surf ski – I was still getting hammered about by the waves, but my surf ski had made it safely back to shore!  I was praying that race day would provide us with calm water…..as were all the others that were out with me getting thrashed about!

Saturday 3rd December – the day before race day

Rach and I awoke at Cumberland River Campground to blue skies and not a breath of wind. The kayak launching point was as flat as a tack.  I had mixed feelings about this.  On one hand I was glad – and hoping that we would have similar conditions for race day.  On the other, I had told people how bad Cumberland River could be and now I would look like a bullsh*t artist!

We went out for a leisurely paddle and swim. I threw myself in to the water a few times just to “jog my memory” on how to get back on the ski in the deep water.  All was good.  The world was a beautiful place……the ocean was my friend…..

We spent the better part of Saturday at Lorne handing out the uniforms to the Post team. Rumours abounded regarding the conditions that we were about to face on race day.  I was told at one stage to expect 30-40 knot winds and 3-5 metre swells.  One guy summed it up nicely when he said “if I see a five metre wall of water coming towards me, I’m getting the hell out of there”. 

Race briefing was at 5:15pm.  It was at race briefing where we were to learn whether the course would be changed due to weather conditions (if it was expected to take a turn for the worse, the kayak and run legs would have been moved). John Jacoby, Race Director, announced that the expected 30-40knot wind and ocean swell would not arrive until later on in the day, after we had all finished (hopefully!), and we would still commence the paddle leg from Cumberland River. After dropping the surf ski and all of my gear for the paddle leg at Cumberland River, we headed out for a bite to eat and then off to strap the ankles by torch light in the two person tent. Cosy.

Sunday 4th December – race day

Slightly overcast skies greeted us as we crawled out of our tent and there was not a breath of wind! On the drive to Lorne, we stopped by the kayak put-in point. The sea was relatively calm and there was barely a hint of wind – however, I did note that there were a few specks of red/pink clouds to be seen in the sky. 

I think we all know how the nursery rhyme goes “red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning” ………

Transition logistics:

The main difference between this race and the triathlons I have done is that there are three different transition points and two runs. The surf skis had to be dropped off the night before along with the paddle transition gear at Cumberland River – 5km west of Lorne.  On race morning, the running gear and mountain biking gear needed to be set up at Lorne for the transitions between the swim and the run and then the kayak and the paddle legs. The mountain bike leg finished 3km east of Lorne and you had a run along the beach to finish. This, therefore, meant that, if you wanted to do the final run with running shoes on, you had to either ride in running shoes or carry your running shoes during the ride. Otherwise, you had to do the final run barefoot. I opted for the latter.

Here we go:

The start of the swim leg is the same course as the annual Pier to Pub swim, with the start being located at the end of the jetty in Lorne. This meant that there was a 10-15min walk to the start.  I felt the nerves really start to kick in at this point. I was confident about the swim, the run and the mountain bike, but this paddle leg was going to be about survival!

So there we all were – 300+ people with our orange Anaconda swim caps waiting for what John Jacoby had stated would be a “different” swim start. There were rumours that we would all have to jump from the jetty.  Another rumour was that we would all have to run a certain distance in our wetsuits and then start swimming.  The reality wasn’t quite so bad. We all got told to swim out a certain distance on to the right hand side of the bouys. So we did. And then we got told that we all had to swim back again to be even with the bouys. So we did. Then a couple of swimmers had their numbers called out so they had to jump from the jetty. So they did. Then some dude called “Anaconda Man” appeared on top of the jetty. He was wearing his black undies outside of his orange tight pants, he had a cape and he had a mask.  BUT THE BLOODY BIG NANCY WOULDN’T JUMP FROM THE JETTY! Soft.

There wasn’t a horn, whistle or anything that I could hear that signified the swim start. For some reason, we all just started swimming. Odd. 

