Last weekend, I did Tough Mudder. Did you know that? I suspect you probably did – I’ve hardly been quiet about the issue (except perhaps the couple of hours immediately prior, when I suddenly realised just how scared I was). In fact, I reckon my harping on about the event has been borderline annoying. So.. sorry about that.
In case you’re unfamiliar with it, Tough Mudder is an endurance event (NOT a race – and the organisers are really keen we all totally understand the distinction) that happens several times a year around the country, and pushes people to their limits through a series of obstacles interspersing a challenging run route.
As the name might suggest, it’s pretty muddy. In fact, aside from immediately after the water-based obstacles, I think I spent the best part of three hours absolutely head to toe in mud. But it’s fine. Because it was fun. Which may sounds strange, but I will explain…
I was pretty nervous about doing Tough Mudder, it has to be said. So as the day approached, I began ferverantly seeking reassurance from friends / acquaintances / anyone in my vicinity who’d taken part before. Weirdly, everyone told me I’d be fine, and that it was no-where near as difficult as I was fearing. Naturally, I assumed they were lying / delusional / both.
But now, I get it. Because although Tough Mudder is tough (clue is in the name), you go round as a team, so have constant support throughout. And the highs WAY out-weigh the lows. Like when one of my happy little Merrell team performed a particularly undignified assault of an obstacle and became known as the slug. And when another team-mates’ ass became increasingly on show as a hilariously located rip in her leggings grew bigger and bigger. (She was wearing a thong. Crucial error).
We set off on our (worryingly ambiguous) “10-12 mile” jaunt in our matching Merrell tees and kicks, total mud virgins and chattering happily.
We ended disgusting, smelly, and extraordinarily excited about the extremely bogging three showers between 50. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything so beautifully rewarding. Wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole in London, though…
It wasn’t until I got on the train that I realised how tired I was. That night I slept like a baby. Million percent going back next year.