We've big shoes to fill. Last year was one for the record books. 'Holy Ghost Party', our team moniker, finished Tough Mudder in spectacular fashion. Our meter read of speed, strength, motivation, and teamwork was one that broke the needle.
Now Kyle is gone. We’re missing his nitrous burst of energy. His exciting drive. It’s contagious as all get out. Little wonder why he signed up for the military. And then there’s Zach, another major player. Always answering the call. He moved away as well. Who's left are Nick and me. We have the wonderful privilege of adding Ian to our team.
'HGP' was tight-knit. We all lived around the same general area. Met often. Trained ferociously. Most importantly, we were crushing it on the side of camaraderie. But with Ian being consumed with college and moving back home in the summer, months before Mudder began, things would not be the same. Nick was hit-and-miss as well. A constant schedule shift. An upcoming wedding. Life. Even Tough Mudder got bought out by Spartan. What do we do with all this transition? How do we maintain and or move forward within the frights of the unfamiliar? With the things we cannot control?
Control. Perhaps the leading cause of trainwrecks when change comes around. We can either roll with it or strive desperately to keep it from doing so. Check the record though, change is a long-standing champion. And anxiety and despair are the trophies awarded its overconfident opponents. Things will certainly look different for us this year. We must train for different, lest there be casualties of the kind aforementioned.
Nick and I get together when we can. Ian is upstate keeping it real. He even won a 5K! That's 6 miles less than what we are about to do, but still a step in the right direction. Solid legs and good cardio are heavy hitters in this game. Unless you're one of those who walk. Let's go ahead and laugh at that.
Months turned to days on the lead-up to our event. We begin ramping up the workouts. Literally. Part of our routine involves a local hiking trail through the river bluffs of Peoria. A ten-mile run up and down 18 hills, only walking the flats, makes for a master formula. Those are killers! Killers are what we strive to be on the battlefield.
We are ready. Is Ian? This is new turf to him and getting dirty is not his forte. And while I'm pretty sure he understands Tough Mudder involves lots of mud... I know he can do it. This is gonna be fun!
Finally. Finally, the day arrives! My family and I overnight at a motel not terribly far from the event. We leave at an hour I assume sufficient to arrive in ample time. Alarming, is the pipeline of cars leading into the parking lot. A serious clog! If the starting gun goes off and we're not there... not sure what they'll do. Don't really wanna find out either. The thought of wasted time, money, and effort is slightly daunting. And the other guys? A text reveals they’re experiencing the same scenario.
We make it in. Drop off our gear and snap a few pre-war pics prior to hitting up the staging area. Take some time to stretch out. Before we know it, we’re on our way to the starting block. Here comes the ceremonious slew of "Hoo-rah"s and alternative sermons to pump up this Tough Mudder entourage. Our MC/Hype-Man is top-notch! This intensity is indeed tangible. Face the flag. Sing the National Anthem. Honor the soldiers on and off the field. Another round of "Hoo-Rah!"s for good measure. Start the countdown…
The gun goes off and we fight to get to the front of the pack. We're halfway back the heap, scrambling to get there while sticking together. Sweet is the spot where the crowd thins out and we can finally pick up the pace. It’s a brief stint before we catch the heat who’ve gone before us. The walkers. "Good work!" we shout. But we don't really mean it. Now we're peeling off the obstacles one, two, three.
Whether it’s climbing wooden walls, scaling muddy banks, hefting sandbags, or swimming; we’re doing it. Together. As one. Even aiding strangers in the process. Running nine miles at a race-to-win pace proved to be the most challenging. I turn to Ian at one point and ask, "How you doin?" "Good" he replies. "Tired?" I ask. "I've been tired. Let's keep going." This is what I like to hear!
We get iced. Electrocuted. We plow through everything Tough Mudder throws at us. That's the beauty of training, I gather. Next year I'll focus more on my calves. I'm 5 races deep and they've cramped on me every time. This round, however, was equipped with an extra set of knives. Thankfully, they waited till the race was just about over.
Hey, it's not all about winning per se. Then again, maybe winning is much greater than a single event. Perhaps this event is simply a signature at the bottom of the letter detailing everything it took for us to get here. We trained harder and longer with no one watching. Now we get to put it all on the line.
Last year we were 'Holy Ghost Party'. This year needed to be something new. I saw so many around me making decisions to settle down. Become better domesticated. Deceived into believing we're too old to be adventurous anymore - conjuring up cute little excuses to state their case. It irritates me. I feel like we still have so much to offer. And I don't mean that in a way that's exclusive to athletics. Anyway, that's where our name comes from. 'Guns for Hire'. Yeah. I like it!
We set out to do something hard and we did it together despite the obstacles that presented themselves both on and off the field. And to be seriously cheesy, 'That's what Tough Mudder is all about!'.
Thanks for listening!