Mud Warrior... Misfit Mudders Make Their Mark

The excitement built, the fear climbed, the friends were roped in. Finally the day arrived, a fantastic Saturday morning. The sun was in the sky, the bacon on the griddle, the driweave fabric stretched over my dimpled behind, and the excuses circling in my head. All alone in the kitchen, conversing with the dog, asking advice how I could convince the near dozen people I excited about this day that I had come down with a rare, highly contagious disease that would prevent me from wallowing in the mud with thousands of other people. My magnificent mutt only offered a sigh of discontent.

Before I realized it, we were on our way. Meet a few here, meet a few there, sign a waiver, grab a t-shirt, and pose for a few clean before pictures. “Everybody hold up a 4-0 for Jen,” someone shouted. A menagerie of people all united for an afternoon, a challenge, a celebration, an 8k with 20 obstacles through the mud. We were all thinking, what were we thinking, but over the hill we went.

The finish line, the starting line, the 50 foot slide all began to appear. We needed more photographic documentation, A PYRAMID! We quickly knelt and climbed and spotted and smiled and created a people pyramid to be proud of. Really, who else did that? We were amazing, we were different, we were the misfit mudders. We got the safety shpeal, saw a few surprises and sprinted off for the first up hill battle. Around the flag and down the hill we ran, dancing through tires and diving into the mud, army crawling under barbed wire. Up again and off running through the woods.

It seemed like miles, but was more like feet when the burning from the barbed wire scratches on my neck became nothing compared to the burning in my thighs. The pack thinned out as the teenage boys sprinted into the distance and the middle aged women fell to the back of the pack. Up the hill we went, over the crest and another incline appeared. Each twist and turn seemed to get steeper and I felt as though I might vomit and my lungs seemed to shrivel up in revolt.  Just as I thought I’d quit I heard, “Come on, you can do it” and I felt as though I had a chance. Just as I could not make another step, a teammate in front of me needed a gentle hand and I could reach out a little further. As one fell back, another encouraged, as one caught a cramp, another caught their breath. We balanced each other; not one was ever the last, not one took the lead.  Eventually, we reached the top of that mountain.

We found the energy to jump and cheer and actually run down the hill and through a mass of swinging tires. We encountered other obstacles but challenged each other to run a little further and jog a little less between them. We balanced over beams, struggled over hurdles, swam through a mote, climbed up through mud, and coached each other up and over the walls. The team moaned and screamed and laughed and smiled and before we knew it, we were sprinting and leaping over fire to the final obstacle. One by one we slid 50 feet into a pit of mud and crossed the finish line. WE DID IT!

Clicking through our photos, all I can do is smile. Without each and every one of the people that shared this experience with me, I may not have made it. I may not have endured. I shared some of my most intimate, near failure moments with this group. Each one of them encouraged me and the other members of the team. Each one of them allowed the team to share their own moments with them. Thirteen people came together and shared an ultimate challenge.

It was a challenge that may have been out of reach for any of us individually. Together we conquered it. We conquered it without judgments, without criticisms. We conquered it with undeniable synergy, spirit and teamwork. Thank you, misfit mudders, you were amazing beyond my expectations. You have made a mark on my soul and I shall never forget what together we achieved.