1.2km Swim:
There is nothing special to report about the swim.  My transition was pretty sad to say the least. It felt like it took forever to get that wetsuit off! I must admit going from the swim to the run was a little strange after being so used to doing swim to bike transitions.

11.2km Run:

The run leg starts along the beach in Lorne and, as you head west, you gradually end up running over small flat rocks. Then they become large round rocks.  Then the large rounds rocks get mixed up with large sharp rocks. The next thing you know, you end up spending the next 3km jumping, climbing and balancing your way over the shoreline.  Once you meet the Great Ocean Road, you have a long climb up Sheaok Track up to Castle Rock. Once you reach the top, you have a nice descent straight down in to the river.  After 3 river crossings, you finish up in Cumberland River Campground and, to top it all off, you have to swim under the bridge to get to the scrub on the other side. 

13km ocean paddle:
I entered transition to find a mad scramble of people everywhere.  In my effort to get to my surf ski, I just about knocked someone’s child flying.  Bec, Rach and Michelle immediately took over as support crew. I was to later find out that Michelle had just finished breastfeeding her 4-month-old baby boy, Baden, while standing on the beach and had literally just straightened herself up before I came through. Michelle had also just finished the swim leg for her team….

The girls had me out of my running shoes, had my thermal on, fed me, dressed me and, by the time this was finished, Rach and Ronnie had my surf ski in the water ready to go.

The initial paddle out to Artillery Rocks didn’t seem too bad.  Howeve,r on the turn around, the wind had started to pick up. 45mins into the paddle leg, things were starting to get rather choppy out there on Bass Strait. At one stage, a ferocious gust of wind hit me and turned my boat in the water! The ocean certainly was not feeling like my friend at this stage! I found it hard paddling against the head wind. The paddle leg was made even worse by the occasional strong gust of wind that would catch your paddle and throw you off balance.  There were lots of people hanging on to their surf skis while floundering about in the water. Some of these poor souls looked like they were so exhausted from falling off and getting back on again that they had just simply stopped and were waiting to be rescued. I turned around at the marker bouy in Loutitt Bay and headed for Lorne.  The difference at the turning bouy was incredible and I really appreciated how sheltered Loutitt Bay is from the wind. As soon as I started to head in to shore, things got a lot easier!  All I cared about now was that I didn’t get close to shore, in front of all of the spectators and fall off the surf ski like a complete novice! Thank god I pulled that off! My surf ski leg was slow – 2:21hrs. I was hoping for a time closer to 1:50-2hrs – after paddling the course in training, I was confident that this was achievable. However, Mother Nature had other plans for us! 

In my opinion the length of the paddle made this a paddler's race – especially with the conditions being as they were. Someone who would have done a sub 1:30-1:45hr paddle leg would have missed the worst part of the windy conditions and would have had a decent start on the mountain bike leg.

14km Mountain bike:
Thank god for terra firma! I headed out of transition adamant that I was going to have a good bike leg after my abysmal attempt at surf ski paddling. Fortunately, I’d gone over the course twice in training and knew what to expect. Waverley Road greeted me like an evil serpent reaching out from the bitumen that desperately wanted to rip the shreds out of my quads – thank god for the granny gear! Waverley Road, Lorne, is approximately 200m of bitumen that the average car would not get up – it is also the beginning of the mountain bike course. After this initial insult to the quads, glutes and cardiovascular system, you hit the dirt and an 8km stretch (which oddly enough is called “5 Mile Track”) of undulations with some steep climbs thrown in for good measure. I was told that we climbed approximately 550m of elevation. No wonder it hurt! Fantastic uphill though! I must have passed at least a dozen people walking this stretch. 

