“I’ve gotta get myself in gear for Tough Mudder,” Stef says with heavy breath as we launch ourselves up Grouse Mountain in record time – I’m dry heaving.
The week before Stef and I had been driving up to Squamish to camp and we were listing off all of the exciting adventures we each had going on this summer. I remember thinking her list was significantly longer than mine, including tough mudder, Pembie and Squamish Fest. Not even breath after she shared her list, I felt a rumble in my tummy – an aching in my soul, a deep desire to extend my summer wishlist.
(fear of missing out)
There is was. It was a living, breathing being in my gut. It unpacked it’s suitcases and called my heart a home, and wasn’t going anywhere until i gave it an eviction notice. How did I do that?
By signing up for Tough Mudder Whistler of course.
One week out, and the most expensive registration fee later, I was driving up with Garrett and Stef to run 19km, through rugged mountain terrain, hurling myself over and through obstacles, just to get a beer and an orange headband after crossing the finish line.
(Please note, in below photo we had absolutely no idea what we were in for.)
You’d think, you did it for a beer and an orange headband? Well, not really. The orange headband didn’t really matter so much, aside from it being the only clean thing I had once I finished. But the beer – you have no idea how hard you start craving a cold beer during Tough Mudder. After what feels like you’ve joined a tribe, fighting for survival in the wilderness, and the mix of sweat and mud is the only thing your body knows, you want that beer. It’s all that’s on your mind.
I know, I know. I’m super classy.
Seeing the dangling electric wires, hot and charged over the piles of mud, we knew that’d be all we had to cross before we got our hands on that beer. So we grabbed hands, looked each other in the muddy eye with a fierceness I’ve never witnessed, we charged those wires. Almost immediately, one smokes me in the head, causing me to trip forcing our hands apart, and my face lands straight in the mud in front of me. “STEF!!!” I shriek, as I try to stand, being constantly shocked by wires and having the utmost difficult time making it through those final four feet. While it must have been entertaining to watch, I was fully electrocuted. A “Danger! Danger! High Voltage!” kind of experience. As I crossed, I saw my partner in crime and good friend, crushing a cold beer. The stench of mud lingering strongly in the air, I’m handed my very own cold one, and I know it was all worth it.
But would I do it again? Hmm, that one’s up in the air. I’ll stick to more easily accessible cold beers for the immediate future.