The Hells Bells Adventure

“Want to join me for the Hells Bells 24 Hour Adventure Race for my birthday?” my eldest son asked his siblings and I.

“Absolutely!” I replied.

His siblings were less enthusiastic.

A few days later, after I found out what Hells Bells actually involved, my enthusiasm also dropped and the dread kicked in.

I had started the year in a pretty ordinary place.

Mentally, I was exhausted from work. Completely drained and struggling with energy.

Physically, I wasn’t running much more than 2km at a time, riding more than 10km, and I hadn’t touched a paddle in almost eight years.

And I had three months to prepare for roughly 25km of trail running, 80km of riding and 20km of kayaking.

At 51.

I probably should have tried this a decade ago.

But purpose is a funny thing.

And supporting my son on one of his adventures was about as good a reason as I could find to give it a go.

So I started training. 

Running went from 2km to 5, then 10, 15, 20 and eventually 25km.

Riding went from 10km to 20, 30, 40 and 50km.

It wasn’t easy, but I started pushing beyond what I had been capable of only a few weeks earlier.

I also learned something pretty quickly.

Months, perhaps years, of mental stress had left a physical mark.

So alongside training harder, I had to get better at recovering.

Rest.

Treatment.

Sleep.

Giving my body a chance to fix some of the problems I had ignored for too long.

You can push past your current limits for a while. But if you never give the body a chance to catch up, it eventually stops cooperating.

As the race got closer, the dread started turning into anticipation.

Then life decided to have a little fun.

Five weeks out, I started a new job that took me away from my normal training ground and equipment.

Four weeks out, bursitis flared up in my foot after a half marathon and stopped me doing any decent running.

Two weeks out, food poisoning flattened me for five days and cost me 3kg.

Then, the week before the race, I caught a cold.

Which thoughtfully stayed with me through the event.

But that is life.

It rarely waits for the perfect conditions.

So I chose to do it anyway.

And I had a great time.

We punched through surf on a double kayak with a teammate who had barely paddled before.

We ran along soft sand, negotiated rocks and traversed a cliff line with waves breaking below us.

We navigated through more than 80km of unfamiliar country by bikes and on foot.

At midnight, a stick went through four spokes of my bike, punctured the tyre and snapped the valve.

And through all of it, I felt completely alive.

We started at 11am and finished at 3:45am.

We did not collect every checkpoint.

As the night wore on, my son started getting fatigued and was clearly coming down with the same cold I had generously shared with him.

So we made the call to skip a few checkpoints and get him back safely.

That was the right outcome for us.

What surprised me most was how good I felt at the end.

Not fresh. Definitely not fresh.

But far better than I expected.

The short training period had forced me to focus on the things I was weakest at.

I built the distances steadily.

I paid attention to recovery.

I planned the equipment, hydration and nutrition.

And somehow, all of that was enough to help me do something I genuinely did not think I would be capable of a few months earlier.

Especially first time around.

And I had a great time doing it.

Would I do it again?

Absolutely.