On Sunday morning, with hangovers that would kill lesser men, the Guild of Adventures donned our running gear (I made mine by taking a knife to my trousers), wrapped socks around our shoes to keep them on…and strode out onto the Killing Fields of Tough Guy Nettle Warrior 2013…
Murderbeers nice and clean before Tough Guy Nettle Warrior 2013…
…17km of barricades, lakes, fires, stinging nettles, electric shockers, fire, mud and cramp… In short, just about the greatest experience we have ever had.
Today, I climbed Mount Doom. For those too boring to be familiar with Lord of the Rings, please see below:
The ascent of the mountain, which is actually a volcano called Mount Ngauruhoe, starts a couple of hours into the Tongariro Crossing. Alas, I was told by my shuttle bus driver that I wouldn’t have enough time to do the entire crossing and also reach the summit of the Ngauruhoe, or even the summit of the smaller Mount Tongariro.
Of course, he said this because he hadn’t realised I was a Guildsman. If there wasn’t enough time, I would simply punch Chronos in the face until he gave me some more.
In fact, I would climb BOTH mountains and make the crossing. That would show…somebody…something. Continue reading
24 years ago this very day, the Great Smith in the Sky forged my own Brother in Thunder, Emperor Matthias Bunn of Murderbeers.
With him, I have feasted, reveled and lifted for time immemorial.
Together with my Brother in Blood, William Billiam, we carved our path through the cities of Europe and danced through Thailand, to the song of Mr. Whiskey. Alongside my Brother in Iron, Simon Bunnslayer we drank and sang our way through to the mountains of Poland and discovered what it was to be as beast.
It was he who first uttered the name Murorga Sim Bowa which, for over a decade, has been the name under which I have performed all my wrestling shows.
It was he who permanently disfigured both my brother’s right hand (by slicing it open in a duel) and my own left hand (by breaking two of my fingers in a wrestling match).
It was he who named me Champion of Murderbeers, the title that has justified my drunken debauchery for the last two years.
It was he who led the way in my pilgrimage to see the Man Punching a Hydra and helped me drown my sorrows when we realised he was caged away.
The greatest gigs I have witnessed, he witnessed also. He even offered me his own bed whilst I trained in the noble art of lifting; a sacrifice I only realised the next day, after sleeping on the floor.
Over 24 years, he has seen me at my mightiest and lowliest both. And we have sung. Oh how we have sung.
It was in his honour, therefore, that I stepped up to the anvil today…and forged my first blade.
Today the bathroom was busy, so I brushed my teeth in the shower. It was exhilarating.
Oh, I also jumped out of a plane 15,000 feet above the earth, with only some billowing device to prevent my body from being obliterated upon impact.
Oh and another man to activate aforementioned billowing device.
Oh and a third man…to photograph the event.
‘Skydiving‘ some call it. To the Guild, however, it is the noble art of PLANE JUMP FALLING.
Somehow, friends, I did it. 13km of open sea kayaking, 22km of mountain biking and 12km of trail running in the midday Australian summer heat.
It was horrendously hard…but not for the reasons I expected.
I expected the kayaking to be the killer. I’d never tried it before and I was certain I’d just capsize and never get back in. However, although I capsized the very moment the race started, I managed to get back in and – somehow – stay afloat.
In the end, the kayaking leg only took me an hour and a half, which was actually a little faster than quite a few of the other competitors.
That’s not to say it was easy; it ripped my hands to shreds and obliterated every muscle in my body, but I was fresh and far too concerned with falling into the sea to worry about the exhaustion.
However.
The real killer of the course was the mountain bike element. Basically, I can’t mountain bike. I could cycle on the road but, as soon as I hit the mountainous parts of the course, I’d simply hit a rock and fall off the bike. In the end, I had no other option (for the sake of my bones) than to carry the bike for the best part of 22km, which took me 2 hours and 41 minutes.
Then it was time for the run and, by that point, I was cooked. The sun had baked me in my long sleeved black running shirt (what was I thinking?!) and, before I’d covered 1/4 of the distance, I collapsed into the mud and could not get back on my feet…
Eventually, I stripped off, cooled down and managed to get moving again. By the time I crossed the finish line, however, it had taken me 3 hours to run 12km, which is a new low – even when you consider I got lost in the bush for the best part of an hour.
