It was a couple months back, over a glass of wine… the girls thought it would be a good idea to raise money around the Tough Mudder taking place on Mt. Snow on July 14th. My thought is, and remains, “If somebody is going to do something for our Foundation, then I have a personal obligation to participate,” assuming I am in town.
So I found myself driving up I-91, dreading what I was going to put my body through in the next 24 hours. While I am mostly up for anything, subjecting myself to voluntary torture during the dead of summer is not one of them. I also took skydiving off my list, as well, as one day I just up and decided I am no longer interested in jumping out of perfectly good airplanes.
We made it up to Mt. Snow and got settled in the house that was so graciously donated to the LIPF Tough Mudder team for the weekend. (Thanks so much to Arielle and the Verinis family for being so generous!) I trained as much as one who could when voluntarily signing up for light torture, which likely would not even be condoned by our government for the purpose of interrogation. I think some of the obstacles could technically qualify as waterboarding.
The morning of, I was filled with apprehension—I really was not looking forward to what I was about to endure. But your word is your word, and people got together and raised money to see us get our asses kicked, so I’d be damned if I let them down. First thing I did was hand out the T-shirts I had made for the event. The girls immediately decided removing the sleeves and cutting the crap out of them was the right thing to do. So here I am, slowly trying to take my arms off at the seams. Meanwhile Jenny, Ashley, and Jeane are already wearing their sleeves on their heads.
I finally acquiesce and end up tearing off one of the sleeves—the shirt was perfect. We then applied the LIPF tattoos that LB had made to our left shoulders. Tom was smart enough to recognize that while we didn’t have rubbing alcohol, that Kettle One would make a suitable replacement to begin adhering them.
Once that was done, it was time to man-up and make our way to the start. Primal chanting and grunts were hidden behind a wooden wall. Apparently, the first obstacle is just getting into the damn starting area. I think 99.9999% of the people were pumped up to be there. I was the 0.0001% who was thinking along the lines of, “Things I would rather be doing at this exact moment in time…”
We are released like raw animals from our cages and do a spirited jog all the way up, until I realize it’s time to hike a diamond all the way. I don’t mind flying down these things covered in snow the opposite direction. Trying to run up them mid-summer? Yeah, not so much. We make it to the top. Giant achievement. Go me. Oh wait, it’s time to turn around and now just walk right back down to where we started to the first—really, second—obstacle, which coincidentally, I could have reached if I had just made a right when we started and not have had to hike up that ridiculous incline.
I turn the corner, and there she lies. The first (really second) obstacle: the old Arctic Enema… I could not think of a more appropriate name. A quick dip to hypothermia, and we were on our way. The rest of the day progressed like this: either walking up a steep incline, or trying to slow yourself from falling down the mountain, to a dark hole, electrical shock, a plunge into dirty water, or some combination of all three.
Every time the mud was rinsed off, it was immediately followed up by a new layer of mud, dirt, or sharp rocks finding their way into places they should not be. I didn’t whine all that much. In fact, I got real zen-like for the most of the challenge. My head was really wrapped around the fact that this was something David would really have enjoyed. I could almost imagine him next to us, just adding his little one-up-manship, and found myself thinking about where I probably would have beat him and where he would have beat me.
When I was exhausted, I thought to myself, “He would be three steps ahead, grinning, thinking he was going to win,” and I dug deep and pushed through.
By the 10th mile, it was a matter of numb. We had seen quite a few injuries, but the LIPF team had held it together, and surprisingly the two teammates we had pegged for some sort of injury were cooking right along, as well, with limited bruising.
As we approached the final obstacle—the well-known run through a forest of exposed wires—I grabbed the hands of my three other teammates. We counted it down and just hauled ass through. I felt the sting and pops of the current hitting us… we were clear.
In the end, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Secretly I would actually do it again, but don’t tell Jenny because she is already trying to plan another one within the next three months. But what I learned from this is that your head can really fuck with you, and regularly does. You are more scared of the actual possibilities of what could happen or what something is going to feel like, only to find it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. In fact, the pain was mildly soothing in a way in that your suffering was the by-product of your perseverance.
We get in our way many of the times, and had I not had Jenny, Ashley and Jeane with me on that little trek, I would likely had bowed out or skipped a few things. It was their confidence in me, and me in them, that allowed us to plow through and finish the course in a little over four hours. It reminded me, about every 1/4 mile or so, that when the going gets tough, call a friend and lean on somebody when you need it. They’ll lean back on you when they need it. In both cases, there is satisfaction of being able to help somebody out and also being helped out when you needed it most.
It was a great day. I just wish we weren’t doing it as a result of David killing himself. I wish he had been right there with us, ’cause this was just the type of thing that reminds us that we are, in fact, alive and can overcome.
