I did the Otley Run sober

I think certain things in life are quite unappealing. These include activities such as being stabbed, and having syphilis.

And quite frankly, I would rather stab myself in the eye with a syphilis-covered spoon than do the Otley Run sober ever again.

Just taking a photo of myself to pass the time (obviously I was the first to arrive).

I’ve always been completely uninterested in doing an Otley Run. The point of it, for those that live under a rock, is to trek a couple of miles with about 17 pubs in between while getting more and more drunk.

But, if you don’t drink, then it essentially just becomes a long walk – I may as well have just taken a bus from Headingley to Leeds.

Just a water for me thanks.

But before you shake your stick at me asking why I would do it sober in the first place, I’ll answer. [1] I don’t drink, never have, and currently have no intention of starting and [2], as Editor of The Tab Leeds I can’t not turn up to our own Otley Run social.

Put both things together, and you basically have as much fun as selling beef burgers in a Hindu temple while reading The Gryphon.

It’s not so bad at the start – everyone’s on roughly the same level. Eventually though, as everyone around you gets more and more beer-filled, you seem more and more awkward, and you start to question why you didn’t just stay home – kind of like a pig in a mosque.

It’s hard to not look bored when you’re the only one not pissed

Obviously however, in order to try and not look too bored, I had to keep having drinks. This led to me storing what essentially felt like West Yorkshire’s water supply in my bladder.

It also led to me consecutively breaking the world record for the longest pee about 8 times in a row. My penis was well and truly shattered.

After all the awkwardness and peeing stages, you eventually get to the final stage where everyone is so pissed they imagine eating oats at the same time and calling it the ‘oatley‘ run – and somehow find it the funniest thing ever heard, unlike me.

At this point, I realised that they were having an awesome time.

Time to leave.

To put things into a metaphor, if you equate their time as fun as smearing honey into Kiera Knightley, my level of fun was basically being shafted up my arse by a non-lubricated horse cock.

My penis had never had so much fluid gush forth from it and I was being metaphorically bummed.

This is when I left.