At the top, we had another small climb and then the downhill fun began.  The next 3km or so provided us with some nice little technical ruts to navigate around and some steep downhills that would make your hair stand on end. I nearly ended up using some guy as a bike stand when he braked in front of me on a steep part – a few colourful four letter words were muttered as I walked my bike around him. Part of the way through the downhill there is a compulsory cyclists dismount point where you get off your bike, drop it over an embankment, cross the bitumen road and then hit the dirt again. Comment of the day goes to the marshall at this point who was warning people “to be careful as it gets steep from here on down” – what the heck was that we just rode down!? The next section saw us riding at a slight angle on a really dry and dusty track. It made it hard to find your line as you slid slightly on the unstable surface, trying to dodge the trees and, as so many riders had been through beforehand, it also meant that you were breathing in the dust from the churned up track.  Bliss.

The ride finished at a picnic area where there were bikes scattered everywhere. My bike joined the messy array of alloy and steel as I tore my cycling shoes off for my barefoot 2.8km run to the finish line.

2.8km beach run:
The run felt fantastic on the feet as I scrambled across the rocks barefoot.  Thank god my feet are as rough as your average Collingwood supporter. I opted to run in the sand closest to the water edge in an effort to run on the hardest part of the beach. There were lots of teams jogging along together – all teams have to finish as a team and therefore have to complete the final run leg together.  

I hit the finish line in 5:51hrs.  The goal was originally 5:30hr max, but this goal was put to rest on the kayak leg.

So would I do it again? At the drop of a hat!  Although, this time around, I might spend a little more time on the water!

All times are below:

MY FIRST ADVENTURE RACE
by Christian Steguweit

Sometime back in June, I read about a Corporate Adventure Race in Lorne. As I figured that I would have qualified for Port Macquarie by then, I thought that something different would bring a fun element into my training.

An Adventure race sounded like a lot of fun to me and the prefix “Corporate” made it even sound suitable for overweight, pencil pushers. “Just the right thing for me, I can do that half asleep!”, I thought.

Swimming 1.2km, that is 700 metres less then my normal swim leg, I should manage that even without swim training and, even if I come out last, hey, that would be no different to my other races. Paddling also sounded like fun. I would borrow a friend's ski and, half an hour and 13km later, would go for a 11km jog along the beach, followed by a bike trip along a forest track with my good, old mountain bike. With the "Corporate" prefix in mind, I pictured that a lot of people would push their bike anyway. Finally, a stroll along the beach would take me to the finish. The whole thing should be over in 3 hours and a bit.

Great idea, I am in!

First paddling lesson
I climb into the fibreglass kayak, take the paddle and start rocking left and right to see how stable it is. Why does everybody claim that they are tipsy? It is quite stable. I stick my paddle in the water and perform my first stroke. Nothing happens, I am not going forward. I look around and realise that Richard had held the kayak the whole time! I tell him that I don’t need his help and that he can let the kayak go. The moment I end my sentence, I am in the water. Ok, funny, he must have pushed the kayak. I climb back on it and I am back in the water before I can even get my second hand on the paddle. I watched Richard this time, and, no he didn't push the kayak over.

I have to admit, I always had a balancing problem, so maybe I should try something more stable, maybe a raft!
I end up trying out a plastic sit-on-top ski.

For the following weeks, my paddling sessions are also my swimming sessions, as I spent most of my time in the water. Maybe paddling is not so easy after all. However, most times the weather is great and I see the coast from a different side and enjoy the paddling. Nevertheless, in 1h of paddling, I only manage to cover 8-9km. What was that about an easy half an hour paddle at the race? 1.5h seems to be more realistic now.

My race preparation
I ignored the first invitations for a course familiarisation. I never looked at a course before a race in the past, so why start now? Then the first horror reports reached me: that most people did not make it through the surf, people injured themselves running over the rocks, you can get lost at the run and bike course, etc.

Two weeks before the race, I went to a slide show about adventure racing held by John Jacoby. On every slide, he looked relaxed, as though he thoroughly enjoyed his races. Even when he is a “human ice breaker” through a frozen lake, he does not look cold. The landscape around him is mostly breathtaking and, listening to his funny stories, you realise that he really loves his sport.

