You can't plant me in your penthouse, I'm going back to my plough

I couldn't imagine that 12 months ago, let alone 7 years ago when I was still living in my parents place in Gosford as a chubby dependant, that I would spend a weekend on a farm near the Welsh Borders, competing in 7 pretty difficult events with 25 people, only one of which I've known for longer than 9 months, as part of training for an attempt on a World Record. Throw in the fact I was wearing a shirt and beanie provided by a bodybuilding powder as part of a sponsorship package, coupled with the fact that I skipped our annual work conference (free booze, hotel room, and northern girls with loose morals) and it's clear to see how much of an effect this upcoming trek is having on my life.

Keeping with the inimitable quirky-british nature of this expedition, Kinsey Boom Hern generously organised a weekend at his farm in Lyonshall, Herefordshire. He had organised 7 events (listed below). Most of which were a mystery too us until seconds before the actual event.
Arriving at 11pm on Friday night, we were briefed on the days events and each of the 23 contestants (Zooby pulled out with illness) were split into 6 different seeding groups according to fitness. I was in Group 4, just above the girls. For the purposes of the team events, we were then split into 4 vertical teams, with a representative from each ranking. We then had the task of picking a 'fantasy team', where we had to pick ourselves plus a trekker from each other seeding group. Surprisingly, I had 5 votes. Unsurprisingly, they were from 4 people who'd never really seen me train before. The other 2 options being the absent Dave Christie, the better-credentialed Miles, and the unknown quantity of Joe Williams. I plumped for a dream team of Kiwi, Blinky, Nick Mullineux, Myself, Mark Waters, and Helen. You were ranked 1-23 as to where you finished in the individual events, with 23 points being awarded to 1st place and 1 point to last. The team events were ranked in lots of 5 points, with 25 points going to each team member in the first place team, 20 in the second etc etc

We all expected the night sleeping on the floor of the village hall in the middle of winter to be bitterly cold. It was with this in mind that we collected approx £12 to feed into the heating machine as I dressed in my fleece and beanie before snuggling up in my super-sleeping-bag that withstands temperatures of minus 15 (costing a bargain basement price of £199). 30 minutes later and the hall was hotter than the sun. Combine that with Joe Williams expertly combining his nose and ar*e in boisterous symphony, and little sleep was obtained.

Kinsey turned up with breakfast long before the Rooster crowed to mark the beginning of an arduous day. He began by taking us on a light 1-mile jog to show us some of the route of the 5-mile 'finisher'. My fuzzy head quickly perked up when he mentioned that we'd be crossing 3 brooks during the run, and as he pointed up the final hill we'd be running up, I almost saw my porridge again. It was then off to the cavernous chicken shed for the first event of the day.

Bleep Test: Nobody can work out what went wrong here. Was it the early morning? Was it the enclosure of the shed? Did we mis-measure the 20 yards? Were the bleeps faster together on this version? Was the smell of chicken sh1t too overpowering? Was it too close to the fairly demanding trim trail of Thursday night? Whatever it was, everybody struggled. And nobody more than myself. I missed the first bleep as the pace took me by surprise and was playing catchup immediately; despite finding I had absolutely nothing to give. I really can't explain it but I dropped out second at 8.3 - horrible and something that I was hoping to write off as a one-off. I'd spoken to G-Unit earlier in the morning and said that I'd felt great at the previous trim trail and quietly tipped myself to put in an eye-catcher so I really was expecting better things from myself.

Cave Man: Something that was inspired by both the worlds strongest man and the highland games. A big, awkward rock was to be thrown as far as possible. With Kinsey suggesting throwing it over the back of your head as the only technique to use. This again was to prove embarrassing for myself, mostly due to the fact I aint built for this sort of sh1te, and only further darkened my mood. Hillsy managed to pull me out of the depression by doing his best impression of Wile-E-Coyote. Despite his best efforts, he threw the rock straight in the air. As it turned to fall directly back on his head, Hillsy tried to scramble away, only for his feet to fail to find grip on the slippery grass. He jumped away at the critical moment to riotous laughter from everybody.

Michelin Man: Unfortunately, this event wasn't the marshmallow eating contest I'd hoped it too be. This involved rolling massive tractor tyres (which stood taller than me) around 4 posts set out in a square on a sloping field. This was the first team event and was conducted as a relay. Another priceless moment occurred when Paola dropped the tyre. Rushing to her aid, Neil Sharland executed a dramatic yet highly unnecessary and ineffective baseball style powerslide in order to get to the affected area quickly before watching the others, all still on their feet, get the tyre upright again. I managed to drop the tyre twice. The first time I managed to pick it up quickly and cleanly, the second time it was evident that I'd used all my energy on the first one as I couldn't make it budge. Our team of Kiwi, BJ, Alex, Mark W, Simmo, and myself were pipped at the post by a mere second.

