Excellent Adventure

A full moon pierces a veil of rising fog and barely lights a rough trail stretching in front of me as I strive to maintain a smooth running pace. The only other light comes from our leader’s headlamp as it bobs and weaves ahead, cutting through the darkness. It’s barely 5:30 a.m., my first day of adventure-racing camp, and already I’m wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

More than just a sport, adventure racing is a journey into the unknown, both within your mind and in the wild nature you’re thrust into. This recent phenomenon is a haven for endorphin junkies who love too play, get dirty and push it to the limit – the type of guys who get bored by mountain biking, road races and monotonous gym workouts. Camps that teach race-survival skills are popping up nationwide, including the one I’m attending in central Florida, the Athletic Event Marketing’s Adventure Racing Academy. And they’re attracting a rapidly growing following from elite competitors to recreational athletes.

Each can be fun in its own right, but adventure races string them all together in a row, for hours – or even days. Test yourself in one and you’ll soon discover why expending the last vestige of your physical energy, getting dirty, sweaty, even bruised and beaten by the elements, challenges the body, soul and spirit, and provides the ultimate feeling of accomplishment.

Hitting the wall

After the run, my fellow students and I devour breakfast and then split into groups of four to learn how to climb a 40-foot wall while strapped into a seated harness, loaded with caribiners, ropes and daisy-chain foot straps. On the ascent, I feel awkward and clumsy, but camp instructor Jason Temple expertly guides us up the wall and then talks us through an invigorating rappelling descent. My arms shake and my heart heaves against my chest, but I put the distant ground below out of my mind and concentrate on mastering the skills. Focusing on the details relaxes me and I make it back to earth in one piece.

During the afternoon, we tackle mountain-biking exercises, riding through sand and jumping over logs. Then it’s on to kayak paddling, and we test a new kayak from Perception Boats called the Jocassie, a three-man racing craft that glides smoothly across the lake. We learn efficient paddling techniques to save time and energy, and we practice racing turns and steering. It all makes for a long, exhausting day, but as tough as it’s been, it’s a cakewalk compared to what’s in store for us that night: an after-dinner bike ride through the Ocala National Forest Trails.

With bellies full of food and anticipation, we set out using the moonlight and bike and helmet lights to make our way through unknown territory. Fear of being the weak link on the team haunts me as I take my turn leading the pack, picking my way down eerie trails I can’t see, pedaling as fast as I can, with little idea of what I’m riding into or over. We’ve been counseled to get the "feel" of the woods and use the sound of our bike tires on the ground as warnings of what’s ahead for riders following behind. I discover obstacles by running over them and yell "Root!", "Low branch!", "Log in the trail!" or "Sand!" to the other riders. Often, the only answer I hear back from them is "Rider down!"

The team has to cross the final line together – teamwork is the key – so we wait periodically for the group to reform. Instructor Blain Reeves, an Army Ranger captain, uses the time to share his thoughts on the sport. He preaches sleeping near the trail so you don’t veer too far off the path and can hear competitors passing you if you sleep too long. His mantra, "travel light, freeze at night, go as quickly as possible," reveals his hardcore, straightforward philosophy.

Post-ride, my forearms and shoulders are racked with pain from gripping the handlebars, and my butt aches from bouncing over roots and logs. As I gratefully crawl into my sleeping bad, waves of exhaustion instantly overtake me and launch me into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.

Navigating by numbers

The next morning is blustery and overcast and finds us gathered in a godforsaken field bordered by forest and filled with cactus, scrub, palms, fallen trees and dead logs. Unlike yesterday, we face only one task on this day: orienterring.

"Orienterring is a pure thinking sport, the science of using the terrain around you to help identify your next move." Says Reeves. In this exercise, done individually, we are to find designated markers using a compass, a map and our wits. It’s an essential skill for successfully finding your way during an adventure race. The harsh, bleak landscape does have one upside: I’m plenty inspired to find my way back out of it.

Turned loose, we scramble through the woods and brush to find our coordinates and verify their markings. I start out confidently enough but soon lose my sense of directions, fighting my way through 200 meters of thick forest before realizing I’m lost. To my chagrin, Reeves rescues me, then delivers a few pointers about drifting and cautions me to trust my compass. I have to jog the rest of the course to make up for lost time.

Back at the camp, the day is winding down. I run into Randy, a fellow student racer who had broken his collarbone on a bad bike spill the day before. Pleasantly mellowed by hospital medication, sitting in a shoulder harness, he good-naturedly talks about which races he’ll be able to compete in after his "minor setback." For me, Randy embodies the spirit of the sport.

Everyone was enthused about the weekend and confident about the race-specific lessons we had learned, especially in orienterring, a new skill for most of us. The camp was demanding, even grueling, but that’s what adventure racing is all about, and the two days of activities prepared us well to handle the challenges of a real race.

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Marilyn DeMartini
Florida-based freelance writer
Article in Men’s Fitness magazine
July 1999