John explained that his races last 5 days and more, and that whoever sleeps, loses. So who am I to whinge around with my baby related sleep deprivation? Maybe I should start playing cricket and stop endurance racing.

Ok, after John’s recommendation to have a look at the course, I decided to join the others and go down to Lorne a weekend before the race. The weekend is terrific and a small group is going through the course.

The problems start with the kayak leg. I don’t even manage to get through the surf. At the very beginning, I get hit by a wave and lose everything that I'm not wearing - my cap, sunnies, drink bottle, paddle and ski. It is the first time of many where I have to swim back to the beach to collect my paddle and ski. After 1h of trying, I am dead tired, along with 3 other guys. One guy is kind enough to drive us to the kayak finish, so that we can continue with the mountain bike leg.

We start through Lorne and turn left to suddenly face a very steep ascent. We are all in the wrong gear and try frantically to change to our granny gear. Too late, everybody stands up and zigzags up the road. I have the feeling that I will either rip off the handlebar, or break the chain, or my legs will burst, so I stop and switch to the granny gear and restart. For the next half an hour, I do not get out of this gear and I can’t keep my front wheel on the ground, due to my bike's lack of suspension, or so I think.

Later, on the bottom of the first downhill, we have to cross a flooded section. In the last second, I see a hole in the middle of the path and just manage to skid around it. And then I suffer my way up the next of many ascents. At the top, I am panting and sweating. Finally, the rest of our group catches up with us. Looking at Richard, the reason for the delay was obvious - he must have picked a fight along the way. He hit exactly the hole in the path which I just managed to avoid earlier on and went for a dive. I turned around with him, which gave me a good excuse to avoid any further hill climbing for the day.

Race weekend
There is a huge queue at the registration, and we all have to wait. Why do they all have to register at the last minute? Isn’t it enough that I do it? The atmosphere is great and there is a lot to do for the kids. Somebody is very clever and distributes a free outdoor magazine and sells raffle tickets to the long queue. When I finally get to register, I receive a backpack with lots of stuff in it. GREAT! I love goodies.

I then drop my kayak off among 100 other look-a-like kayaks and hope I'll find it the next day. Should be easy, it is the red one ….

Then, it's back to the cabin and the last pasta meal before the race. I set my alarm and see that it still shows 05:00 from the last race. Not this time, as this race will start at 08:00 …. in the middle of the day. That is great, I can have a sleep in.

Next morning, I cycle easily to the start and rack my bike. Then, we all walk to the pier for our swim start. When we are all in the water and waiting for the start, everybody suddenly turns around and stares at the pier; ANACONDA-MAN has appeared. Under applause and whistling, he starts posing and ignores our calls to fly or jump. Suddenly, everybody turns around and starts swimming, and I follow as usual. We swim more or less in a straight line towards Lorne, which even I can spot and use as a marker.

Out of the water and into my running shoes. It is the first time I use a fuel belt and it does not feel too bad. We run along the beach, back towards the pier, under which we all slow down and have to start to climb over the rocks. Now the fun starts, hopping from rock to rock. Every now and then a bottle neck forms and you have to queue or quickly find a way around the people. It is quite funny if your neighbour jumps on to the same rock as you intended to land on, and, mid-air, you have to find a new landing place. During the hopping, I manage to overtake a couple of people and feel happy. Then we have to turn inland and uphill. I start to overtake some people on the narrow track when, suddenly, a pain shoots up from my left foot to my knee. I managed to twist my ankle on a nearly even surface, after surviving the rock hopping unscated - how stupid is that???

I can’t step on my foot anymore and try to stay out of the way of people overtaking me now - the same people I overtook along the beach. Everybody is asking me if I am ok. After I lied 30 times “Yes, I am fine”, I see new faces overtaking me. These are the people who swam even slower than me, the corporates! Christian, remember Busselton, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t walk again just because of a cramp.

