It was early morning - a pale sun had just dragged itself reluctantly above the horizon and a bitterly cold wind was blowing up a gale. Standing at the start of the assault course, I wrapped a long moth-eaten woollen scarf around my neck. "Here goes nothing ... now, to begin..." I muttered nervously.

Leaping off energetically, I bounded through most of the wain-wheels without too much difficulty, however, I misjudged the last jump, landing too close to one of the knots of elven hair, my skin crawling at the soft, silky texture, making me feel slightly nauseous.

Quickly, with a shudder, I leaped out of the last wheel and ran up the seesaw. As I reached the middle, the other end began to drop with a shuddering crash and I crossed over without any problems.

Now to the tunnel... The water was almost freezing and I started to wade in, the water getting higher and higher and h ... glug, glug... Struggling to the surface I realised that it was a mistake to wear iron hob-nailed boots at this stage of the course. Flailing around, my foot landed on something underwater.. it was armour that had either been discarded or the last occupant had failed the course. I paused to take a few deep breaths and launched myself off and managed to doggy-paddle my way to the other side.

Crawling out of the tunnel, coughing and spitting out the foul water, I saw the cargo net wall ahead of me. Despite the cold, the stench was appalling and I reluctantly approached. There was no way around other than over. Learning my lesson from the tunnel, I took off my boots and hung them around my neck. Although the splintered bones were sharp and dug into my feet, it made climbing a little easier and I struggled to the top. As I made my way down the other side, a bone suddenly snapped under my weight and I hung on desperately trying to find a better foothold.

Relieved, I finally reached the bottom and, pausing briefly to catch my breath, I started to jog up the slope. The first handrail may be an easy reach for a Cave Troll or Balrog but was alarmingly far away for a Wainrider! Taking a few steps back, I ran and, with a desperate leap, grabbed hold of the first rail. Swinging in the breeze and, trying not to look down, I swung across to the end without too much difficulty.

Continuing on, I entered the cave - it was quite dark - which was perhaps a good thing! I shuffled along the rope bridge, which swayed wildly from side to side. I reached the end and there was nowhere to go but down. Closing my eyes and hoping for the best, I jumped down. It didn’t hurt too much, although my left arm has suddenly gone numb.

Coughing and grey with ash, I left the cave - in pain, but pleased at making such good time so far. By now my feet were sore and I put my boots back on for the long, hard run.

The five-mile run was fairly uneventful, although I was tiring towards the end, when I arrived at the webs. Glancing around and seeing no one, I headed towards the higher of the two. Suddenly there was a stinging lash across my back and someone shouted and cursed me. There was a Balrog behind a large rock. Wordlessly, he pointed towards the lower of the two webs.

I wriggled under the web and crawled my way along. Using my scarf I was able to squish the spiders safely (Don’t you just hate it when they burst and everything splats everywhere!) and the snakes were half-comatose from the cold. Towards the end of my crawl under the web, the cave trolls started throwing rocks. Luckily, I went past them just as they were having their morning tea break and only a few trolls were on duty plus, of course, the hand/eye coordination of trolls is notoriously bad and so I was able to avoid their rocks by rolling out of the way.

Finally, exhausted but exultant, I finished the course - cut, bruised and filthy and just a couple of broken bones. I am told that I will be back on my feet in about 8 weeks, unless the nasty leg wound turns gangrenous, in which case I shall change my name to Peg Leg Push.