Sunday, May 13, 2012 will go down in history as the day I climbed over a very, very tall wall. Well. Actually it was closer to 4 very tall walls. The walls were all so tall, I needed help from those around me to get over them. But that isn’t the point. The point is, for close to 5 hours I faced every single physical obstacle known to woman and I got through all of them. Just like the 1500+ other masochistic souls who participated in the PA series of Tough Mudders did. It was a thrill.
When I think back on all that I did. The ginormous tub of ice water– a mere 3 obstacles in. That thing in itself was enough to send a more sane someone pacing the exact opposite direction. For me, standing up on the landing to the tub was easy. It’s easy enough to stand and look at anything you’re about to do. Even the jumping in was easy for me. I had no idea how cold it actually was. I haaaaayyyyyyte cold. But I was like, whatever. To get to the other side I have to go through this tub. So on the count of three… 1, 2… I decided I would tell myself 3 and go on 2. I remember the crunch of the water as I entered it. Then the darkness underneath. I popped my head up through the thick crust of ice, about to panic from the cold. Yes, I had to submerge my whole self in the icy water again to get under the thick piece of wood keeping me from the rest of the tub AND the exit. It was too cold to think. I remember being under the water and not knowing if I was past the wood part or stuck. I forced my head up through the ice. I saw the ladder. It took every ounce of my will to crunch and wade through all that cold. After I climbed out of the tub, I remember being so cold I couldn’t remember what was supposed to come next. Do I run it off? Not. I couldn’t feel my legs. I walked it off, finding my way back to my bearings. Let the mind fuck begin.
Mind you, the first two obstacles were a cake walk. Crawling on my stomach through thick, stenchy mud and barbed wire and then climbing over waist high wooden hurdles is nothing compared to running through the mountainous Poconos terrain. I came to understand quickly that my treadmill training was bullshit. THIS. was the real deal. I also came to understand that I wore the exact wrong running shoes. I wore the lightest, most breathable shoes I own– thinking they would at least dry quickly in the wet and mud. They did. They would have been fine in a marathon. But the points and jagged edges of the rocks I strode over, made for an uncomfortable pace from obstacle to obstacle.
What I did get to take in was the beauty of the mountains and GOD’s literal glory everywhere I was. It was such a dream to take in the birds, the beautiful trees and plants, and the gurgling of the many streams. If I weren’t “mudding” it, I certainly would have enjoyed a slow stroll where I was. I had to jolt myself back to task. My shoes wouldn’t be the reason I ended this. I had 11 or so more miles to conquer.
I didn’t mind climbing up and jogging down hill more times than I care to count. I had no issue with snaking through water with electric charged wires hanging over every place I could see. I didn’t mind lugging a 30 pound log on my shoulders for about a half a mile or even the 15 foot drop into a lake of still cold mountain water and then having to try to jog soaking, soaking wet about a mile to the next feat of conquer. My favorite obstacle was running through fire. OMG. It was daunting to come up to. But the fire was what I was there for. My entire purpose for being in the mudder to start was as my own symbolic fire walk. I wanted to have a culmination of my journey thus far. I wanted to say I’ve been through so much already and now I’m ready to test my resolve and endurance. I am ready to let my past be dust and my presence forward to be that of a champion. Running through that fire, I was a champion. Too bad it was only about 5 miles in.
To be honest, the 25-30 obstacles in and of themselves weren’t really that difficult. They were challenging to be sure, but they didn’t really test much for me besides the doing of them. What makes the Tough Mudder actually difficult is being exhausted by about the midway point and finding oneself a bit annoyed that there is still so far to go to be done.
http://youtu.be/vh5HdPM_QuE
I remember that thrill I felt getting to the 10 mile mark and going “I’m almost done! I’m just about there!” And there, in the last 1-2 miles left were THE MOST obstacles to champion through. And the hardest ones for me. The monkey bars were daunting because they were over a pit of cold water and they were slippery and I forgot my gloves in my bag. It burns me a bit because I saw myself getting to the other side. I was so gangsta about it, I put my feet up and attempted to monkey climb my way across the bars. No dice. The obstacle Nazi police volunteer shouted, “NO LEGS”. Shit. My arms weren’t strong enough. There were luggish guys who couldn’t stay on those bars. As the slow motion fall into the cold water happened, I remember thinking I’ll do more push-ups and pull ups next year. The same thing happened at the rings. It was the same set up. Except this tub of water below was this murky green color. I thought I had it. One ring… okay I got two… do I have to swing to catch the third? Swing, squeal, splash! By this time my 2 layers of quick drying “under armor” was just plain ole wet. We trudge on. Pfff.
