For the next few weeks, Paris will be home to many of the world’s impressive athletes, including some of the fastest human beings on the planet. Among the competitors gathering for the Olympic Games are runners who can knock out a marathon in just over two hours, 1 mile in under four minutes and 100 meters in less than 10 seconds.
This month, the rural village of Congham, England, played host to a less likely group of athletes: dozens of garden snails. They had gathered to compete in the World Snail Racing Championships, where the world record time for completing the 13.5-inch course stands at two minutes flat. At that speed — roughly 0.006 mph — it would take the snails more than six days to travel 1 mile.
“It isn’t the greatest spectator sport in the world,” said Nicholas Dickinson, who organizes the race with his fellow snail master Ian Haynes.
But the glacial pace of the gastropods is the product of Olympic-level exertion. Most of a snail’s soft body is composed of a single, muscular foot. The foot secretes a thin layer of mucus while waves of muscular contractions propel the animal forward. It’s a form of locomotion that requires 12 times as much energy as running.
Britain has a history of quirky competitions, such as bog snorkeling and worm charming, and the snail race in Congham dates back to the 1960s, Dickinson said. “Snail racing is just another one of those wonderful British traditions that, I guess, we feel almost a duty to maintain,” he said.
The race also offers an occasion to celebrate the common garden snail, Cornu aspersum, which is native to the Mediterranean but has become so widespread globally that it is often considered a pest.
No previous snail racing experience is required. Nor is a snail. “Anyone who’s just interested can hire one of our snails from our stable,” Dickinson said.
This year’s race took place on a gray, rainy day. “It was a really awful British summer day,” Haynes said. But until the hail hit, at least, it was good gastropod weather; snails are sensitive to drying out and thrive in moist environments.
There were 85 snails, divided into eight heats, in contention for the title. The racecourse was laid out on a piece of damp fabric draped over a table. The snails began the race inside the smaller of two concentric circles in the center of the table; the winner was the first snail to traverse the 13.5-inch expanse and reach the outer circle.
Before each heat, Haynes gave the signal for race to begin: “Ready, steady, slow!” he said.
And they were off, sort of. Some snails appeared to lock in on the finish line, making steady, if not speedy, progress. Others were quick off the starting blocks before opting to travel in circles. A few tried to hitch a ride to the finish line by fastening themselves to the competitors ahead of them. The snail masters dutifully detached these freeloaders.
“That’s unfair racing tactics,” Dickinson said. “It’s like Usain Bolt starting off the 100 meters with me saying, ‘I’m going to come on your back, Usain, and just jump off at the last 10 meters.’”
After two hours, the field had been winnowed to eight finalists, who faced off in the grand final. (Last year’s winner, Evie, who had returned to defend her crown, failed to advance.)
In the final, Jeff, a big bruiser of a snail, took an early lead and never relinquished it. “He just had his head out and was going for it,” Haynes said. After 4 minutes, 5 seconds, it was official: Jeff was the new world champion.
Jeff promptly left a slime trail across the base of his trainer’s trophy. Traditionally, the winning snail also receives a large head of lettuce, but this year, Dickinson had forgotten to buy any. “I will have to rectify that,” he said. “I could be accused of not fulfilling my snail master duties.”
He added: “People, I think, can’t quite work out whether Ian and I are for real. Because we do take this very, very seriously. But we also recognize that it is slightly bonkers.”
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
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