For reasons that fly in the face of logic Ben Hopkins chose to compete in Asia’s largest Adventure Race. Here’s how it unfolded

The race is over and hundreds of hungry competitors are refueling under the stars. Event organizer Serge Henken’s, a wiry Belgium with a thick French accent takes to the stage to proclaim. “Zee race was a success. I have ordered several casks of beer. Now is zee time to celebrate.” Traditional Thai music, dancing girls and an unlimited amount of free beer are our reward for enduring several hours of hard chore racing under a scorching sun. By the umpteenth glass I manage to convince myself all the suffering was worth it.

Over the past four years the River Kwai Adventure Race has grown to become South East Asia’s largest. Set in the harsh and beautiful countryside around Kanchanaburi the event attracts around 300 competitors from around the world. People of all nationalities and age brackets form teams of two and set out shortly after dawn. The disciplines include running, swimming, cycling and kayaking. The main difference with triathlons being that no one except the organizers know where the trail will lead or how long the race will be.

At the pre race briefing Serge enlightens us a little as to what to expect. The hall is packed with 300 disturbingly healthy looking people. “It will be tough” Surge says. “Zee heat will be intense. Take a lot of water and follow zee purple ribbons through zee jungle.” With the briefing over we file off to bed, apprehensive of what the following day will bring.

There are two race categories. Extreme for the serious athletes and Adventure for guys like me who start choking up alien substances after a few laps in the park. At the pre-race jamboree the Governor of Kanchanaburi takes the opportunity to get on TV while we bunch up at the start line and wait for the gun.

If the official had misfired and shot me through the heart he’d have spared me six hours of torture. But he didn’t and there’s no turning back. Three km’s into the running section and I’m gasping for air like a fish out of water. For my partner, a long legged marathon runner with a chiseled torso and competitive bent, the opening section is like a walk in the park.

An inner voice tells me to focus, hold in there and don’t give up while my partner starts chatting casually about god knows what. Reaching the river marks the first milestone. The water is warm and inviting but with steamed up glasses, a life jacket and cycle helmet on any attempt at looking cool quickly gets washed away. Instead I’m left floundering on my back. Kicking at the water and trying not to lose too much time before the cycle section.

Out of the water, over a rope wall and onto the bike – finally I feel like I’m in a race.

Focusing on holding the wheel in front it’s easy to miss the beauty of the landscape around Kanchanaburi. Fields of corn and thickly forested hills unfold before us as we gradually make our way toward the front. For a moment I’m having dreams of competing with the fast guys. Entertaining thoughts of punching the air at the finish line and striking the kind of pose that would sell a men’s facial cream.

And then it happens, a puncture. Our spirits are deflated as streams of cyclists race past and disappear in the dust. Frantically we change the tire and attempt to claw our way back, but it happens again and again and again. Any chances of a high placing are blown away but we’re not alone. At the next running section we find about twenty cyclists all fixing punctures. The trail was ridden with thorns. Five punctures per team was probably the average. One grown man, in a state of distress is having tantrums. “How could they do this, how could they choose a course like this” he cries while fixing a double puncture under a burning sun.

Fortitude is called upon as we enter the second running section and scramble up and over a steep, forested hill and enter a wide open space of rice fields and narrow tracks. The landscape is stunning but the heat is cruel, slowing me to walking pace but not quite breaking my resolve to finish.

On a shaded trail we pass a small farmers house. An old lady looks me in the eye as I attempt to break into another jog. She must wonder at my sanity. For field workers like her, working the harsh arid land from dawn till dusk is suffering enough. When work is over it’s time to relax. Most of the Adventure race competitors are city workers like myself. We sit in offices all day, eat in nice restaurants and watch TV in the evening. We need this as a jolt from sloth, a boost to the endorphins and a way to stave off a slow descent into old age.

When I’m passed by a couple of  fat blokes with short legs I snap out of my reverie and speed it up to the next section – a 300 meter swim across a lake, another jog, another swim, another jog and back to the punctured bikes section. Dozens of competitors are dipping inner tubes into buckets of water and frantically pumping tires. The misfortune splits competitors between those who can laugh it off and those for whom the whole event is ruined.

With our punctures fixed we’re back on the trail, following the purple ribbons tied to trees and sensing the finishing line is drawing near. And then, whaddya know, another puncture.

Reaching the river’s edge we jump off our bikes and kayak our way to the finish. In the distance we see the famous River Kwai Bridge. Pulling up the kayak I manage to jog like a rag dole what I think are the last few hundred meters. Every fiber in my body feels like it has been stretched, removed, beaten and bruised with a mallet. But finally it’s over. The crowds are gathered, the finish banner is up and ice boxes full of beer are being drunk. In my mind I’m already on my back, nursing a can of amber delight. Then, just as I’m about to lunge over the line some low down, good for nothing race official tells us we have to swim 300 meters up the famous bloody river and run back to the finish.

Six hours and seventeen minutes from the gun and it’s all over. I really am on my back with an ice cold can of beer in my hand. This is what heaven feels like. The winners came in two hours ago but there are still competitors out there two hours after we finish.

The celebrations continue late into the night. Awards are handed out and for reasons that fly straight in the face of logic I vow to return again next year.