What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Hurt Like Hell

I know this is long. Bear with me. To even accurately describe this event and the way it felt to finish would take me about 100,000 more words. I feel like I left so much out. Next week, maybe the video will give you a better perspective. And I apologize for the lack of photos, but those will go in the video, too.

I don't even know where to start. I can't remotely express how jacked up I still am about finishing the Tough Mudder. It was exactly everything I thought it would be, and more. I was muddy, I was wet, I was tired, I was cold, I was laughing, I was electrocuted, I was surrounded by guys with far superior athletic ability. It was like high school all over again.

But the most important thing is I made it out alive. I know some people that thought I'd only make it out in a body bag, but such was not the case. I'm bruised, I was bloody, and I've now hit a new level or soreness I never thought possible. This type of sore doesn't include cramped and tender muscles. My joints are fused, my tendons creak, and the pain resonates to my bones. But I can say I have never been happier to be so miserable.

The morning of the Tough Mudder I woke up at 7:00, strapped on my skivvies and ladies workout clothes. (Somehow, I end up in women's clothing for all sorts of public events.) I grabbed a coffee, a bagel, and a croissant in a feeble attempt to carbo-load. I hit the ATM for some cash and hit the road. I got to Vail Lake about two hours before our start time, which was plenty of time to prep. And by prep, I mean drink malt liquor. This wasn't smart, but it wasn't the worst idea. It definitely calmed our nerves. In addition, the mystery man from the preview blog ended up being two guys, and it was the two guys I so vehemently wished for it to be, so that pumped everyone up. We encouraged each other and hugged each other and taped our shoes on with hot pink duct tape. We made our way in, got our bib numbers written on our foreheads and arms, checked our bags and anxiously waited our fate.

The event, not race (more on that in about two minutes), was harder than I thought, in ways that didn't even cross my mind. In my estimation, it was about two-thirds up or down hill. My strength was adequate, my endurance strong, but when it came to going uphill, that's where I faltered. This gets hard on your feet, knees, hips...just your legs in general. The interesting thing is that my muscles, though burning for much of the hiking, didn't get sore. Now, the pain is in my bones, deep in my left foot and right hip. If I ever do this again, I'll be doing about 10,000 stair sets beforehand instead of running along the relatively flat streets of Santa Monica.

Before it all started, all the participants for our 11:40 wave time were corralled into a gated area and the hype man had everyone jumping and swaying and hyped up. I'm not big on hype men, but this guy really knew how to get his job done. The music was blaring and pumping through the speakers. We were screaming and moving and caged up like wild boar. He asked everyone to take a knee, and then asked those who served or are currently serving in the armed forces to stand up. We showed our appreciation for their sacrifice and hard work with handshakes, hugs and cheers. This was followed by the national anthem. Then Mr. Hype Man had everyone raise their right hands and repeat after him:

I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.

I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.

I do not whine - kids whine.

I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.

I overcome all fears.

Every line of the Tough Mudder pledge came true - though some whining did slip through. Ok, there was A LOT of whining. The course is designed to be grueling and mentally taxing. It remains in the back of your mind that some of these obstacles are there purposely to break you, or at least try to. And some obstacles cannot be completed without someone's help. It's all about helping each other and developing a sense of teamwork. Fuck your time. The Hype Man made it pretty clear that it's not about proving how much better you are than the person next to you; it's about proving how much better everyone can be than the course. It DOES NOT matter if you finish in two hours or eight hours. It doesn't matter if you finish first. The point is that you finish at all, and on your way you help others finish. Pick someone up when they fall; they'll pick you up when you need a hand.

Just before starting, Mr. Hype Man got everyone swaying their hands, jumping up and down while playing some sort of victorious music. Then there it is. Before you know it, you're off, headed up some dirt hill, coughing your way through some orange smoke and you have little to no clue as to how difficult the next four hours of your life will be.

It didn't help that the temperature never got above 50 degrees, the wind was gusting at some sort of MPH, and we were covered in either super cold water or super cold mud after the first obstacle, a half-mile into the course. It makes you stiff and numb, of course. But even parts of my torso were numb. Some of us couldn't unfurl our fingers. We had to cut the hands off of one guy's tuxedo morphsuit because he couldn't even use his hands. My sister had to use a space blanket to warm up between obstacles. I think I speak for everyone when I say I have never been as cold as I was that day. By the end I wasn't just shivering, I was uncontrollably quaking. After we finished the course, the beer was spilling from my cup because I was shaking so hard. A few of us won free beer tokens to be redeemed at the finish line, but we didn't bother cashing them in because we were so miserable. For anyone in this group to deny a free beer, it must have been a dire situation. It was THAT cold.

