I am sore all over from my waist down. I shamble more than walk. I did not make it through this Journey alive.



Five members represented the strength of Ørder of the Wild Onion in this contest. There was Picø, who helped organize the event and made music for our amusement at the after party. There was naming and Likes Music, who fell early, possibly erroneously. There was Dan, the sole survivor to cross the finish line, and the pride of our Ørder. His story is loaded with betrayal, dirty tricks, triumphs over adversity, and glory for our illustrious Ørder. Ecce Homo.

But this is not his story. This is a story of several triumphs and ultimate defeat. A story of the folly of hubris.

But first, some facts. There were six checkpoints. The first involved robots distributing LEDs with instructions to place them on the bridge. The second involved Victorian poets demanding spontaneous poetry or some added prose for their exquisite corpse story. The third had a priest requesting you confess your sins and catholic school girls distributing grape juice and vanilla wafers. If you could answer the (first) riddle of the Sphinx, you'd find out about a secret checkpoint, which would get you entered into a raffle. The fourth checkpoint required filling in a crossword, the fifth had runners pick up trash in a park, and the final check point was victory.

Over 400 runners started. Only about 90 survived. The game started around 7:30, and the first runner crossed the finish line at 8:36. Runners were still coming in at midnight when the game ended. The chaser with the most kills finished with 18 runner's ribbons in his pocket. Remember that last fact. It touches me in a very personal way.

The joy starts at the very beginning. 400 people pour out of the park entrance and into Chicago Avenue, blocking traffic, giddy with the rush of being part of a mass of human activity and the thrill of competition. The crowd dispersed, and we eventually found ourselves at a bridge, a safe zone but also a choke point. A choke point with 2 chasers waiting for us at the bottom.

I moved back and forth, hemmed and hawed, and then lost my patience. I was going to get through this or go down trying, at least creating a distraction to let my fellow runners make it through. I approached a chaser, and when they committed to going after me, I chose my path and flew. I blew right past and into safe territory leaving a frustrated chaser in my dust. Witnesses called it "awesome".

I quickly found a few more chasers between myself and my checkpoint. Rather than challenge them so soon after sprinting my guts out, I retreated into a parking lot, hopped a fence, and got my first checkpoint down.

Between points one and two I found myself on a dirt road in a group of about four runners, confronted by two chasers. The way out is through. I went left and ran my fastest, straight past a chaser's half-hearted try to catch me, laughing aloud at him and his fallen chaser ribbon as I went on.

These two experiences left me confident in my own ability to outrun my chasers. I met friendly faces at checkpoint two, but decided to go it alone, impatient and glowing with confidence. I took the direct route to the next point, right through an alleyway.

I saw a group of about four chasers ahead of me. I could have avoided them entirely, turned and gone some other direction. But the thrill of cheating death was coursing through me. I had done it twice and survived. I could do it again.

They were on the other side of the street. I walked with my typical fast gate, entirely nonchalantly. There was a chance I could walk by without them recognizing me as prey. I wasn't nervous; even if I was recognized, I could outrun them.

One chaser walked out towards me to check. Once she positioned herself to react to my next move, I hit a full on sprint. I was by her, no problem. One other guy cursed my long legs. But the footfalls continued, hard and fast, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could, not bothering to look back. My pursuer was behind me and would not give up. I pushed as fast as my body would go. A hand was planted on my back, right between the shoulders.

That moment, that connection, was the deepest disappointment I would feel the whole night. I stopped, handed my killer my red ribbon, and donned my yellow ribbon.

I take some small bit of solace in the knowledge that that man, that blazingly fast monster of a human being, caught 17 other people that night and took home the chaser trophy.

I wish I could play again next weekend. I know I'm not the only one.