Village Tales: The Heatwave Heptathlon

by Nina Watson

It was a hot and sticky Friday in June, the kind of day where moving seems illogical and a warm breeze is a welcome reprieve from the muggy weather. It was also the kind of Friday that saw many of the Mapplebottom residents enjoying a juice cleanse, squeezing in a gruelling Pilates session with their personal trainer or trying to pour themselves into a particularly tight pair of spandex shorts. Tomorrow morning was the annual ‘Hep Pep Heptathlon’, and this year the competitive spirit running up to the event had become slightly out of control. Perhaps it was something in the water, but the members of the Mapplebottom community had always been known for their dedication to a village competition, and their sabotage tactics this year had been incomparable. Pam and Andrew Turner had stolen the screws from Wendy and Michael Shelting’s tandem bicycle, Madge Greene had slowly been replacing Susan Hornslade’s protein powder for ground up Yak’s horn and Fiona Port had even begun to secretly sew wheels into the bottom of her trainers, just so she could whizz by Jane Appleby in the 100 metre race! Of course this was no ordinary Heptathlon with ordinary events, Mapplebottom had added their own flair to the mornings events. The Heptathlon was to proceed as follows; a 100 metre running race, five rounds of Morris dancing, a leisurely cycle twice round Farmer Yarnslow’s field, a speed stitch of six pairs of socks, a fierce three minute game of Pooh Sticks, the legendary wheelbarrow race to the village hall and finally the harshly judged dance routine that all entrants were asked to prepare prior to the event. Perhaps the most anticipated day on Mapplebottom’s social calendar, this years Hep Pep Heptathlon promised to be an incredible watch.

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The competitors were approaching the halfway mark of the race, and many of the entrants had turned a perfect shade of puce, while others were beginning to lag further and further behind. It was 35°C and sweltering, and the judges were starting to regret allowing the racers to compete in the Heptathlon, in the desert formerly known as Mapplebottom. 

The makeup that Pam Turner had applied to ensure she looked fabulous as she won was slowly melting down her face, Wendy Shelting was wheezing her way through the sewing challenge and Fiona Port had given up on her third round of Morris dancing, and was instead proceeding to shake her tambourine from her foetal position on the floor. Although considerably withered, no entrant had tapped out of the Heptathlon so far, and morale was only being increased with every strangled cry shared. Perhaps none would finish alive, but at least they could all take pride in the knowledge that, for a short while at least, they had finally used the sauna that was complimentary with their £100 gym membership.