I get upset, ignore the pain and start walking up the stairs. After a while, I start running again…. at least I don’t get overtaken anymore. Later on, I start to overtake other people who are now walking. The run is really hard and my heart and lungs feel ready to burst out of me. I look at my watch and discover that my heart rate is at 105%. WOW, a new max. heart rate! I slow down to power walking. What next? Lawn bowling? Christian, you suck! Maybe I should have abstained from my daily chocolate ration. After a couple of run/walk sessions, I reach the top of the hill and start running again. Now the next problem comes up, I don’t have much feeling and control over my left foot anymore and it is quite difficult to see the ground through my tears of pain!

I plod along until the descent starts and I manage to catch up to the group in front of me. This group reminds me of a Sunday in the Dandenongs, with one Commodore blocking all the traffic and never pulling over to let the people behind him pass. As with the cars, every time there is a straight section, we accelerate, but then crawl at snail's pace around every bend and corner. Just as I see my only chance to go faster slipping through my hands (downhill of course, as, on the uphills, I am too fat), the last guy looks around and moves on to the narrow path to the left. Not only this, he shouts to the front “on your right!”. A whole new lane opens in front of me and I run past the nine guys. GREAT!

I join a young guy who jumps around the corners and trees as if he would use the short-swing “wedel” technique from skiing. There's no way that I would be able to overtake him, but at least he becomes my rabbit. I try to jump only on my right foot, which makes it quite difficult.

When we reach our first river, people are busy jumping from stone to stone, while a girl in the back simply runs through the water and is first on the other side. Well done! We do the same, but, with the jump out of the water, I roll my foot again and fall. I am in the way, and, as nothing is broken, I carry on. After two more river crossings and another stumble, the trail becomes flat. After a while, two “Commodores” are catching up and joining us to swim the 10 m under the Great Ocean Road bridge. The water is cold and the path quite slippery.

On the beach, there are still plenty of kayaks and I can't find mine (remember, the red one!). Suddenly, I have a support crew in Richard, who cheers me on and helps me get into my life jacket. I feel like the Michelin man. My ankle is swollen, and getting my shoe off and my bootie on is quite painful. I hop on the ski and start paddling….. first wave, second, third, the waves are getting higher, fourth, fifth, I am still on my ski when THE wave rolls towards me. Déjà vu, I see myself already swimming back to the beach and collecting my ski and paddle. The wave lifts my ski so that I look into the sky, then it washes over me. Na nana naana !! This time I am wearing a helmet, so no chance of losing it to the wave. And then the drop. My ski smacks on the water, which is usually when I lose my balance, but no, this time I am still sitting on top and paddling. I follow the other boats to the first buoy. I am very thirsty, but I dare not bend forward to reach my bottle. Furthermore, I can hardly breathe because of my too-tight life jacket. This proves again that you should try out your gear BEFORE the race!!

A couple of people in front of me fall into the water, yet still I hardly manage to catch anybody. On the contrary, I keep on getting overtaken. The waves seem to come from everywhere and every muscle hurts, the one positive being that my sore ankle enjoys the cold water very much. I don’t seem to make any progress, and the head wind is starting to pick up, getting stronger and stronger. After an endless time and still not falling off the damn thing, I am totally dehydrated and decide to try to get my bottle. Flups!! I am in the water. I scramble back on to my ski and yes, the life jacket works and I float nicely. Before I take off again, I leave my legs dangling in the water and empty my bottle in one go. I am still thirsty. I can’t see the pier and I am getting really frustrated. I look out for the next jetski or boat so that they can bring me to the beach….. I am happy to give up. But no boat comes close to me and the whole time old, bearded guys in their sea kayaks, big smiles on their faces, are passing me. Some talk to me. After having repeated every swear word I know 1000 times, I finally see the pier. As much as I strain my eyes, there seems to be no way through it ….we have to paddle around! The wind is now so strong that you can’t lift your paddle anymore without being blown over, so we all keep it horizontally and scrape the surface of the water. Two guys capsize and get pulled by a jet ski. I would actually prefer to swim the final 1.2km, and that’s me, THE STONE, saying it!

