The Barkley Marathons

The Netflix documentary about The Barkley Marathons is subtitled ‘The Race That Eats Its Children’, and after watching it, I entirely understand that choice. The ultramarathon covers a distance of ‘100.00M’ - however ask any runner and they will say it is likely close to 130M, and with 120000 feet of elevation change, it is the equivalent of climbing up Everest from sea level and back down again - twice - in just 60 hours. The terrain is brutal, with every single competitors legs getting slashed to pieces by briars all over the course. In order to prove that you’ve completed an entire loop (there are five in total - completing three is known as a ‘Fun Run’), you have to tear out pages of books that correlate to your race number, placed at various locations around the course. The race officially begins when the organizer lights his cigarette, which he does an hour after blowing a conch shell, which can be done anytime between midnight and noon on race day. When you drop out, a bugler plays Taps to signal your ‘death’. Every year, of the forty allocated slots, one is given to the ‘Human Sacrifice’ - a runner who has applied to be in the race, but who the organizers feel have no chance whatsoever of completing it. Fortunately there is a very small application fee of just $1.60 - however that must be supplemented with an essay on why you ought to be selected to run the Barkley. If you are selected, then you receive a letter of condolences informing you so. If this is your first time, the entry fee is a license plate from your home state or country, and if it’s not, then the entry fee is often a miscellaneous piece of clothing - it’s previously been socks and white shirts.

It’s beyond ludicrous. The fact that anyone has ever completed this thing is a testament to humanity, but the fact that someone dreamed it up in the first place is an even bigger one. It certainly make me feel like I should aim higher.