Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race – Day 1. Manybhanjang to Sandakphu

This was it – the start of my grand adventure in a distant outpost of the Empire. The conundrum I faced was – OK I may be a legend in my own country but would my silky PR and diplomatic skills and athletic prowess be truly appreciated by a load of foreign people?

We would soon find out.

My altitude acclimatisation programme seemed to have worked OK – but to be on the safe side and to get a few extra feet I slept on the top bunk. And after swallowing my morning cocktail of drugs – Dimox for altitude, Malaria, Decongestion tablets, Imodium for the ... you know .... and Neurofen because of the damned dogs keeping me awake again, I stumbled out of bed at 4.45 for the 5 am bus which arrived bang on Himalayan Time at 5.30. After a box of breakfast stuff we then endured the 90 minute bus journey to Maneybhanjang, a small village on the border between Indialand and Nippall. The village is at 6,600 ft – which is a bit high. But this was nothing compared to our destination today – the mountaintop settlement of Sandakphu which is plonked a few feet short of 12,000 ft.
Maneybhanjang is a funny name for a town but the atmosphere ain't much of a barrel of laughs as, amongst the machine gun posts little men with funny hats did funny dances and tried to make music with an assortment of tin cans and whistles. It was here then as the assembled athletes gathered that the rest of the field got their first site of a living legend and Olympic Gold Medallist in waiting. I must admit I felt really proud as I demonstrated my anal crunch and pelvic squirt warm-up to the rest of the field – it was, if you like, a kind of mating dance. Or a Ron-ish Haka. Not that I wanted to mate with any of the other athletes (although the young filly from New Zealand would have made a fine catch) – but it was telling the rest of the field “I'm here. I might not be actually running against you. But I'm here.” My influence was certainly going to be felt. And there was, I swear, an audible gasp of relief as I told the rest of the field to go out and enjoy the event – no pressure because I wouldn't be competing against them. Captain Underpants looked particularly relieved.


As I made my way to the start line I had assumed that I would be called upon to start the race but when I got there they'd got some flippin local dignitaries to press the button – I have to say I was a bit miffed but I decided that I could rise above the snub. So I broke wind in front of the Race Director instead – I thought that would signify my displeasure in a way that he would understand.

The weather was hot with no clouds and temperatures in the low 70's as we waited for the off. The runners would be facing 24 miles today. The route climbed some 6,000 ft with the vast majority of the route a very steep uphill route along the made-up cobble road which serves as the border between the two countries.



The road was constructed for an Indian King, so he could reach Phalut, 56 kilometres away, to watch the sunrise over the four peaks of Mount Everest, Lhotse, Makalu and Kanchenjunga – four of the five highest mountains in the world.

Apparently once the road was finished, it was never used by the King – which I think is very mean of him. You get some idea of the terrain when you realise that it takes almost 7 hours to cover the route in a jeep.

This kiddie here decided to see how far I could walk before it got dark – and I set off full of enthusiasm and with a small entourage of well-wishers and some girls in tow. One girl called Joe was from Canadia but otherwise very nice. Another Brit girl called George became an instant Ronnette. I rued my luck at only being able to attract girls with boys names.

I quickly realised how difficult today was going to be when we were forced to stop – our lungs just couldn't take in enough oxygen and I was already peeling off my clothing – and I encouraged my new girl admirers to do the same. The old legs were painful and my muscles were burning with the effort. Then one of our companions looked at her GPS and confirmed we had indeed reached the 200 metre mark. But we soon got into the swing of things and after three hours we were relieved to see the distance marker ahead – 4 kilometres it said. Only another 30-odd to go!!



The route is pretty and showed some lovely views of Indialand and Nippall – it reminded me of Yeovil. We passed lots of men with machine guns and also passed through some remote villages and settlements – and in all of them the locals, and the children especially, came out of their little house-type things to welcome us and encourage us. One bizarre sighting was of a man selling fish by the side of the road - at 10,000 ft up a mountain with no villages for miles. He didn't seem to have done much business and I gave him a quick resume of my knowledge of “Business Locations That Are Not Very Good”.

The challenge not to enter Nippall was met and overcome and I wandered into the country with my new friend Joe. Slight technical hitch though as we stood on Nippallese ground and were then told that it was tradition that travellers need to marry each other in order to return. I looked at Joe. Joe looked at me. I suggested a compromise and just do the funny rude bits but leave the ceremonial stuff behind. Joe kneed me in the groin and left me writing in Nippallese agony.

