Page 62 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘Ready as we ever will be,’ Lou added.

‘Bella’s Babes are about to hit the mud!’ Andrea sounded like a Viking warrior.

They all laughed.

They walked through to the starting area. There were pink banners and pink information tents, and coffee stands and food stalls had been set up nearby. There was a DJ commentating and setting the participants off. The runners went off in fifteen-minute slots, and there were the ‘ten-fifteeners’ off and on their way. Along the racetrack, no less, then up a hilly bank. The girls joined in the cheering to support them, all feeling a little bit anxious. Bella’s Babes just wanted to get going, get round and do themselves and everyone who had sponsored them proud.

‘Oh look, there’s Danny.’ Andrea spotted her boyfriend in the crowd.

‘Hi.’ They all waved across.

‘Good luck,’ he shouted back. ‘Go Andrea. Go girls. Good on ya.’

And then six little heads were shouting away by a barrier fronting the course. ‘Go, Miss Jones.’ Some of Lou’s primary class had come along and were lined up with their parents in support. ‘Good luck!’ How lovely.

‘Well done, ladies.’ Strangers were cheering them on now too, as they funnelled into the waiting zone ready for the next wave.

There was a buzz of anticipation within them, and from the crowd.

Mark and the boys then appeared. ‘Sorry, took a while parking,’ he explained to Sal.

‘Good luck, Mummy. Good luck, Auntie Claire.’

‘Thanks, boys.’

‘You’re going to get very dirty, Auntie Claire,’ Ollie added.

‘Yes, I think so, Ol. Oh well, it’ll be fun … I think.’

‘Yay. Get down and dirty, Sal,’ Mark beamed cheekily.

Sal cringed while the other girls laughed.

A few minutes later, ‘The Final Countdown’ started playing from the DJ station, and a few thanks and mentions were made. Many of the ladies who were taking part today were running in memory of someone special. That brought it home. Reminded them all why they were there. Claire felt a horrid knot in her throat as she thought about her biopsy due on Monday. She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. Sal smiled, unaware of her sister’s fears, and squeezed it back.

‘Okay, ladies, are we ready? In five, four, three, two, one!’

A hooter blared out and they were off. They’d positioned themselves mid-pack, but people were soon spreading out, some in teams like themselves, some as singles. Some were struggling straight away, and they overtook them with an encouraging smile as they passed them on the hill. This was not your usual race – some of these women might still be undergoing treatment, determined to battle this out.

The first obstacles seemed fairly straightforward – jumping over big bouncy balls and through tyres that had mud at the bottom, only ankle deep. They were obviously leading them in gently. The running seemed okay; their training was standing them in good stead. They’d agreed beforehand that they were running as a team, and as a team they’d stay.

Suddenly they were faced with heavy nets on the ground, like some army assault course.

‘On your knees, girls,’ a marshal advised.

And down they went on knees and bellies, scrambling under the nets. Their knees and chests were plastered now. On the next running straight they passed a couple of ladies who seemed to be battling with the running part.

‘Well done, keep going,’ Claire encouraged them. There were probably still two miles to go.

A short burst of a run and then they were at the next obstacle. There were climbing frames, a balancing pole, tunnels of mud, a cat’s-cradle-type zone strung with rope barriers to try and work your way through.

‘Come on, girls, we’re doing great.’ Lou was in full teacher mode.

Andrea was lagging a little, and Claire was finding it hard to get her breath with the running. This was so much tougher than a normal three-mile run. Crawling, climbing, scrambling. But hey, this was also nothing compared to chemo, or surgery, a mastectomy.

‘Come on, we’re doing really well!’ Claire rallied her team.

After the next jog, they were faced with a massive ten-foot-high wooden wall with netting up the sides – to climb up and over, obviously. There was a male marshal at the top helping some that were struggling.