The obstacle that should have been easiest for me was the balance one. The one where we walk across a thin, water warped plank of wood, also above a tub of chilly, murky water. What do you mean? I do yoga. I have balance for weeks. I got this joint. Almost… splash. I’m pretty sure my annoyance with cold water sank in right there. Then there was the mud tunnel thingy that wreaked, the tube thingy partially submerged in water, a few mystery obstacles and so, so, so many more that are a blur to my psyche right now.
All the stuff that required climbing was a breeze. There were people everywhere to help. I think that’s one of the reasons I absolutely loved doing the Tough Mudder. The camaraderie for everyone to finish was literally everywhere. There was a guy who let me literally step on his back to hoist me up a wall–a group of them actually. Believe it wasn’t because I was pretty with mud coming out of my ears and nose. It was because we were all there for the same thing–to finish. And it’s part of the rules.
What was a wee bit distracting for me was the lack of colored folk in the thing to start. There was a part I filmed before I checked my bag where my actual first out loud reaction was “OMG Black People!!!” It was a group of 3 or 4 Black guys waiting for their start time. Imagine you’re walking through an outdoor event where every single place your eye rests, you see virtually no one who looks like you. I remember thinking at one point that I simply couldn’t be the only one. In my heat, I was the only one. Except for the guy with the mic with his DMX-esque voice, getting us riled and ready to begin. It wasn’t until maybe mile 5 that I saw a few other coloreds of the “Black” variety actually in the thing. There were quite a few Asians, a smattering of Hispanics. With all the mud, it’s hard to decipher folk ethnically, but still. For the entire 5 hour trek up hill and down, in mud and out, through water and falling myself in it, I saw not one sister.
There was this kindof charming white girl I befriended briefly who kept calling me “sistah” as though it were the “down” thing to do. After about a mile or two of hearing “that’s what’s up my sistah” and “I’m with you my sistah“, I’m fairly certain my knee gave out on cue and I let her run up ahead without me. I’m still not sure if that was on purpose.
I think the point I’m making here is that while I’m exceptionally proud of accomplishing my Mother’s Day Mudder, there was a fire lit under me as I was able to make sense out of all I went through and with those I found myself going through it with. I got to see teams of people working together to get through some of their fears, phobias, weaknesses and limitations. I saw a man, clearly 200 pounds overweight, over 40 and walking the course if only because he told himself he would. I saw people helping each other over walls–particularly my army of one self. People were there as I took my running start with their hands out to grab onto mine and pull me over a seemingly impossible skateboard ramp-like obstacle. I saw the true spirit of what Tough Mudder represents–comradeship, team work, tenacity, empowerment, fearlessness, endurance, athleticism and the check-your-whining-at-the-door mental space that is required of ALL champions in life, on the obstacle course OF life.
I didn’t see hardly no Black folk. AND I saw zero black women except for me. Could there have been a few? Sure. But I didn’t see them in the 5 hours I was chugging along and I got to see loads of different people because I was slow as molasses. While I went into the race fully aware I was doing it alone–and even though I wasn’t truly alone– not seeing anyone who looked like me, made me a little ornery for all my “sistahs” I know would be awesome at this. And also for those I know that would benefit in life from the experience the Tough Mudder represents by way of success in ever-y-thing.
For me, navigating my way through the Tough Mudder, slow as I was, as seemingly unprepared as I was, having to rely on perfect strangers to help me places I couldn’t reach, was the exact metaphor for the ingredients of success in my business and in all the ways I plan to succeed in this awesome life I’m crafting. It was hard. It was a complicated mind fuck. It was exhausting. At the point where my legs finally said “whoa nelly!” and I was literally forced to walk the rest because my knee wouldn’t let me run another step, I could have stopped and let one of those go cart thingys pick me up and take me to the finish. But I didn’t. My goal in entering the Tough Mudder was to finish. Even if I had to crawl. I was going to finish. I was an army of one, but I didn’t walk around acting like I was so dope I didn’t need any help. I humbled myself to the course and I humbled myself to my peers. When I needed help, miraculously, help was always there. Most times, I didn’t even have to ask.