An aside: My throat did not handle the cold weather well. From about the third mile on I was coughing and wheezing, and the air stung with every inhale. Every exhale gurgled like a garbage disposal. This caused more problems than I'd imagined, and there were times I had to stop and the only physical discomfort was my sandpaper throat.

The camaraderie manifests itself pretty quickly. From the first obstacle to the last, words of encouragement are tossed about constantly, and there's a helping hand everywhere you look. There were times where I thought "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?"and "I can't believe I thought this was a good idea." But a supportive pat on the back or an extended hand were never on short supply.

I never seriously considered giving up, even when we were chilled to the bone and cut and battered. Even when we ran past our warm waiting cars, I never had the desire to stop. Had I brought my keys, maybe it would have been a different story. But we ran by the cars around mile 10 and there was absolutely no giving up at that point. Because, mentally, the hardest part was the first half. The progress seems minimal as you run past mile markers 1, 2, and 3. However, I paid 150 bucks to torture myself, so (again) there was no way I'd let myself give up. After reaching mile marker 6, the progress felt real, and from then on we always had less to go than what we'd already ran. Eight miles sounds pretty daunting when you're looking at it, but when you're looking back, it wasn't that bad. With four miles left I thought "Well, I've already ran four miles twice, one more won't hurt." With three miles left: "I've ran three miles three times already, another probably won't kill me." And so on and so forth.

When it came to the obstacles, for the most part, I was golden. They were more crawling than climbing, and the only ones I didn't complete were Twinkle Toes and Funky Monkey. I made it halfway across the balance beam on Twinkle Toes before I biffed it. However, it wasn't as bad as the guy that nutted it on the wobbly 2x8. And Funky Monkey, well, I just couldn't hang on. My hands were covered in mud and by some grace of uncoordination, I managed to skip a rung, thus rendering myself useless and forward progress impossible. Into the water I went. I believe three people on our team of 10 made it across, which is not a good ratio.  

One of those was Thomas, who I had originally thought didn't train at all, but was apparently the most prepared. I would later find out that in the months before the Mudder, he would dump buckets of ice water on himself and go on 10-mile runs through the mountains behind his house. This was evident as we lugged ourselves along and he stood there with his long, blonde locks flowing in the wind, looking majestic as fuck.

BG, one of the guest stars, seemed to also have a fairly easy go at it. He plays soccer three times a week and skates 10 days a week, so he was in pretty good shape. The rest of us had varying levels of training and it showed. Jimmy, the other guest star, had the roughest time. Poor guy showed up in cargo shorts and Vans that fell off while he was merely walking. But he made it, and he looked like a rock star when he finished.

Lest we forget electrocution. After much deliberation through texts over the days before, and some apprehension the day of, we got everyone in our group to run headlong through the live wires. Not only did everyone participate, but we linked arms, which, according to one Tough Mudder staffer, makes you a true Tough Mudder. The only way to describe the feeling of the shock is like getting punched. But it's a punch concentrated in a very specific area, and instead of flinching away from the source of the pain, you flinch toward it. It's just as... shocking, as you might think but at the same time, it was hilarious.

Andy and I fell after the last bale of hay and once we were through the mud, but we quickly got up, laughing, and gave each other a muddy little hug. We joined up with the rest of our team, who managed to not fall, and headed toward the end. With little fanfare, flanked by friends and family, we crossed over the finish line, relieved, giddy (maybe a bit euphoric or delusional by this time), and accomplished. We picked up our orange headbands, which can never be bought, only earned by finishing a Tough Mudder course. We got a space blanket, which did almost nothing warm us or shield us from the elements. And we got our beers. Shortly after our triumph, we were on our way to the hotel, with little more than wet clothes, mud, and a shit ton of stories.

It might sound cheesy, but it really did give us a sense of accomplishment. The orange headband was a little badge of honor that we wore proudly. I realized how much mine meant to me when I managed to lose it a day later. Luckily, it had just ended up in Chavz's bag.

