The Day of the Nettle – Race Day

Memories of the aftermath of last year’s event flooded into my mind as I went through the huge wooden gates and entered the different reality that is Tough Guy. Memories of sleepless nights. Burning rash. Ice packs at 3am. Why was I back here?

And before long, it was bed-time: I climbed the cargo netting up to my bivvy, atop one of the tallest obstacles – Paradise Climb. I turned in for the night, in my strange yet comfy hammock, 14m off the ground. At Tough Guy, anything goes.

About to do Something Rash

I awoke to the sound of donkeys and the hustle and bustle of a race morning. I sat and anxiously watched the rag-tag bunch of racers far below my feet: a mix of fancy dress, running clothing, army fatigues, and one hardcore runner rocking just his underwear. I would later see him on the course, slashed by thorns and nettle rash reaching up to his neck: I wholeheartedly respected his dedication to stupidity. I completed my own pre-race rituals, and the clock ticked down.

It was time.

The motley crew of runners shuffled over to the starting hill. The nervousness subsided into adrenaline. Smoke of every colour filled the air. The thump of drums. Squished in between a few hundred shouting bodies. Everything very tribal. We waited eagerly on the hilltop for the countdown, and the cannon fire which signified the stampede of a mass-start.

Country Miles

The explosion we were all waiting for cracked through the air. The stampede began, down the insanely steep slope of the starting hill – not somewhere you want to fall with hundreds of people behind to trample over your body.

Once again, I did the Liam classic of getting too caught up in the moment, and setting off too quickly. This was soon resolved, although at this point I found myself sitting in third place, two runners a hundred metres or so ahead. I caught my breath as we weaved around the base of the huge obstacles towering over us – these were for later.

The first half of the race is known as the “country miles” – a cross country run with added mud pits, crawls, fence climbs, various rough terrain and dozens of arduous slaloms up and down the hills at the edge of the farm. What the Midlands lack in terms of mountainous terrain, the Wilsons make up for through repetition.

As we hit the first of innumerable nettle groves, I saw the two front runners were hesitating at the start of each one – common sense kicking in for just a moment, then being overruled. It wasn’t long before I was within earshot – I could hear them scream as they plucked up the courage to run through yet another 10 metre stretch of head-height nettles. While my legs were getting stung to pieces, it was still a far cry from being the first runner through. No sympathy though, and I wasn’t in a rush to catch up – as that would force me to take their sorry place.

This routine kept up for a while, but eventually I caught up with them in the slaloms. Faced with the choice of overtaking them and taking the lead, or trying to stay tucked in behind them, I ended up opting to grasp the opportunity to push ahead. I still hadn’t won any race outright, and Tough Guy for me would be an incredible place to do it. “Pain is temporary, glory is forever” as some idiot once said.

Deeper into the slaloms, and it was my turn to scream as the nettle patches lay in wait. Legs on fire, but all I could do was push through as the marshals laughed at the volume of swearing and shouting emanating from just one person.

The Bracken Maze followed – head height brambles and thorns – and then the second serving of nettle-infested slaloms. I was gaining a healthy lead at this point, despite the blood coming from the lower half of my body.

After this, there lay more rugged trail and an abundance of swamps, water and mud. And of course, more nettles. The cold water helped to ease the burning sensation, and I just kept on pushing, and trying to build on my lead. Having done the hard and painful job of breaking trail, I was determined to make sure that I had a race win to show for it.

The Killing Fields

The shorter course meant the Killing Fields came around quicker than usual, hitting The Tiger – the first of many obstacles – in a relatively short amount of time. The Tiger involves two large cargo net climbs with a sprint through electric tentacles (and, of course, nettles) in the middle, getting a good 1000V shock in my shoulder as a memento.

Weaving through the course, into the water, through the fire and mud pits of “The Somme”, into the claustrophobic and aptly named “Torture Chamber”. This was where I really got into the flow, and being my 5^th time at the Tough Guy course, I fell into the rhythm of the race.

