Mids climbing over fellow Mids. A sea of sweating bodies, slick with lard and glistening in the summer sun. Time and again, forming a second tier on one side or the other, sometimes managing to link arms, only to be brought down as another Mid attempts to climb to the next level. The base is tiring. The hoses are to cool the Mids in the blazing sun but instead add to the mud that was once thick green grass surrounding the base of the granite mountain.
Footings give way and the tower of flesh slumps again.
An hour passes with still no perceptable progress. Each fifteen minutes, the official timekeepers sound the quarter hours with another cannon blast. Each time the resolve deepens. Not to be outdone, the ladies of the Class have been in there from the start. Every now and again, one can be seen climbing into the frey.