The ten of us completed it together, and we did it for fun. Most importantly we helped each other along the way. And for a few hours afterward we just celebrated. We drank, and limped, and gambled. Maybe our heads were held a little higher, our posture a little straighter. We were proud, and there was no reason not to be. It might sound like drama or hyperbole, but this race is a beast, and it isn't something to scoff at. It was brutal, and the most fit of the jocks who were out there with something to prove about how much of a man they were still had to drag their bodies across the finish. But for anyone who finishes Tough Mudder, it's a confidence boost.

Even now, more than a week later, I still walk down the street and feel superior to everyone because I completed the Tough Mudder and they didn't.

It's not a mudrun, it's a mudFUN

I feel good. For all you grammar Nazis out there, it's not that I feel well and I'm using improper grammar; I mean, I FEEL good. For more than an hour on Saturday at the Rock'N Run, I was covered in mud from the neck-down. What does mud do? It exfoliates. I feel great. Go ahead, touch me. You can run your fingers along my arms – my skin makes puppies' ears feel like splintered lumber. I make babies' butts feel like sandpaper.

That's right, baby with future obesity problems and dog in need of a good ironing. You have nothing on me!

Look at me, talking shit to these two adorable creatures. That's what happens when you run 3.1 miles, some of it through mud, all while completing 14 mildly difficult obstacles. It makes you hard. Yeah, my skin is soft, but it's disguising my hardened exterior. I'm a man, I'm 27! If completing a 5K run doesn't make me Maximus Decimus Meridius, I don't know what does.

Really though, I'm five days removed from the race and the crippling soreness has finally subsided. And, I've come to some conclusions.

1. I am really good at climbing things; however, event photogs shit the bed and didn't get any photos of me climbing through mud, across monkey bars, over walls and cargo nets, or climbing a rope to ring a pathetic, plastic little bell (if an angel got his wings with that ring, he probably had some severe deformity). So, I have no proof, you'll just have to take my word for it.

2. I am not good at running. And I'm really not good at running up stairs, which we had to do three times. Up and down, up and down, up and down the bleachers in the Rose Bowl. This was my unraveling. I made it three-quarters up the first set before I had to slow my pace. The next two, I trudged up, hands on knees, sucking air, sweat dripping from my nose and chin. We were barely a quarter-mile in. So that's what I need to do: I need to run, a lot. I will also continue to climb shit, because it's fun.

But my pain and exhaustion quickly gave way to joy. I was like a pig in shit because I got to play in the mud. When I started the race, I was beautiful, pristine. Like a diamond in an Icelandic sunset. By the end I was covered in mud. I must have lost 10 pounds in water weight, but my clothes weighed 20. Photos, to illustrate...

That adorable little thing in the middle, that's my sister, Elly. And the Shrek on the right is her boyfriend, Sean. More on his biceps later.

I digress...The first obstacle was a belly crawl through mud with barbed wire looming dangerously above. At first I was like "EEEWWWW," but then I was like "WHEEEEE!!!!!"

(Please don't mind the watermarks, I can't afford to buy these photos. At least I got to 

them before they upped their watermark game and plastered it all over the damn things.)

Now, I said I was like a pig in shit, but that's only a half-smile. You ask "Why, Austen? Why only a smile?" Well I was waiting for Sean to make his way out of the mud pit and he had found some things that people lost. Here he is.

(Censored for your viewing pleasure)

Oopsie...

There he is! He was trying to give some bibs back to people who lost them. We should have kept them for possibility of free beer, but I don't think the beer tickets were still attached. And if I know my sister as well as I think I do, she's laughing at the rhino reference, but she's not entirely pleased that her mudbath didn't make it. So here's the obligatory shout out.

Cute, muddy, blah blah blah, she's happy now. Anyway, these pictures actually came from the second mud pit, and you can see how covered we are. The first wasn't quite as watery, but the gentleman in front of me decided he would kick through it, much like a swimming pool and splash all sorts of mud into my eyes, which stayed for the remainder of the race.

Speaking of eyes, I can't do shit if I can't see. One of the obstacles was crawling through dirt and hay underneath a black tarp, roughly 60 feet long. Elly did this with ease. I was sloth-like in my endeavors, taking more than twice as long as her, and was left with a mouthful of dust as punishment. No joke, I just spit dirt out. If you think you get dry mouth when you're hungover, try licking a sandbox.

