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Jungle Marathon |
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Up the Creek
The start of the stage was delayed an hour or so until a part of the course could be remarked. It turns out that ants ate the plastic tape used to mark the course. So you thought that jaguars were Lords of the Jungle? Nope...it’s the ants. They decide what stays and what goes.
On the second day of the race, I discover that I have only one true friend in the jungle: the creek. At first I hated water crossings since running with wet shoes destroys my feet. But once I accept that my feet will be destroyed anyway, I have nothing left to lose and actually start to enjoy being in the water. I linger an extra few minutes in every creek and let the water cool my body and restore my energy. Usually I only leave the creek when I feel something start to nip at me. The last thing I want is to trigger a piranha attack. We’re told that piranhas only attack open wounds or rotting flesh. But after two days of running in the jungle, we have some of both. It all comes back to jungle basics. If it’s alive, it’s trying to kill me. If it’s not alive, it’s also trying to kill me. Except for the creek; the creek is my friend.
Despite soaking in three creeks today, I still severely dehydrate towards the end of the second stage. I swear I see the trees spin above me even though I feel like I am standing still. I’m on the verge of passing out and keep stumbling ahead, one step at a time, trying desperately to finish the stage before I collapse. I force myself to drink water, one tiny sip at a time, but extreme nausea prevents me from drinking more. My body screams at me to stop and lie down for a rest, but that could be fatal, as the jungle will eat me alive.
Taking two salt tablets. The black numbers on the front pouch are the distances between water stops.
Many competitors are passing me now. As Brazilian runners go by, my traditional Portugese greeting of “Hoy!” sounds more like a whiny “Oi.” I’m in pain. Using my last rational faculties, I pull out an emergency supply of salt and pop two tablets. The nausea lifts and I can sip more water. A giant blue Morpho butterfly appears ahead of me and guides me along the trail for a few magical minutes. I jog into camp on a second wind. I think I’m on to something...
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Crossing a creek. |
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A brief stop in the jungle. |
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Copyright Dari Shalon 2004 |