What Happens When You Hallucinate During a 10k Race
The Jussy 10k is a race like none I’d entered before. For a start, it’s in a place called Jussy, which is hilarious if you’re immature (check).
I’d heard of it through a friend and, living in Geneva, just a short drive away — it felt like no biggie. So off I trundled to the arse end of nowhere, arriving at the underwhelming village of Jussy, which was a letdown given its promising name.
By the time I arrived and parked in the designated field, it was pitch black. This was as it should be, given it was a night race. I think I ate a banana, or it might have been a packet of Minstrels — either way, strong options.
The First Inkling
Having walked up the hill and retrieved my race number, I sauntered back to the car to drop off my extra layers. Except it didn’t quite happen like that.
I quickly became disoriented and panicky, unsure where the car was which, given it was an almost straight line from the registration area, seemed absurd.
At that point, the correct thing to do would have been to lie on the ground and cry until a real adult came along. But perseverance paid off and once de-robed I quickly trotted back to the start, where I felt the first pang of something squeezing my intestines. Just nerves I figured. Dear reader, it was not nerves.
Say What Now?
The race officials duly read out the route info, which can be neatly summarised as this: run through a lot of fields and woods, in the middle of the night. There are no lights, but there is entertainment in the form of this year’s theme: Wild, Wild West. WTAF.
“Oh great,” muttered a friend I’d bumped into in the crowd, “where I’m from, men shooting guns at you in the woods is never ideal.” Northern Irish Caroline made a good point.
And then we were off. Or rather everyone else was, because of course I had neglected to bring a head torch, and so was running blind, in a muddy field, with cowboys…somewhere.
New BFF
The first 2k or so was fine. I fell into a rhythm following the steady bob of head torches in front of me, lost in my own thoughts. Then we hit the woods. As if on cue a mustachioed Stetson-wearing fiend jumped out at me carrying both a guitar and a cap gun and proceeded to perform his “act”. I ran. Not just ran, I sprinted for about 2k, until I realised I was pretty much on my own. I was either winning, losing, or lost.
At that point, the nausea started to creep slowly up through my body. I did what any top-class athlete would have done, downed an emergency gel and ran off again, with my new friend. Why hadn’t I seen this fellow runner earlier? What a comfort to know he, or indeed she, was there.
Except they weren’t, I had imagined them. Which doesn’t seem quite right in hindsight.
The rest of the race was a mix of feeling rather odd, somewhat nauseous, and talking to my imaginary running partner, whom I decided to embrace, seeing as there was no one else to talk to and this was never to become common knowledge.
Crossing the line, I claimed my fetching neck buff and had the most trippy, somewhat terrifying drive home.
TipTop Health Advice
As any health care professional will tell you, the correct procedure after a hallucination experience, coupled with intense stomach cramping, is to down half a bottle of red wine.
I apologise to all doctors and nurses everywhere. Unsurprising I was ill, very ill with a nasty stomach flu that took its time and left me weak and worn out.
I also got my first PB, knocking 10 minutes off my best 10k time.
So, dear reader, the moral of this cautionary tale is that you could follow a strict training regime, fuelling your body with the right amount of energy, incorporating tempo, hills and recovery runs or you could just run with the stomach flu, away from Swiss cowboys in the middle of nowhere, downing gels and chatting to non-existent running companions.
Your choice.
What’s the weirdest running experience you’ve had?
