Mudder Mudder, Peanut Butter

My alarm is set for 7:30, but I wake up at 6:00. Searching the fridge for suitable breakfast fare turns up a tortilla with a teensy bit of butter. I’m torn. Do I carb up, or do I eat light so as not to feel heavy and over-full? I decide not to risk it. Puking on the trail sounds kinda icky.

At the Shaw’s, I find a happy medium with half a wheat bagel and peanut butter. By now I have my Mudder shirt on, a compression top that highlights all of my bumps and rolls. Yuck. As everyone tapes their toes, brushes their teeth and signs the Tough Mudder waivers, we watch old episodes of Saved By The Bell on MTv2.

Finally, it’s time to go. We’re chatty and lively on the way to the grounds. Parking is horrendous. People are parking directly beneath signs that read, “NO PARKING ANYTIME”, and others are being bussed in from the San Bernardino airport. We take the risk and park by the side of the road.

After checking in, getting our numbers and having them written on our foreheads and arms, we congregate on the stairs, where we take a few pictures and contemplate the hours of pain and suffering we now have ahead of us. Meanwhile, teams in any costume imaginable are trotting by. We see a crew of Ron Burgundys, complete with stick-on mustache and wigs. A platoon of bumblebees, and more military than I can count. Closer to out start time, we check in our bags and begin to stretch. Already the first few mudders have crossed the finish line, wet and exhausted, having earned their orange bandanna.

Standing in line to get to start, it dawns on me that I am about to do a TOUGH FUCKING MUDDER. What the hell did I let myself get dragged into? I’m about to jump into ice baths and mud pits and all sorts of other tomfoolery. People are walking around me in stars-and-stripes speedos and short shorts, sporting six-packs and arms the size of my torso. Meanwhile I’m using my number label to hide my pauch. My compression shirt is doing me no favors.

Before we can cross the start line, we need to scale a 10-foot wall. Once on the other side, we are told to take a knee. There, the Master of Ceremonies reminds us why we are doing what we’re about to do. We are doing it for those who give everything they have to protect the freedoms that are given to us by simply living in this country. For those who went overseas to defend us and never came back, or left part of themselves there, never to return as whole and hale as they were when they left. For a moment, I look down at my shoes. My old, worn, first pair of running shoes. They are the shoes that carried me through countless miles in the sheriff’s academy. This is their last run, their last jaunt before I give them a Viking sendoff to the shoe gods. I think of the wives, husbands, sons, daughters, fathers and mothers, who send their loved ones off to war and prayed that they would get to come home. Some did. Others were not so lucky. As they play the national anthem, I am assured once again that I’m about to suffer for a worthy cause.

 We cross the start line at an easy jog, not wanting to spend all our energy too early. This proves to be a wise choice as we quickly begin a steep ascent up the side of the mountain. Already beads of sweat run down my face, bringing with it the ink from the number scrawled on my forehead. After walking up the mountain (THAT SUCKED), we had to double back and go back down. The decline proves to be just as crappy. The hill is soft, the sand is dry and our shoes sink to the ankle with every step. I resort to crab-crawling a few times rather than risk flying headfirst down the mountain before I finish a mile. Once we get to the base, we encounter our first obstacle, the arctic enema. A creative word for what basically amounts to, “Hey guys, let’s jump into a giant ice bath”. Without giving it a second thought, I jump in. the water comes up to my chest, and I instantly go numb. In the middle is a giant flat board, with only two inches of space between the wood and the surface of the water. We are expected to dive underneath to get to the other side.  I take a few quick breaths (I sound like I’m doing Lamaze) and completely submerge myself into the freezing brown water.

I can’t see, there is water in my ear and there is ICE IN THE WATER. As I make my way to the edge I hear, “I got you, I got you” and I’m hauled out of the water by my teammate, Jensen. My whole body feels like its being poked and pricked by needles, but I am now full of adrenaline. But not for long.

Other obstacles are not as challenging. The kiss of mud (dragging ourselves through muddy water under barbed wire) proves easy for me; I am small enough that I can crawl without fear of touching the wires. Same with the boa constrictor, where we are made to crawl through muddy pipes. It is the inclines, walking up and down the freakin mountain that is getting to me. One incline is so long; once we get to the top we can see the entire valley of Big Bear below. One girl comes up the slope weeping, her teammates pat her back and assure her she is done. I don’t feel near tears, but I don’t blame her. I spent the entire climb either hunched over or on my hands and knees, refusing to look up to see how much I had left to climb or to look down and see how far I was from level ground. As we stand at the top and wait for our teammates, that’s when I see him.