So, back to Indialand we came.





And then, at 13K, it happened.

The life I had packed so much into in such a short space of time almost came to a swift and bloody end.

By the time we reached 13K we had been climbing/trekking/walking for some six hours and my entourage had dwindled to ... one. I was with Joe my new friend from Canadia and I had just finished telling her about some of my successes and conquests when I heard a loud rumbling noise from the undergrowth behind me. I stopped and listened as the noise got louder and louder. And the cause of the rumbling noise thing got nearer and nearer.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and about 30 yards away the shrubs and bushes parted – and out towards me thundered a large black animal. As it got closer I spotted two enormous tusks – the tusks of a Wild Boar. The beast was now heading straight for me. I immediately took charge of the situation and in a kind of military fashion I held up my hand and shouted “Stop. Wild Boar. Stop!!”. It might have sounded like “Ooooowwwwmmmmm” but I knew what I was trying to say. The beast was obviously deaf because it took not a blind bit of notice but it had been spooked sufficiently to change its course and thankfully it veered away from and carried on its charge.

Straight towards my new friend Joe from Canadia.

I was now concerned for her welfare – and I didn't particularly fancy hoying an injured woman over my shoulder and carting her up a mountain – so I shouted a warning noise to her and, thankfully, she turned just in time for the Boar to thunder past her and missing her legs by nothing more than a few millimetres.

It was then that I discovered that adrenalin smells. Shaking like a leaf I don't mind telling you Ronnettes, I was petrified. This kiddie could just see the headlines “World Famous Olympic Champion Boared To Death In Himalayan Challenge Drama”. And “Brave Ron In Tragic Death After Saving Somebody Else Rather Than Himself First”.


Scared? You bet your sweet bippy as Pope John Paul used to say.

At 17K we had gone as far as the light would allow us and the rest of the journey was completed in a jeep. I made my mind up never ever to go in a jeep ever again. Three hours pressed with my face against a spare wheel, my legs at right angles to spare fuel cans, an overwhelming stench of diesel and the roughest bumpiest road you have ever seen.

So this was the lot of an Olympic Gold Medallist eh?


We finally arrived in Sandakphu at 6 o'clock in pitch black darkness and the temperature now somewhat south of freezing. After a bowl of soup and something that may have been food, I made it into my hut and stumbled into my sleeping bag at 7 o'clock. Fully clothed and trying desperately not to think of toilets I tried to sleep.

The Half Share had finished Day 1's 24 mile run in 9 hours 30 minutes and whilst I did comment that it wasn't very fast and, indeed was a personal worst for the distance - I did also say that I was proud of her achievements – and to prove it I gave her a cursory nod of the head and shook her hand. The route for the runners was identical to that of us trekkers – and so 85% of the day was spent walking with just the occasional break for a flat bit of road.

Her day had been tough with the only relief being when she was flashed at by a soldier – well I told her he'd probably saved me a job. Unfortunately she'd not been able to enjoy the scenery because she spent the entire day looking at the ground as she negotiated the potholes and cobbles. She stopped a number of times to pose for photographs with soldiers – and I reminded her again that perhaps next time she might focus more on running rather than flirting – and that maybe she wouldn't have posted such a slow time. Meanwhile Captain Underpants completed the course in 4 hours 11 minutes – a record for the stage. If you want my view its a stupid time. Fancy paying all that money and not taking your time.

I saw MOS a couple of times during the day but she was muttering about there being no Debenhams or BHS en route. Cheered up when she saw the man selling fish – at least she could buy something then. Her poor Personal Shopper Assistant went ahead of her to carry her high heels and blouses. I felt sorry for the poor man - all that way and he was nothing more than a Sherpa for MOS.


Our accommodation was a series of mountain huts. No electricity, no heating, other than a pile of wood burning in a tin can, no running water and a hole in the ground for ablutions. And this was to be my home for two nights. I made a mental note to make sure any future personal appearances contained certain minimum accommodation standards.

A restless night with me desperate not to let the effect of five days of eating curry spoil my sleeping bag and I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag until finally it was 4 am on Tuesday.

Tomorrow I'll tell you what happened on the gruelling Day 2 stage – and how a mix up in my drugs cocktail very nearly spoiled a perfect day.

Keep on tapering

Ron