Five Lessons I Learned Training for Tough Mudder

I was clinging by my fingers and toes to a gravel covered ski slope called The Cliffhanger when I started weeping. I was only halfway through one of the biggest challenges of my life, Tough Mudder 2012. A 10-mile race with 21 obstacles that have been designed by British Special Forces. I couldn't do this. I was crazy for trying. All I could think was

“I am so outta of my league.”

I wept for a few seconds then started choking on dust and lack of oxygen. We were at 6,800 ft altitude on the side of a mountain. Normally, I live at 16 ft altitude 8 blocks from the Pacific Ocean. I reminded myself: don't cry—breathe.

As a child, I knew when I died, I'd probably be buried in a piano box. The fire brigade would show up at my trailer and cut me out of my bathroom where I had died on the toilet of a massive heart attack. I was on my first diet at eight, and was officially morbidly obese by the time I was 14.

Great description—morbidly obese. I hated those words. It literally means deathly fat. I was in Overeaters Anonymous for a while and I did the fearless moral inventory which included a tally of all the major weight losses and gains in my life. I had lost around 1,250 pounds, and gained around 1,450 pounds in my lifetime. In 2006 I completed college. I had gained all my OA weight back and was pushing 330lbs again. I looked into a gastric bypass. I binged during the months before surgery and reached 360lbs by the day of surgery. I lost 180lbs by 2009. Then I gained 20lbs, and plateaued out at 200lbs. I knew I had to quit fighting myself and the scale. I had to focus on being healthy.

Long Beach had a Roller Derby League at the time. They offered open team workouts, so I went. Kim B., the woman leading the workout, is a champion gymnast and Crossfit competitor. She has college degrees in physical education and training. I decided to attend her Badass Hour at a local park. I showed up, feeling like a donkey at the Kentucky Derby. Everyone was dressed in tiny shorts and skintight capri workout pants. I was in baggy sweats and a huge cotton t-shirt.

Lesson One: Buy good workout clothes. Crappy couch wear doesn’t work. It hampers your movements, hides your achievements, and the spandex helps hold stuff down.

I cringed at the sight of these toned sweaty people. It was hard to throw down my yoga mat in front of my classmates for the first time. No one belittled my efforts. They stood and clapped when I made it back from the running circuits. No one ever complained when I took longer to finish. I got countless high fives. Finally, I realized the only ugliness was in my head. No one noticed when I lowered out of plank, paused to catch my breath, or tripped on my own shoelaces. They were struggling with themselves.

Lesson Two: You’re only competing with one person—you. Don’t judge yourself against others. And BE NICE to yourself. Even thinking nasty self-criticizing thoughts weakens you. Fight back. Reply to your inner critic. Be your own advocate. Healthy brain=healthy body.

I had moments of fear and shame all the time. Fear that I if I box jumped onto a bench I’d trip and knock my teeth out, shame that I couldn’t jump rope without tripping every 15 reps or peeing my pants just a smidge around 50 reps. I remember during a circuit throwing a jump rope and stalking off to compose myself. I cried in frustration. It was so hard to be a beginner, and to struggle to master skills I should have mastered as a child. The next day I bought a jump rope.

Lesson Three: Always wear black or highly patterned pants. When you hit the ground hard, you will most likely pee your pants just a little. If you don’t-you’re not trying hard enough. You will get a manky sweaty butt stripe. It happens—get over it and keep going.

Kim told us there was a challenge coming up. Tough Mudder: 10 miles, 21 obstacles. My friends at class told me I could do it. I attended Sunday workouts. I worked harder than I have ever worked in my life. Kim would tell us what we would do during the workout. I snorted and would laugh.

“Okay. Sure.”

And then I would proceed to do it. I would do it and do it hard, and I was amazed every time. The first time I climbed an 8-foot wooden wall I squealed in fear. I would have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been consumed in trying not to fall. My friend Brian was at the top of the wall with me grinning, and giving me thumbs up. I dropped to the other side and was euphoric.

Lesson Four: Don’t assume you know your limits. You are way more awesome and dynamic than you give yourself credit for. It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to laugh in disbelief, but it’s not okay to not try. Push yourself—be your own superhero.

I was more terrified on the day of the race than I had ever been of anything in my life. I’d worked my butt off to get there. I’d never done anything like this before, and when I had told people I was doing Tough Mudder they looked horrified. We started up the first obstacle/hill, lovingly called the Death March. Everyone pulled ahead. I was slogging toward a churning dust cloud of people lighter, stronger, and faster than me. And that was how my day went. Falling further and further back.

After weeping four times on the Cliffhanger, I eventually made it to the top. There I decided there was no way I was walking off this course. I wanted my cheesy free t-shirt, and horrid orange headband. I crossed the finish line with the last two competitors on the field, 2.5 hours after my team crossed. The bands and crowds had gone home. The beer garden was closed. The parking lot was empty. My husband sat on a big rock near the finish line, with my friends. He hugged me hard.

A week later I was sitting at a coffee shop with my yoga girlfriends. I was talking about how disappointed I was with being last, how terrified I was of the water obstacles, and how mad I was at my workout crew for telling me I was ready. I was a mess!

My friend Alyssa shushed me. She took me to task for undercutting my achievement, for comparing myself to others, and for not considering all the people who quit mid-race or didn’t even show up. She assured me that I had been out of my league, but then she told me something I think of every time I think I’m out of my league.

Lesson Five: Always play out of your league. How will you get any better if you don’t challenge yourself?