At last, I hit the beach, but I can’t stand up, so I simply roll to the side and into the water…..what a pathetic look that must be!

After a totally unmotivated transition to my bike, I cycle along the well-known route through Lorne until I hit the steep street to the left. Knowing what to expect, I switch into my granny gear in advance. My mood lifts the moment I see the guys who have just overtaken me. They are stuck in a much too high gear, and must grind their way up, zigzagging. I smile (Schadenfreude!) and ride up the street on to the dirt road. I am so happy to be off my ski, that I don’t mind being so slow. When I reach the first hilltop, a girl calls out to me to slow down. Coming around the corner, I see why; an ambulance van is parked at the same flooded spot as last weekend. This time, the victim is wearing a neck collar and looks very pale. Poor bloke, not a nice way to finish your race.

I continue to grind my way up the hill in my granny gear, trying to keep my front wheel on the ground. Somehow the others seem not to have this problem. Some people are pushing their (push) bike and I am happy to overtake them, but the sweat is running in my eyes. Juan, Anthony give me your legs!! A guy overtakes me with ease and I assume he does not have a diet based on chocolate.

Finally, I am on the top and the downhill part begins. The track is a worn-out 4WD track and I have to balance between the tyre tracks, standing. As I have no suspension, I have to absorb the shocks with my legs and my foot is in pain again. I only hope that I won’t crash on to my left side. Furthermore, my road bike crash from the previous week has sapped my confidence. I ride like a Commodore driver drives, braking at every bend and corner. Christian, you wimp, would Eric Zabel brake?! Stop touching the brakes and suffer!

I gather speed and adrenaline, and, minutes later, I start to enjoy the ride. I feel like a cocktail shaker in the hand of a barman. At a nice left corner, I take my right foot out to drift around the corner. Suddenly I realise that my left foot cannot support my weight and I shoot straight into the forest. Funny, very funny, from now on you leave both feet in the pedals, I tell myself. From there on, it is pure fun and a constant battle between the Commodore in me and the Peugeot 205. Ever seen a Commodore in Paris or Rome? Of course not. Let it run!

I overtake a couple of people, but I figure that the good bikers are already long gone. It is the first time my mountain bike is getting such a workout and I feel like I'm back in my childhood, only, this time, with a helmet and more braking. Suddenly, I hear a guy cheering behind me and then he passes me in a cloud of dust, half on the track, half in the bush. “Isn’t this great?” he shouts, but, before I can answer, he is long gone. Wow!

Just before the last transition, we get forced to cross yet another creek full of water. I try to bargain with the race marshall, pointing out that I am wearing my last pair of dry shoes, but he simply smiles and directs me towards the creek.

I rack my bike and head towards the beach for the last 2.5 km. At the bridge under the Great Ocean Road, I forget that I can’t control my left foot, roll my ankle again and fall down the stairs. Luckily, I have enough speed that, when I hit the hand rail, I manage to grab it before toppling right over it. At least, my weight is off my foot. “Are you all right?” I get asked. Yep, I do this every day, because it is fun. Again, I can’t step on to my foot or move it, so I hobble back to the creek and “ice” my foot in the water. Once my foot is numb, I start walking and later change to a light jog down the beach. I try to avoid the soft sand patches with some ridiculous detours.

After a while, and lots of cheering on from people going back to the bike transition, I arrive at the finish area. While focusing one where to put my foot, I run straight into the run transition area, instead of into the finishing chute. Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore, I survived my first adventure race.

Would I do it again? Yes, definitely! However, I need to train my paddling, or find a shorter paddle leg, as this one was too long. It is a lot of fun and not nearly as boring as riding and running in a flat, straight line without any real challenges. It is not that I am any good at conquering the challenges (as my result shows), but it is much more fun having a go.

There was one thing I really missed: WHERE ARE THE AID STATIONS ???