Additionally, we had to jump into super cold water. This was just water, no ice, like in the Tough mudder. We still froze. It literally takes your breath away when you go underwater. Just jumping in is no problem. But you take a deep breath, go underwater and your chest compresses. You know there is air in your lungs, but it shocks you so hard that your body stops processing it. The blood flows from your limbs and into your core, but it's not enough. And when you're ducking underwater four times in a row, it's really quite awful. We came up gasping each time, slowly making our way to the end. I was lucky enough to be stuck behind one man who decided that urgency was not in anyone's best interest and he paused atop the ladder to get out. He took in the view. He snapped a photo. He picked his nose, analyzed his findings, balled it up, and flicked it to the side. He took his sweet fucking time and I was not happy. One quick shove and the problem was solved. He wasn't happy, but I wasn't in freezing water anymore. WHAT NOW?! Every man for himself, you dick.

Then I warmed up and I wasn't so mad anymore.

What I learned from the event was: running sucks and I suck at running; I'm good at climbing things and climbing things is fun; I need to talk to my cat about improving my eyesight in the dark; I need to take a lot of cold showers.

After the event, Elly, Sean, and I went to the Pasadena Yard House to drink another beer and reminisce. There were a few people there who had also completed the run and we would cheer and fist-pump and congratulate each other when we crossed paths. It was awesome! Teamwork! Camaraderie! Generally being badasses!

And then it all went to shit. This is where my "training" falls off course. The one free beer at the race and the half-yard beer afterward aren't a big deal. It's what follows...

I went to my parents' house to watch the Nebraska at Ohio State game. We drank beer and ate runzas during the game. Then Nebraska lost and instead of sitting around and bitching about it, we just drank. Some friends came over and drank beers with my dad. Then he busted out the expensive stuff. Then we kept drinking the cheap stuff. Then I went to a friend's house and drank more.

The next day, hungover and balled up with cramped abdominals, I watched RedZone, drank a bunch of wine and beer, and ate a bunch of meat and cheese. Therein lies the problem. A beer, or two, or three isn't so much a problem. But when that one beer brings a bunch of uninvited friends, my whole "eat healthy, be fitness savvy, run and work out" mantra derails. Any and all exercise was completely negated.

On the other hand, I still have a bunch of time to get my ass into gear and get in shape for the Tough Mudder. So I will gleefully procrastinate while you look at more pictures of the run, because lets not let them go to waste.

Seriously. Look at that bicep. Look at his arm as a whole. It's like my head. It's bigger than my head. It's a good thing I like him because there is no way in hell I could kick his ass. 

And there's my sister and I. Next, her climbing. I looked similar, except I was at the top and going all hunchback on the cheap-ass bell.

And here's the rest. One of the three of us. One of Elly because she's photogenic. One of Sean and me lifting her because we had to assert our dominance and show her who still makes us sandwiches. I'm lumping these all together because I am tired and I had to rewrite more than half of this because it was deleted somehow. LOOK AT US ALL MUDDY AND CUTE!!

 

This Could End Badly...

I'll cut to the chase.

Somehow, William Glenn Lopez convinced me that signing up for a Tough Mudder race to commence February 9, 2013, would be a good idea. However, I was not blessed with the speed of Usain Bolt, the agility of Arian Foster, or the mental fortitude of Lance Armstrong (say what you will about cheating, that man shat right on cancer's face). I don't have half of what these guys do, yet I've decided that I can somehow muster up the ability to finish this race. This could be a terrible idea. Hell, this is what I look like on a daily basis...

Clearly, not a portait of health, athleticism, or grace. I do love the U.S.A., though. Before I explain the lifestyle habits that will derail my "training," you should know more about the course.

The self-proclaimed toughest race on the planet, a Tough Mudder is 10- to 12-miles ran primarily through mud, with obstacles ranging from the simple to the downright stupid (read: deadly). These aren't just obstacles. I swear, some are designed to fucking kill you. The brainchild of Will Dean and Guy Livingstone, obstacles were designed by British Special Forces and designed to test your "strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie." Wonderful. All of the things I listed that I don't have. Scratch that; I've got the camaraderie. I'm doing it with the best group of people I know, but, lets face it, their lifestyles are probably worse than mine.