However, this flow was short lived. During one of the swims, I could feel something strange flapping under my foot. Wiping off the mud I saw the entire sole of one of my shoes had started to rip off: only the front third of it was still attached. I’d just have to hope it held together – I didn’t much fancy running barefoot for the remainder, but would be damned if I threw in the towel just now.

The 2019 event was set up as multiple loops of a shorter course: 3 country miles per lap, three laps to finish. In short: I had a long way to go with the remains of my footwear. And what is a “country mile” you may be wondering? When you get familiar with the eccentricity of the event series, you learn to trust nothing: a country mile is a fictional unit of measurement.

“How long is a country mile you ask?
As long as WE want it to be!”

When I managed to pull into the finish area, ending lap 1 in an hour dead, I inspected my footwear. I had trail gaiters which I put on and tightened the straps under the shoe to help hold it together. It was far from ideal, but all I could do. Grabbing a quick cup of water, I headed out for another serving of nettle on the next lap.

Lap two was less savage the first, the nettle plants having noticeably fewer stings left in them after expending so much venom on hundreds of pairs of legs. Ignoring the gravel flapping in the bottom of my shoe, things were going well. I could feel a big lead starting to build, at least a few minutes. I just had to make sure to keep pushing to maintain my lead, and not do anything stupid. Well, not do anything more stupid than paying money to run through hundreds of metres of nettles. The second lap went super smooth, lapping a few of the fun runners who were still on lap one, before pulling back into the starting pen, to prep for the third and final lap.

Legs were starting to feel quite fatigued, but nothing too bad, and I’d finished the second lap even faster – a cool 57 minutes. Shoes hadn’t ripped any more, and I took on some calories, and just wanted to head out and get this done. A ten minute lead was rumoured, and I didn’t want to waste it standing around.

The final lap again went very smoothly. The slaloms glided by, the Killing Fields came round quicker than the previous two laps. Another few jolts of electricity, and I just carefully picked my way over and across the obstacles, avoiding any injuries. Catching up to the other runners who were still out on course, things slowed slightly as certain areas became congested. I weaved my way through, still comfortably ahead of 2^nd place. And before long I was on the final stretch up to the finish line, for the first time in my life, nobody ahead of me.

In the end, 3 hours and 26 seconds, my first ever race win, and words can’t describe how proud I felt. Tough Guy is a force to be reckoned with, with famous adventurers such as Steve Backshall holding it as a huge achievement to have even placed top ten in the past. And of the few hundred runners that started this year’s race: only fifteen completed all three laps.

With the race finished, traditional “horse” brass medal round my neck, victory felt amazing. “To Hell and Back” boldly stamped into the medal, and it summed up the day well.

All that was left was to ceremoniously drop my destroyed shoes into the bin, throw my muddy kit into a dry bag, and get back to Wolverhampton to get the train. Legs were feeling less painful than I’d expected, and a few beers were bought to celebrate for the way home, and plans for the next race started cooking. The mood was jubilant.

The Return of the Sting

I felt like I’d gotten off lucky, without too much aggravation from the nettle rash – hoping I’d maybe somehow become immune. But this was short lived: when the triumph started to wear off, the pain started to kick in – roughly an hour into the train ride. The burn was horrendous.

I had nothing to ease it with: I wanted to claw the skin off of my legs. Begging at the bar on the train for ice, I was informed their ice machine was broken. The bartender looked sympathetic and asked why I needed it. I explained the rough outline of my weekend, and saw a mix of horror and amusement in their face. Clearly they thought I was an idiot – I would probably agree – but regardless they offered me some water and napkins to try and help. It was like trying to piss out a forest fire, but I appreciated the gesture.

Again, two nights of being unable to sleep, waking up to burning legs, infected cuts up and down my shins. Too late for antihistamine or disinfectant. But pain is temporary, and glory is forever, as some idiot once said. A hard victory, but that’s the whole point of Tough Guy: it should be a challenge for everyone who is there, regardless of ability or experience, and it’s often skewed to make life hardest for those at the front who would normally find it easiest.

Determination, dealing with adversity, and embracing discomfort. I feel there are maybe some valuable lessons to be learned from the humble nettle plant.