Its a beautiful thing when mud mixed with water on a hot baking day and having thousands of people trample over its surfaces. What would one call this? A stampede? Quite possibly. A riot? Almost there. A breakout? Certainly!
But I call it Tough Mudder!
It was my second time at such an event and my golly it did not let down its namesake.
It was baking out, literally 90º+ all weekend made for a scorcher nonetheless. For this year’s event I had assembled a team of great misfits together to tackle such a feat as this. Misfits we are, finished we did.
For most it was their first time, actually only two of us have done this before. So they were all in for a treat!
So we made headway borth to Gunstock and boarded a few buses, waited in a few lines, had numbers drawn on our persons in case we become inoperable, and proceeded to start with the mayhem!
The turnout for this event was phenomenal. The creators really paid tribute to the Boston bombing just over a month prior. It showed they had spirit and heart.
The idea of this is that it’s not a race, its a team event where you’re only as good as the man next to you, making sure every Mudder finish.
Camaraderie. That’s the idea. This year was more brutal in endurance over the long haul than last year. We all had good progress, the 12 of us, but inevitably it was my own body that would be the downfall. By mile 8 my left knee started wavering. My defeat near. I kept pushing onwards, to finish, if not with my team, then to finish.
Your mind plays tricks on you, especially in the hours of defeat. But I persevered, I managed to oull my ragedy body over the electrified wires, over the mud pits, over the tree stumps. I finished. Boy that beer was ever so sweet at the end.
The ender was great. My team celebrated, we had our Dos Equis lager, grabbed our shirts and headband and enjoyed, rejoiced and weren overall elated.
During the course I vowed to never do it again. Now as I write this, I’m planning for next year already. You could say: Once in the mud, always in the mud.