Take for instance, the Arctic Enema. It's not as bad as having a gallon of near-freezing water forcibly pumped into your colon, but it's still no dip in the ocean. Over the course of a weekend, event organizers use 70,000 to 80,000 pounds of ice to keep a dumpster full of 34-35 degree water. That's COLD. Most people don't even want their beer that cold. Remember when Jack told Rose that she shouldn't jump because she wouldn't die and she would just freeze to death and it would be even more agonizing? This water is that cold, but what really happens is...well, "it's like eating ice cream and getting punched in the balls at the same time," according to Nolan Kombol, Tough Mudder's head of course design. Your already-dehydrated muscles contract, you get brainfreeze, you become disoriented, and your testicles curl into your body so quickly they pop right out your nostrils. Will you look at this man's face? He is terrified. He's disoriented. And he had no idea where his testes ended up, but he can still smell them.

What about the Funky Monkey? That can't be too hard, monkeys are cute and I love climbing shit! Oh, are those bars go up at an incline and then descend back down? Above another icy pond? Lubed up with mud and butter? Guess I'm going for another dip. Hang on while I shrink-wrap my junk now.

AHHHH some warmth. The Fire Walker. With flames at least four feet tall, it will be a welcome alternative to the primarily frigid obstacles. What's that you say? Kerosene-soaked hay? Well that will probably quite smokey. I guess having lungs akin to a baby otter will not benefit my cause. Pause here for awwwuhhz...

Maybe they should be called awwwters?

I digress, back to my slow, agonizing death. As I defrost through the flames, I'll be sucking down carcinogens. Thanks guys, if you don't kill me by the end of this thing, at least I have emphysema to look forward to.

And last, but definitely not least, Electroshock Therapy. Alright, what the actual fuck? YOU ARE REALLY TRYING TO KILL ME. One thousand ...dramatic pause before momentary freakout... ONE THOUSAND live wires of varying length dangle over bales of hay, mud, and water. Some of these wires have 10,000 volts of electricity running...

Hang on, this is where the freakout goes. You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Some of these wires have 10,000 VOLTS OF ELECTRICITY RUNNING through them, with nowhere to go but your body. Think about it. Put a 9-volt batter on your tongue. It's weird, and kind of uncomfortable, but not unbearable in the least. Multiply that more than 1,000 times and do it again. Don't worry, I'll wait. I'll call emergency services. And besides, since when do electricity and water mix? Everyone, our whole lives, has told us that this is one of the worst combinations on the planet. Who are you sick people?

Look at THIS guy. He's far more a physical specimen than I am. And he's not happy. It almost looks like he's yelling to pump himself up. But no, look at his left hand. That's agony. Look at his left leg. No man with this physique would pop his leg like that on purpose. I bet if he could, he'd go back and punch those wires, but he knows better. Just get to the finish line bro, leave the wires alone. Don't worry, it's close...

Because this is always the last obstacle. The Tough Mudders never have the same obstacles at each race, but this one is a never-fail death trap. It's always last, right before the finish line, because that puts you close to the paramedics. When one of the live wires zaps you in the jugular and knocks you out, they can whisk your unconscious ass to a medical center.

Some obstacles aren't as bad. There's Walk The Plank, where you just jump of a large platform into a lake. There's Greased Lightning, which will prove to be the most exciting and easiest obstacle. Basically, Mudders (slang for race participants) go flying down a slicked-up mountainside on their asses, knees, or faces. I'm particularly excited about the Turd's Nest, mainly for the name because poop is funny. On the other hand, I'm not excited about crawling on cargo rope over barbed wire because it seems counter-intuitive to my health.

So now you know. Apparently I have just about 130 days to get my body and mind ready for this. I will need to run and hit the gym. I can't just run, I need to push myself. I can't just go to the gym, I need to change my work outs...and push myself. But all sorts of things distract me. I live within a 10 minute walk of four delicious pizza joints, a Mexican restaurant and a Krispy Kreme. Within 5 minutes are three Italian restaurants, four miscellaneous restaurants, a Panda Express and a cheese shop. It's a shop dedicated to cheese, dammit. The amount of bars that are walking distance...I can't even count them. I have video games. I have TV. I have a DVR. I have a couch and bed. I have sports to watch. I have every reason to distract myself, so here, I blog my successes and failures. Come along with me.

I start by doing the Rock'N Run this Saturday, October 6, at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. It's a 5K obstacle course and mud run. I haven't seriously trained. I haven't jokingly trained. I've ran four times. I've lifted just about the same. This will not end well.