You will enrich your life immeasurably if you approach it with a sense of wonder and discovery, and always challenge yourself to try new things.
~Nate Berkus
When I first started running, I often had thoughts like, Sure, I made it through this race, but I could never do that one. I felt like I wasn’t fast enough, thin enough, or dedicated enough to be a “real” runner — one who could finish a full marathon or be wanted by a team for a relay race. But with each new race I attempted, my confidence increased, which propelled me into seeking out more challenges. Soon, I began doing things I said I could never do.
One of the races I originally thought I could never do was a 13-mile obstacle course race (OCR) called a Tough Mudder. OCRs are essentially the marriage of a race course and an elementary-school jungle gym. Racers interrupt their pace to do things like swing across monkey bars or climb up a cargo net. Many of these races are marketed as being “created by Special Forces” or “only for the toughest humans to complete.” That can be a tad intimidating for someone like me who started doing short races simply because my friends were doing them — and there were free bagels at the end.
Despite my hesitation at attempting a Tough Mudder, I considered it when my friend Gina asked me to do one with her. I had met Gina years before while training together for the marathon I said I’d never do. On our longest training run — a 20-miler — she witnessed me splitting my pants open and attempting to tape them back together in the aisle of a mini mart seven miles from my car. One tends to stay friends with someone after sharing such intimacy.
Gina and I had similar approaches to exercise (inconsistent and bagel-driven). So when she invited me to run a Tough Mudder with her, I agreed. I always like to find someone similar to me who has completed something and not died. Gina had already finished one Tough Mudder the year before, so that was enough for me to believe I could do it, too.
I joined Gina’s training team, which included a couple of personal trainers and a few former Marines. I assumed a crew like that might either whip me into shape or wash me out in a hazing event if they felt I couldn’t hack it. Either way, I trusted their judgment.
The team’s plan was to run together on the weekends while simulating scenarios we might encounter in the Tough Mudder. According to race reviews, that could involve mud (obviously), water, jumping off high platforms, and even electrocution (mild shocks just to add a little excitement). To paraphrase one race reviewer: “The worst thing those electric wires will do is shut down your body and make you lose control of your bowels. Otherwise, you’re all good.” Hmm. Hopefully, we wouldn’t be training for every scenario.
When we finally got to the start line, we were told to sign “death waivers,” which was nice and reassuring. Soon, the announcer signaled the start, and we ran toward our first obstacle — submerging ourselves in icy water. Why did we pay to do this again?
Then we proceeded through about 24 more obstacles. We jumped over ditches of mud, only to land on more mud, which immediately made us fall into — you guessed it — mud. These Tough Mudder people really knew how to hammer home a point!
We carried logs. We climbed hay bales. We low-crawled under barbed wire, resembling a pack of uncoordinated lizards. I had a head cold and was reduced to wiping my nose with a banana peel at one point at a refreshment stop because there was nothing else non-muddy to use as a tissue. This race is where vanity goes to die.
One obstacle involved squeezing into what resembled human-sized bendy straws. I inched myself through one, my face following some stranger’s rear end ahead of me, and my mind filling with questions like, Am I claustrophobic? Why didn’t I ask myself this before I got here? One of my teammates got wedged into his straw and had to be helped out by his girlfriend. We would all lose little pieces of our pride before the day was done.
At one point, we leapt off a high platform into murky waters below. The website said it was “15+ feet high.” Fifteen plus what? Ten more feet? I thought, viewing the world from the ledge. But I leapt dutifully anyway.
Then I realized immediately what a long pause it was.
Just me. Hanging out in the air. Falling… still… falling… What did I just do?
That’s the thought I distinctly remember having right as I let out a strangled scream halfway down. Later, I told people that, in retrospect, it’s the thought we all should’ve had right after agreeing to do this race in the first place if we’d had any sense. But, eh. You live and learn. Or you hope you live anyway.
At one point, I was separated from my teammates and found myself planting both my hands on the backside of a perfect stranger in front of me to help her up a muddy mound. That moment illustrated one of the best gifts of that race: Everyone helped each other. Yes, we were gross. Yes, we were tired. Yes, we all questioned our sanity. But we were in it together. We all chose to push ourselves and take on a challenge. We all chose to do something out of our comfort zone in order to feel more alive.
Four-and-a-half hours and several scratches and bruises later, my team finally ran together across the finish line. Besides being grateful that none of us perished, I was deeply grateful for the experience all around. I had finished another race I thought I wasn’t tough enough to do. Now I had amazing memories of an adventure I was proud of. And I had earned more confidence and willingness to take on future challenges — in running, and in life.
Perhaps, most importantly, I had earned the right to eat multiple bagels.
— Dana Ayers —