When the Going get's tough!

Hey guys,
I hope you're all well and your New Year's Resoloutions are coming along nicely?
I've been home this weekend to relax after a hectic start back to the year, and had to make a hard decision today as to whether to christen my Christmas gift or take the dogs to the beach. In the end Mo (my Rhodeisan Ridgeback) turned her big brown eyes up at me and fetched me one of my crocs. Well that was it.
( I wonder if that's how Dad feels when I turn up and bring him his fishing jacket?)

Anyway Dad said I should tell you all about my adventures last weekend. (It's a bit of an epic story sorry!)

Always up for a challenge and a laugh my friends at Uni convinced me it was a good idea to enter a competition called 'Tough Guy", you might have seen it on the news.
This years event was the coldest for a long time, and the water obstacles were covered in 5cm of ice. We arrive in a flurry of snow.

The race is about 8 miles long and touted as the worlds safest most dangerous assault course.
To start you slide down a steep hill with your 5000 fellow competitors, run through a cloud of tear gas, and then have to jump or crawl under logs, launch yourself into several ditches of waist deep (or deeper if you're 5ft 2") water and haul youself out of the pits using ropes. Thats the start of the 5 mile 'run' which then continues to include slalom on a stupidly steep mud hill (think crawling up and careening uncontrollably down bouncing off trees and other competitors), along with other distractions including crawling through cargo nets of baler twine, and jumping big round bales set up in the way.

Now to set the scene, just before Christmas I took myself off to the doctor because after a year of Rugby (University first's team I'll have you know! I played hooker) I was breathing as one friend put it 'like a geriatric horse with one nostril'. Excercise induced asthma, you need an inhaler. Brilliant a few runs later I'm sorted.

So you're off on tough guy and destined to spend the next 4 1/2 hours running, swimming and climbing. It's not exactly easy to carry stuff along so I left my new magic inhaler with friends thinking I'd be ok. Wrong!
Part way though the first 5 miles my lungs shut down and my ribs turn into steel! I lose my two mates and I'm left gasping towards a yellow jacketed marshal who helpfully jams an inhaler into my mouth until I can take an especially big gasp and carry on.
Alone.

Naturally a shy and reclusive character (ha ha) I run upto a group of women in bright pink shirts and enquire as whether I can stick with them as someone I run with should really be able to tell medics about the asthma thing. One lovely lady declares she has an inhaler and they'd love to spend the next horrific 4 hours with me.

The race continues with 11 pink ladies and one short lass wearing an illuminous green shirt. I launch myself in and out of massive ditches lined with clay and chest deep in water and ice. The set of ditches we have to cross and climb is a set of about 12. Keen to help my new friends I clamber out first and pull all 11 out for the first few ditches.
Eventually it dawns on me that this is perhaps a fast route to exhaustion and I limit myself to helping the two behind me and instructing them to do the same.
At one point a man in an orange shirt is struggling and already at the wall of the ditch I shout to him "give you a boost?!" he replies "but your a lass" I politely remind him it's bl**dy cold in the water and that prompt movement is preferred. I throw him up onto the bank and them climb out myself and pick him up and push him on. I was in my element and the poor lads team weren't letting him forget it.

Running on to climb a 12ft log wall, and start the last 2 miles of the race my legs are beginning to cramp.
This section is called "The Killing Fields" and is home to the worst of the obstacles.
We slog through knee deep mud, passing a man with a broken leg being treated my St. Johns, we climb several higher log walls and continue to 'The Tiger' a set of two 40ft A frames followed by a run through bull electrified fencing. (My Ron Thompson fishing gloves meant I could flick the strands away without a belt) then The Bethemoth - more cargo net climbing and 3 sets of rope walking also about 40ft up. Next its running through fire and icey water ditches. (The fire was made surprisingly welcome, I watch one competitor get too close and set his trainer on fire)
We crawl through tyre tunnels, and slog through a swamp to reach underground tunnels and then climb up another version of the Behemoth to rope walk over an icy lake. Competitors around me have friends and family feeding them jelly babies and cups of tea. At this point I'm shivering and cold. Sheer determination to minimise water exposure gives me enough grip to avoid falling into the lake.
Unfortunately the next obastacle was the underwater tunnels. My pink ladies leave to avoid the obstacle. Advice from Dad had me running in a bob cap covered by a swim cap. Despite this I am very very cold.
I clamber out onto the mud and a marshal pulls to one side to ask if I'm ok. I nod and refuse to stop moving. I start climbing a frame again but realise it's the 'Plank' - pirate ship style back into the lake. Practised as I am at 'unorthodox water entry techniques' I don't have the energy to jump so instead continue walking off the end into the water. A rescue diver in the pool beneath calls out encouragement to get me swimming to the edge. Out on the bank I'm struggling to get my fingers to obey me but at least my feet keep moving.
Back in to swim the rest of the way across the lake I can see smoke in the distance and know there's a second round of fire over the other side. This is an appealing prospect and I jump into the water.
I have to swim amongst my taller male competitors but my tired and cold legs give out, cramping beyond my control and I can't move them. I am involuntarily and unexpectedly dragged down into the water. Fortunately my taller colleagues realise my peril and hold me up above the water.

My race is over and I'm dragged out to paramedics who whisk me off. Amdist questions of my name and address I can only tell them I want to finish and that I'm Emma from the Vet School, and please not to take me to hospital because my friends don't know where I am. Helpful to them I'm sure.
Eventually I'm warmed up and returned to the barn where my panicked friends have spent about 3 3/4 hours trying to find me. They help me dress and hold hot drinks for me to sip (my shaking body simply results in me throwing it over myself if I try it do it myself) and push Kendal mint cake into my mouth. I feel overwhelming waves of love towards them!

My two mates make it back managing to cross the finish line. One of their Dad's came down for support and has kept tabs on them around the course feeding them mars bars and tea so they're not so bad, but still battered and bruised.

I was gutted not to finish and will be back competing next year to cross the line don't worry. After this year though I'll definately be running for a charity - it's such a challenge the prospect for fundraising is immense. I think I'll run for the Guide Dogs. Expect a pleading blog post next January looking for sponsorship!
In the meantime there's a similar race up near Peebles called the Deerstalker that I've entered. If you're interested I can tell you about that in March...

And finally I heard on the grapevine that a fellow fishing park owner's daughter has started to keep her own blog this year! Is this the start of female fishing journalism?
It certainly seems that the idea is catching on - but I'm pretty sure my Dad (and perhaps a few other people) are certain there's only one Emma!


Emma
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