A week ago today, I subjected myself to what has been called “the worlds’ safest, most dangerous taste of mental and physical pain, fear and endurance.”

…Or, in the words of my mother, “an event for university students who just want a good day out”. (Thanks, Mum!)

As much as I’d loved to pin the blame for my participation on my fellow team mates, I can’t. This was entirely my fault.

Somehow I had persuaded seven of my closest, that this would be a really good idea – ‘it’s for charity’ I kept telling them. And somehow (*following weeks of bribery and corruption) they had agreed.

At 6am Saturday morning, having said our final farewells to those we loved in the knowledge of our potential hypothermic deaths, we gathered outside LSE.

I was greeted not by cries of enthusiasm from my team, but rather cries of ‘Becca, what have you made us do?!’.

We were already two men down. One claimed she had ‘accidently’ fallen down the stairs on a bus, the other, no news…so we left without her. Those who fall behind, truly are left behind.

We arrived.

 

The Race:

A 12km run you say. Easy you say. It wasn’t.

Within five minutes and 10 hurdles of the starting cannon, we were a team mate down.

Our president, Ellie, decided to get in touch with her youth and participate in a game of ‘stuck in the mud’, throwing her trainers off for good measure.

Luckily this childhood blip was not long lasting, and we managed to talk sense into her. We continued to run. All was fine. Then this happened…

Yet we survived. (a) Few know how.

We were then confronted by an elephant graveyard, nets, cannons, hurdles and mud swamps. Yet enthusiasm remained. All was going to be okay. We were “nearly there” (Race Marshall, 2015).

 

The obstacles:

3km left, though it was still a good 2 hours till this would be over, and it really was only just beginning.

Till now, I’d been relatively dry and warm. Thinking that really this had all been a major exaggeration.

However, a combination of us slowing our pace to stay together and wading through a lake meant that now, despite my wetsuit, waterproof socks, water proof gloves and swimming cap, and contrary to the words of Idina Menzel, ‘the cold really did bother me anyway’.

We tackled VietCong tunnels and a tyre crawl…”nearly there” we were again told.

Barbed wire and a sky walk…”nearly there”.

Battled through both Gallipoli and the Somme…cries of “nearly there” continued.

Despite all these, the worst obstacle by far was having to submerge yourself fully under water (in a lake that later got closed as, we were later told, ‘-10 was too cold to be swimming in’).

Never has mental strength been so important. By this point I had lost feeling in my toes and fingers. I was running on stumps. Climbing nets was ‘oh that little bit harder’. But it was okay, we were “nearly there”.

Somehow we made it. Out of about 200 race marshalls turns out that only one of them was telling the truth. One final lake, and a few electric wires later we had made it to the finish.

Medals were given. Tears were shed. Space blankets provided. The promise of tea, and changing into dry clothes on a warm bus (*in the middle of a field) was insight.

 

What have I learnt;

• I am not a fish, and thus I am not immune to the cold.
• The video’s do not lie. Tough Guy is awful.
• Jelly babies= little drops of heaven.
• Race Marshalls always lie.
• My team mates are incredible. I wouldn’t have got through it without them.

Would I do it again?

Absolutely!

NB: Tough Guy is not a beauty Pageant.