The mud was inescapable. It wrapped its thick tentacles around your feet and waist, shoulders and arms, even up to your neck and hair.
It didn’t matter where you ran, the mud found you. It only made sense to accept the mass for what it was: an unavoidable nemesis.
It didn’t help that Tough Mudder, the fast-growing obstacle series that tests individuals in physical and mental challenges, shuttled in countless gallons of the substance on to the course for good measure, but that’s what this event was all about anyway.
Getting dirty.
And challenging your preconceived notions of what was physically possible to endure.
Over the last three years, Tough Mudder has become a vehicle for physical pain. The Tough Mudder company went from just three events in 2010 to 35 just two years later, with stops all across the world. In 2012, 460,000 participants joined in the fun. In the process, the company donated more than $4 million to the Wounded Warriors Project, a foundation that is recognized before each event.
The race, which isn’t timed, has become a vessel for team building and a melting pot for strengthening relationships. Weekend warriors head out the door nearly every Saturday and Sunday of the year to participate in the series, which has individuals run 10 to 12 miles, jump off 15-foot platforms, dart through electroshock wires and climb 15-foot walls.
It’s also fun to participate in. That’s a big reason why Harrisburg Young Professionals (HYP) stocked an eight-man team in October in West Virginia to take part in the Mid-Atlantic Tough Mudder.
Organized by HYP running club chairman Luke Sheaffer, the team was comprised of Hannah Walsh, Nadya Chmil, Bryant Siegfried, Adam Drake, Jeremy Gatens, Quyen Dao and this writer.
The group gathered in West Virginia for the race, which just earlier this year had endured its first tragedy: 28-year-old Avishek Sengupta died after jumping into a 12-foot pool of cold water.
But the prior distress seemed to inspire those competing. With each member of the group entering the race with varying schedules and fitness levels, finishing the course became a rallying point.
As the field set off toward its journey, the group organized itself by tagging numerical units to a person and crying out those codes after each obstacle.
“The system of calling off numbers to account for everyone was something we came up with as we did the race,” Sheaffer said. “It gave us peace of mind knowing we had an easy way to keep together.”
We smushed our faces to the ground for the first time at the Kiss of Mud, an obstacle that saw us crawl under barbed wire that progressively lowered. While there, a sense of foreboding overcame me if only because—if this was the beginning of the pain, what would be the end?
Sheaffer and Gatens, who wore matching, military-style cargo pants and HYP T-shirts, popped up from the obstacle as mud statues, the substance caked onto every part of their body.
Sheaffer waited for each team member to finish before beginning the chain of command.
“1,” he called out.
In progressive fashion, the group followed like a military unit.
“2 … 3 … 4 … 5 … 6 …7 … 8.”
And on the event went, our feet wading through mud at every corner, before we were met with Arctic Enema, otherwise known as a tub of really, really cold water.
The day was brisk, nearly 50 degrees with mild gusts of wind. As my feet hit the tub, there was a moment of emptiness before complete shock pulsed through my body. I waded through the water, immersing my head over a partition, before ejecting out of the tub, seemingly frozen to the core.
This is what Tough Mudder does. It asks you to dive in without warning and forces you to come to terms with fears. But it also teaches you to respond, quickly, without much thought.
Five miles into the journey, after more endless mud, we were met with the Electric Eel, a watery pool with dangling electrical wires touching the surface. Siegfried snaked through the obstacle as if it were a Slip’N Slide. Gatens muffed and hawed as he slithered through the charged waters.
Walsh hummed and groaned with every muscle-jarring shock. Sheaffer cackled near inches from the finish as a jarring volt of electricity throttled through his buttocks.
Less than a quarter-mile later, we were met with the 15-foot Berlin Walls. The only way around was over them. And it was here where teamwork began to make a difference.
“This obstacle, more than any of the others, told me we could count on everyone for help on whatever the Tough Mudder had in store next,” Sheaffer said.
The captain hopped to the top and proceeded to lend a hand to those below, acting as a booster for those with difficulty reaching the top.
The group pushed through each mile and each obstacle, using grit and determination to mend off physical duress and mental anguish. The mud—that was simply an annoyance.
In all, the Mid-Atlantic course featured 25 obstacles and 10 miles of draining long distance running. Thousands of competitors layered the course. A team from Virginia Military Institute carried the school flag through the entire course.
One competitor completed the journey with an artificial leg. Countless others overcame obstacles in one way or another.
The last hazard, which is the cap to every Tough Mudder, put the team face-to-face with Electroshock Therapy, a 10-yard zone with dangling electrical wires.
Knowing nothing else stood in our way, we rushed onward, only to find the most pain we had endured all day. Gatens was shocked so hard, he stopped halfway through on a barrel of hay.
Chmil toppled to the ground with another gigantic jolt. And Walsh face-planted at the finish upon meeting a rush of electricity on the last dangling wire she encountered.
A few moments later, with just a quarter-mile to the finish line, Sheaffer did one last role call to finish out the day.
“1,” he panted. “2 … 3 … 4 … 5 … 6 … 7 … 8.”
Find out more about Tough Mudder, including 2014 events, at https://toughmudder.com.