A team of young men, presumably military, wearing nothing but black shorts and vibrams, come trudging up the hill. One of them stops to adjust his right leg at the thigh, but instead of flesh and bone leg, there is a prosthetic jutting out from beneath the fabric wrapped around his thigh. He is in impeccable shape, and shows only the same level of exhaustion as the rest of us.

As the day wears on, I am becoming more and more aware of the sun baking my shoulders, face and legs. The water and mud has long since washed away any sunblock. My lips are dry and burning. But as we pass each marker telling us we have passed mile 2, then 3, 4, etc. we force ourselves to ignore out burning skin, our aching limbs and the mud caked around out shoes. I have to skip the diving portion because I am a lousy swimmer, and I would rather not be a burden to be dragged through the water by my teammates. No matter. They end up doing that later anyway.

At around mile 6 or so, we come upon a huge, manmade pool surrounded by black tarp. We are to stand at the top and slide down into the water, about 30 feet below. Looking down, I see that several other participants only have their heads bobbing above the water. Oh, SHIT. I insist on at least three teammates going ahead, and beg them to stay at the bottom to catch me as I come down. I take a hold of Lisa’s hand, and together we slide to the bottom. Right before we hit the water my anxiety gets the better of me and I let out a shriek, taking in dirty water in my mouth, up my nose and in my ears. I’ve let go of Lisa. For half a second I have no support, but right away several hands reach out and pull my head above water. Omar and Matt support me between the two of them, assuring me that they’ve got me. Underwater, my legs kick uselessly, unable to find the bottom. It must be obvious that I’m freaking out, because other mudders sitting on the edges of the pool assure me that I’m okay. Once I reach the edge and can stand, I make my way out of the pool and we wait to move on.

By this point, the only time I run is on downhill slopes. Every time we turn a corner and find another incline, I die on the inside a little. Finally, on the second-to-last descent, we can hear the MC and the music from the starting line. We’re almost there.

Twice on the course (not counting the one before the start line) we encounter the Berlin Walls, a set of two 12-foot high wooden walls. While a 6-foot wall is easily manageable, a 12-foot wall is, for many of us, impossible. This obstacle, more than any other, encourages participants to help each other out in order to get up and over to the other side, regardless of what team we are on, what uniform or costume we wear. The camaraderie is heartening.

Unfortunately, the Funky Monkey and Hanging Tough (basically monkey bars in one obstacle, hanging rings on the other, both suspended over muddy water) both show my limits when it comes to my height. Even with a shove from Christy, the second ring is still a foot away from my reach. Someone on the sidelines shouts, “JUST JUMP IN!” and I am more than happy to oblige. Same with the funky monkey. While my teammates hang in the air above me, I wade my way to the other side, already feeling the end of the race.

At Everest, we run full-tilt towards a quarter pipe (muddy and wet, natch) and basically throw our arms up in hopes that a good Samaritan will catch us and haul us up to the top. Three of the guys go first, and then it’s my turn. It’s easier than I thought, but I still only manage to give one hand before I sink like a dead weight. Matt has my right hand, and for a second he’s the only one holding onto me until Jensen grabs my left. I contemplate letting go and falling when I see the strain on Matt’s face as he struggles to lift me up. After what seems like an eternity, I finally make it to the top. One by one, the rest of the team runs up the pipe and is hauled to the platform, except for John.

That morning, John had told us that he would be wearing his Vibrams for the mudder, shoes that he had only worn once before. By the time we got to Everest, he was feeling every step he had put in. Still, he soldiered on, forcing himself to finish though every muscle in his legs were screaming in protest. At the quarter pipe, he tries repeatedly to get to the top, to no avail. We find him on the sidelines, catching his breath. Cory, Matt, Ernie, and Omar are still at the top, waiting for him to give it one last shot. Finally, John makes his way to the starting point, and runs towards the pipe. He makes it just enough that they grab him, and they struggle for a bit while we cheer him on wholeheartedly from the sides. Finally, he makes it to the top.

Just before the finish, there is one last obstacle: Electroshock Therapy. I dread this. I don’t like electric shocks, and my mind immediately goes back to the taser and how awful it was. But we are just feet from the finish line. I have no choice. Without stopping to think, we run headlong into the obstacle, a setup with ropes holding electric shocks. There is water below in order to carry the current, and a bale of hay in between. I can feel every shock. Each one feels like a hard fist being driven into my tired, doughy, sad little body. I have a metal bridge in my mouth, and every shock carries into my teeth. For one wild moment, my brain screams that all of my teeth are going to fall out. All I can concentrate on is getting the hell out. The ropes give my teeth one last shock before I throw myself out of the obstacle, screaming obscenities at everyone and no one. I turn, and see the last of my teammates push themselves through the ropes. The shock (pun intended) and dislike of the obstacle is evident on their faces. Once all nine of us come through, we take each other’s hands and cross the finish line as one.

It is over. We are done.