So today was D-day...I went to hell (Kilruddery Estate in County Wicklow)..and made it back alive - barely.

A couple of weeks back my brother-in-law encouraged me to sign up to 'Hell and Back' - Ireland's toughest 10km. And today was the day. I couldn't be happier that I took part, however, my knees, joints and back would highly disagree.

Satan's run began with a splash into a pit of water cold enough to shrivel any man's proof of masculinity. This was followed by a struggle to get out of the pit, which was then followed by a lengthy run. My big toe literally felt as though it had frozen istantly, however, I persevered and ran on with my ice block trainers. Despite the cold feet, I was feeling suspiciously good, running as though I had endured plenty of adequate training prior to the actual race. Happy days. And then came ‘little’ Sugar Loaf Mountain.

As if peering up at the top of this mini-Everest was not painful enough...the pain in my calves also began to increase...rapidly, with leg strength declining at a similar pace. As I tried to squeeze the last of my energy gel into my mouth (with copious amounts of mud) and the gap between my team mates and I slowly increased, my motivation levels took a dip. Why am I doing this? I hate running! I don't want to be here. Shut up! But the mountain kept coming! I buried my pride and took to walking, which evidently was much easier, and faster! I reached the top. Glorious! Now to get back down...which was actually much scarier. I had little control over my feet which were accelerating at what seemed like the speed of light - yet people were still passing me! A few taps on the back from fellow contestants and I was on my way - feeling spritely again with a renewed sense of energy..this is fun! (The little energy gel pack may have also aided this.)

I made it to the next obstacle - climbing back uphill, under a net (which made numerous attempts to steal my pony tail). People are stopping! What are you doing? I have renewed energy - get out of my way! I reached the top. Next! Sandbags on shoulders - back up the hill. Go! Thank God for circuit training. And back down the hill.

More running and more downhill running. I pass a couple of people, a couple of people pass me. Keep running. I am then met with what they call 'Satan's Pit', a positively lovely name for a pit. I clambered over a shuck filled with tyres (and rather gracefully if you ask me). I then meet a six foot fence, similarly to how a Shetland pony might meet a garden wall - with a large yelp. But again, I surprise myself, take hold of the rope and leap to the top...where I sit admiring the view until a steward yells at me to hurry it up. I slide down the back of the fence like bird poop on a car windscreen. And off I go! Leaping (stumbling) over holes and wading (crying) through more icey, muddy water. The next fence, I run at like a thoroughbred...and bounce off it like a beach ball. My fellow contestants to my rescue again! Pulling me to the top of the fence and helping me down the other side - happy and motivated once more. More running.

Through the forest I go, dodging knee deep muddy puddles as though I’ve a grudge against Peppa Pig. I'm feeling good as I approach the river crossing. Giving Tarzan a run for his money, I grip a rope and make my way across the river, and back, and across again. Freezing. But I continue and finally reach 'The Swamp' (Peppa has her day). The first half of the swamp goes swimmingly, however, the remaining half is plagued by bad decisions. Instead of patiently following the pathlike, shallow mud I decide to follow a couple of lads right trough the middle of the swamp, possibly adding minutes to my time as I try to suck my body out of the hoover-like sludge (Peppa is clearly laughing at me now). With help from my new comrades, we climb the ladder-like fence and continue the run.

I must be nearly finished. I can hear the music at the finish line getting closer. I feel like Rocky when he realises he is going to beat Ivan Drago. But still I am running. Boom. Another obstacle.

I crouch under the barbed wire and start wriggling to the other end. This isn't so bad, although my hands are getting colder in the surprisingly icey mud and my already bloodied knees are taking a beating from stones and other sharp materials camouflaged within the mud. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH. Is this finished yet? The lads keep me going and as I slowly, and carefully, get to my feet, I notice the ‘Shock of Horrors’ approaching. I make a run for it and sprint (and slide) through the electrically charged obstacle. I reach the other end! I’m alive! Great..another six foot fence...but no rope! Again, I rely on the help of my new comrades who help me overcome one of the last obstacles.

I keep running, leaping over holes and slipping down slopes and as I conquer the last ditch...I hear my brother-in-law and the rest of our 'team'. I'm nearly home! Run. Run. Run! I hurdle the haystacks and dive into the mud and water filled skips (thanking the Lord for the numerous runners who have gone before me, subsequently forcing much of the brown stained water out). I leap onto another haystack and as I hear my brother-in-law shout my name my right foot shoots down a break in the hay. My right leg is nowhere to be seen. “Come on Órla!” Let’s go! Out I pounce and away I go, limping over the finish line – I made it to Hell and Back...Alive!

So who's joining us for the next one?