The Rome wasn't built in a day cheap labour task: What do you do when you have 23 eager guests and a pile of heavy rocks that needs moving? You organise a game to see who can move the most. Another team effort, this proved to be my favourite of the day and the only event were I felt strong, confident, and made a valid contribution to the point of maybe even exceeding myself. But then again, so did the entire team, with BJ emulating Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me with his superhuman strength and Alex impressing just about everybody with her not only her rock carrying capacity, but also the war wound she picked up on her finger. We were the undisputed winners of this task. As we celebrated, G-Unit remonstrated loudly and surprisingly seriously with Kinsey over the rules of the task, whilst the rest of the group searched long and hard for the sense of humour that he'd clearly misplaced. The freezing cold rocks saw our hands go completely numb after the 10 minute timeframe was up. Something Kiwi and I didn't consider before a celebratory high-five reduced us both to cries of pain.

Scarecrow: Back to the chicken sheds and we found 3 mighty bails of hay waiting for us. These stood slightly taller than myself and slightly wider than my wingspan. Attempting a farmer joe style gag whilst we waited, I picked a bit of straw and stuck it in my mouth and did a bit of southern-boy shtick. Turns out Hayfever isn't just an arbitrary name and not long later I was sneezing uncontrollably and struggling to breathe as my windpipe closed up. I did manage to negotiate the stupidly awkward hay bail through a slalom course (just avoiding a very expensive heater on the way) all the way down to the end of shed (the size of a medium aircraft hanger) and then back again. After this I had to adjourn outside in order to stay alive, hence missed Blinky's reported throwing of toys from pram over the condition of his bail. I did, however, manage to catch a glimpse of G-Unit 'on the throne'. The less said, the better.

Tug-of-war: The mammoth day was starting to come to a close. 5 crazily tiring events and the ensuing jogging and walking between the locations saw us all turn up the penultimate event all a bit weary. Not much to report from this one, apart from Hillsy impersonating Bambi on Ice, ruining his teams chances and causing G-Unit to produce more steam from his ears than the Lucas Heights smokestacks in yet another Looney Tunes impression.

As the sun started to creep behind the hills, we all started limbering up for the blue-ribband event. The 5-mile finisher had dominated the chat all weekend. Alot of Kinsey's farm is dominated by Orchards. Orchards have to grow on sloped land. Kinsey has orchards in abundance. There were alot of hills. 5 in total to add to the 3 brooks, marshy land, and countless amounts of fences that we had to jump. And everybody was fairly certain that Kinsey had measured the 5-miles using the expert country method of guessing. It was more like 6 mile. I'll spare you the horrific details but I managed to get lost twice and managed to avoid Joe's fertilisation of the field during the 75 minutes it took me to get around. Towards the end, I'd developed a Cliff Young shuffle that, on reflection, was probably slower than walking pace. There was some mutterings about cruelty but I think the following from Kirt sums it up: 'Dude, that was seriously tougher than doing the Cardiff Half marathon in full cricket pads'

After a brief but euphoric shower where I managed to clean out approx 2 tonne of mud, animal faeces, and grass from my body, we headed to the local for some warmth, a sit-down, a quiz, a big steak, and 10 refreshing beverages whilst Milo took over the brass section for the evening. Some excellent chat ensued and 2 stories, both on the same topic, standout form the others. Unfortunately they can't be printed but I urge everybody to ask Miles about his recreation of the 'private garden scene' from the film Notting Hill.

It was after the quiz that it emerged that, aided by some strong email replies, I'd managed to top my group. Not only that, I'd come 2nd in the Fantasy league and pinched myself £50 to my charity total. Some inspired picks of Nick M and Blinky helping me to a podium finish. Later on, the pest that dominates 3/4 of my life came out to play when I unplugged Kirt's air-mattress whilst he slept on it.

All in all the weekend was a stunning success. Kinsey's organisation was second-to-none, as was his and his parents hospitality, not to mention that of JC's lovely sister and brother-in-law who bookended the car trips to-and-fro. Despite a couple of slips of the tongue and some interesting graffiti on the pub blackboard, everybody was on pristine behaviour.