Imagine if we “coloreds” were to truly embody in our daily lives what I experienced in that Mudder. Imagine if we let competition fall away and truly saw each other as comrades working toward the same goal–being #Awesome. Imagine if we truly began to see our peers as they are, a divine connection strategically placed in our path so that we all can benefit from each other’s abilities, strengths and even weaknesses. Imagine if we believed in full spiritual glory that we are all designed to finish this race and we’re all put on this planet to make sure every single one of us does. Imagine a world like that. Sure, there were people who ran past me because they were in pace, BUT, if I had a dime for every time a perfect stranger said to me, “We’re almost there!” “Don’t give up!” or “You okay?” or “You can do it!” as I was limping along in my sloggy pace, I’d be a congillionaire by now.
Imagine for a second that the only way to learn this exact mind frame is to participate in a Tough Mudder at some point in our lives. Imagine the level of accomplishment we would reach daily. Imagine what that would do–effectively–to that dastardly “crabs in a barrel” mentality some of us can’t seem to shake. Mind blowing right?
When finally I heard the music which gave me the inkling that the finish line was soon to be in my immediate sight line, even though my right knee and foot felt like they were about to fall off my body if I even thought to dare to pick up the pace. Something in my spirit would not let me tramp to the end of this journey like a turtle. From somewhere deep in my soul, I mustered the strength to break into a brisk jog. It hurt. It was a limpy run, but I made it to that last stretch, finish line clearly within reach. I raised my head, straightened my back, forgot about whatever was behind me and focused exactly on what I wanted. It didn’t even matter that I was tired, hurt or that I was alone. It didn’t matter that there was no one there to cheer me on or that no one I knew was there to see me do this. It didn’t matter that the two layers of starch white “under armor” I wore was forever stained Tough Mudder brown, or that my person was covered to the bone in mud, cold, sweat, and wet. It didn’t matter that I was probably an hour or more behind the heat I started with. All that mattered was that I finished what I started in Queen fashion. I ran through the pain. I ran through the tired. I ran through the cold and wet. I ran through what I left 12 miles behind me and everything that has happened in my life before that. None of it mattered in the moment I was in.
I remember looking at all the yellow wires hanging down to the ground in a dense, wide, long patch. Those electrically charged wires were the only things keeping me from my goal. In a video I had seen the toughest, most physically fit men twice my size being dropped on their tukkus by wires just like those. No matter. Drop or not, I was reaching my goal. I picked up my pace and ran through them with my head up and that big, black blow up finish sign in my sights. I ran through the final obstacle, the exact way I started. An army of one. Funny, I didn’t feel a thing running through. The only thing I really remember after that was high-fiving the only “colored” I saw in my heat after I climbed over that first wall at the start of the race. He was the Emcee. I’m not sure if he remembered me, but I remember he had this quiet compassion in his eyes as I joined the lot of finishers before me. He said, “Great work sistah.” I nodded, holding back all the tears that wanted to pour out of my face. I looked at the only person in that moment to congratulate me for my accomplishment. I looked him in his eyes, mustered an exhausted smile and said “thank you.” In my head what I meant was, “Indeed, brothah. This is why I came. To finish.”
I can’t even tell you what it meant for me when they put that orange Tough Mudder headband on my head. It was my gold medal. It was my torch of fire. It was my solid proof that though the life I’ve lived has tested every ounce of my everything– yes, indeed, I am one Tough Mudder.
The moral of this story? This time I actually have one. Extraordinary results, require extraordinary measures. Check out www.toughmudder.com and see if there’s a mudder coming to your area. Go at it alone or put a team together. If you want to remember who you are, the stuff you are truly made of, and what the #Awesome in you actually looks like– go on, get your Mudder on. Plus, it’s for an amazing cause. Tough Mudders benefit the Wounded Warriors Project. At some point in our lives, we can all acknowledge that we too are warriors of life who have been wounded in battle. Thank you for reading this. Peace and abundant “I’m one Tough Mudder” blessings, Love, -e-
All endeavor calls for the ability to tramp the last mile, shape the last plan, endure the last hours toil. The fight to the finish spirit is the one… characteristic we must posses if we are to face the future as finishers.
~Henry David Thoreau
