Three years ago, I was rash enough to take part in a Bath Rugby pre-season 'Strongman' training session. In a moment of folly, I thought it would form the basis for a good feature.
There were sandbags to be lifted, sleighs pushed, tyres to be flipped, people to be wrestled. Your usual journalistic assignment, really.
Within 25 minutes of the session starting, I'd been ordered off the circuit by a conditioner everyone other than me called Gorilla, and scrum-half Scott Bemand was pointing me to the fire exit so I could throw up discreetly outside. That was until a guffawing club physio turned up with a camcorder and filmed me bringing up my Weetabix.