Rough Runner, from the eyes of Liam Welch
I was conscious, this was a good sign, alive? Not so sure. I laid there effortlessly, too tired to move, curled up in the foetal position as the light did me harm, it burnt. My eyes closed, I thought I was never to open them again. A dusty thudding in my head beat like a drum. My mouth was used as a latrine by some small animal of the night, the taste was unbearable; it was safe to say, I felt bad.
An ominous task loomed large ahead of me and the rest of the British Gas A team. After making it distinctively clear on every social media platform I was doing this on behalf of Hope for Children, the weight of expectation was truly on my shoulders. An overwhelming amount of self-pressure to finish was suddenly created; I was nervous. The blistering sun was hidden, the heat was non-existent, there was a sense that we could possibly fall victims to hideous hyperthermia. The sky looked like dark ink had spilled across the horizon, positive energy slowly draining away, however, using every last bit of optimism, possibly the alcohol from the night before giving me this false sensation, I confidently took a deep breath as I advanced towards the car.
The A team came together graciously, in the car park pulling up side by side, the beat of my music pulsated through my body, droplets of rain twirled to the rhythm as they fell, eye of the tiger was in full force. The nod from Boswell to myself illustrated he meant business, he was ready, no prisoners were to be taken. My heart was pounding against my chest as if it wanted to escape. My stomach started to shout, painful cramps occurred, it felt like I was being stabbed repeatedly, was this nerves or was this the mighty, energy-providing, nutritionally beneficial hash browns and sausages I ate 30 minutes before.
I was at the start line, my throat was as dry as a bone yet I found myself dreaming of pizza, all different shapes, sizes and flavours. The cheesy infusion was real, as I opened my mouth to take a deep breath of what I thought was sweet pizza aroma I suddenly found, as I regained awareness, it was the nerves of Mr Elsdon exiting from his back door. The saliva previously produced in my throat rapidly triggered my gag reflex causing it to block my airways, breathing became difficult, something I was going to rely heavily on over the next 4 hours; thanks Chris. The worst was yet to come.
In hardly any time four obstacles were done, each imperfection in my preparation was highlighted, my young naive self was soon to pay the price. What astounded me was how elegant and swift other runners were, showing no sign of tenderness or pain. These 'athletes' continued to widen the gap as they started to accelerate away like a racing car; I was looking down to the ground, as were the rest of the A team, newly to be re-branded, the Z team.
Breathless. I kept running, bounding through the everlasting sludge created from the downpour. The footwear I had, proving only to be aesthetically pleasing, were useless in this type of terrain, I was Bambi on ice. On and on, trudging, we had our first victim. Some ignored the explosion but I managed to catch it. His face displayed heartache as his grip became useless, he fell elegantly, like that of a ballerina dancing on nails. He smashed into the chilling sub-zero water that bit at all his exposed skin. There I was in the dry, smug as ever. I gave that patronising smile as Darren popped up his head up from the water, extremely similar to a buoy, not best pleased to say the least. This raised the spirits of the team, the scent of solitude slowly disappeared as laughter took its place, solidity of the group was regained.
Spirits were high, confidence was bouncing amongst us as we emerged nearer the next obstacle. I’ll go first I thought as I confidently drew closer to the wall climb, picking up some pace from the downhill run, Usain Bolt style with a mix of Rambo some may say. My ankle decided to play jenga as it collapsed under me. I hit the deck, hard. I thought I heard a sickening snap, maybe it was laughter from others getting their own back on my smug self earlier in the day. An agonizing pain mixed with a sudden rush of fear fuelled my body; I twisted my ankle. I hobbled off out of the way. The inability to move was overshadowed by the thought of being picked up and unable to complete the event as the medic called for help. The desire to finish was greater than the pain, the expectation had been set by my peers, I had to finish, that was the goal. As Winston Churchill once said 'If you're going through hell, keep going'. These were the words that circled around in my head as I rose to my feet, it wasn’t going to get worse, was it? Perhaps the thought of letting people down was motivating me to get up, helping me overcome this pain, or was I just being a girl? Maybe I was, a can of man up was required, nevertheless, the pain was excruciating - well to me it was.
There I was again, running up and down what felt like the same hills, tears streaming my cheek as I reluctantly choose to stop. Stinging from the sharp coldness that had dampened my clothes, the inability to get enough oxygen as I attempt to stay calm started to make me dizzy; hyperthermia, was it beginning to kick in? But then I saw it, the last obstacle between me and pizza, faith was suddenly restored. The speed of the group began to increase, old memories from the day flood away like a wave of destruction as ambition, desire and belief took its place. There it was, in all its glory in front of me, the Travellator. Ranging in difficulty from hard to easy going from right to left. The question now was, am I going to coward out and take the easy route or was I going to master the course and complete the hardest of all tasks. Well long story short, as predicted, I failed miserably. Desperately trying to cover up the embarrassment of failing I took my battered self up the easy route, I felt ashamed, however I was proud of what I had done, I left the house a boy and returned a broken man.
The race is over and I’m now recovering as I admire my medal. Even though I had not finished 1st, the aim I had initially aspired too, I realised that I had been immensely naive and this was far beyond my ability. The A team finished, every single one of us, but it was now to move on to more important things; pizza. The soft dough made from the finest flour, topped with a festival of cheddar cheese, mozzarella and parmesan, melted to perfection. The aroma of the herbs and spices tickling your nose along with the enhanced smell of tomatoes and pepperoni as the delicious creation sits in front of you. It’s making my mouth water, I ask myself do I soak up the oil with a napkin, or do I embrace the grease? The sizzling it makes as it sits on the plate, the rumbling of my stomach is all I can hear but as you lean ever closer everything stops, the sound of silence takes its place, appreciation is shown. The perfectly circular shape was destroyed and I did it, I took that well deserved first bite; it was at that moment I realised, Rough Runner was over, I was alive.
Check out the actual footage from Rough Runner in the video below!