Here, for your amusement, is a local news video of my performance…in all its comedy glory.
Behold, my friends, an official video of me defending my EWA British Title against Crazy Jonny Jones, otherwise known as 15 of the most painful minutes of my life.
If you’d like to find out more about this match, please read on… Continue reading
In training for Adventurethon 2013, I decided I needed some help. Some advice. Some (dare I say it) training.
You see, no matter what I do to train for my Enduro Adventurethon (14km of open sea kayaking, 21km of mountain biking and 12km of off-road running) I will be totally and utterly unprepared for it, for three key reasons:
1. I don’t believe in being prepared anyway.
2. I own neither a kayak nor a mountain bike with which to train.
3. I arrive in Australia, after a 30 hour journey, less than 48 hours before everything kicks off!
Whatever I do, it is going to hurt. A lot. I therefore feel the best thing to do is accept it will be agonising and dedicate some time to learning to push myself through this inevitable pain. If I can get stronger and more powerful in the process – all the better!
Now, whatever you have read online about training and whatever little pamphlets have fallen out of Men’s Health recently, there is only one real way to get bigger and stronger. There is certainly only one way to increase your sheer grit and determination. You find what you think are your limits…and you shatter them.
How do you go about pushing yourself harder than ever before? Simple. You seek out the biggest, strongest and meanest sonovabitch you know…and try to match his workout, set for set.
That’s why I went hunting for monsters. Specifically, Robster…Le Monster.
Being Guildmaster of the Guild of Adventurers isn’t easy. I mean, if I’m not adventuring, who the hell is?! I am obliged, by the Gods of chaos, exploration and revelry, to pursue adventure as regularly as possible. This is a vow I have taken, by the light of the moon. So it must be – not matter what the situation, or how bad I feel.
So, it was with 7 hours’ sleep in 48 hours, a hangover 2 days in the making, and countless bruises from a bare knuckle night-sparring session that lasted from 02:30 – 05:30 a couple of nights earlier…that I made my way to the Spartan Race, in Reigate.
I was not alone, however! I was accompanied (and driven there) by none other than Master of Ceremonies, Simon ‘Bunn Slayer’ Lowe, known to the wise as the Grand Vizier of Murderbeers. Together, we navigated the bullshit that is English countryside driving and made our way to the scene of what promised to be utter madness… Continue reading
At 08:30 we awoke, less magnificently than the day before, but still pretty magnificently, in the car. Having spent 8 hours driving 311 miles until 04:00, but failing to find anywhere to stay, we eventually pulled into a car park, reclined our seats and alternately frozen and boiled our way into the next morning.
After scorning a Morrisons’ breakfast, we hobbled to a cafe and feasted, whilst reading a white paper into the physiology of the snatch (a weight-lifting technique favoured by the brave) and analysing videos of our own technique.
That’s just what we do, we lifting few…when attempting to climb the Three Peaks.
Soon, however, it was time to stop talking about lifting things and start climbing something. The biggest something in all the UK, in fact. The life of the Guild of Adventurers is a tough, but glorious one. Continue reading
As I write is, I am standing just outside the Olympic Stadium for the London 2012 Games…waiting to walk inside and run the 100m.
How exactly I have ended up here is unclear. I do, however, know it involved dozens of generous people, all of whom I can’t thank enough for everything they have donated to this cause. Whether it was the sports themselves, the blog or the Tough Guy race that inspired you to donate, it a goes to the same great cause. Continue reading
I did it. I am now, officially, a Tough Guy.
This year was the Year of the Lion Heart…which is just about the only thing that got me to the end. It wasn’t fitness and it certainly wasn’t preparation – it was nothing but grim, visceral determination and a lifetime’s worth of being-an-idiot rolled into one.
You see, although there were a variety of weird and wonderful costumes through the event, the vast majority of people were clad in very sensible clothing, warm, water-resistant and lightweight. I, by contrast, had thermal underwear…beneath a t-shirt and a pair of swimming shorts.
Sounds funny, right? It wasn’t. Or rather, it was a little funny for the first hour or so. After that, it became…well…just look at the pictures.
Edventure Blog 