I Signed my Own Death Waiver

Posted on May 24, 2011

(or, “it seemed like a good idea at the time”)

The last thing I recall is vowing –“never again, really , truly – Never Again…” but even as I thought the words and even as I heard myself speaking them I knew it would happen again.          Finish-itis is not a Scandinavian cocktail, it is a scientifically proven, evidence-based and statistically accurate description of the mind shift that takes place in the hours after crossing the finish line of an endurance event.

The Tough Mudder.  The Orange Headband.  The Death Waiver.

Once a series of disjointed syllables, now these are a part of my life vernacular.  With the best teammates a gal could ask for, I signed up and completed my first Tough Mudder in May.  Billed as the “toughest event on the planet”, I thought – “yeah right, great marketing, but – how hard can it be?”  Lesson #1. They really DO write your race number on your forehead.

Aside from signing a death waiver to participate in this event, we paid for and willingly ran/walked/climbed/scaled/scooted/scootched/shimmied/jumped/vaulted/swam and dragged 10 miles up and down Mt. Snow though some of the most grueling obstacles known to regular Joes. In the mud.  And snow.  And muddy snow – with rocks. With snowmaking machines aimed at us. And fire hoses.  Can’t forget those.

7500 participants on Saturday, 5000 more on Sunday, and this event is repeated across the country and internationally throughout the year. The experience became real somewhere between crawling through a set of water filled tunnels and feeling my chest tighten up while hanging onto a rope crossing an icy river.  You see, I had already forgotten the previous point where it became real the first time:  the one and a half mile “Death March” STRAIGHT UP a black diamond ski slope which pretty much starts the race.  It’s the slowest mile I ever clocked.  (oh yeah – no times are posted at Tough Mudder.  Just get to the finish as best and as fast as you can, and make sure you do everything you can to get those in front of and behind you to the finish also)

It was immediately clear that good old grit it and git er’ done attitude would have to prevail, because there was no form or rhythm to be found on that slope – just ice, snow, mud and slippery rocks.  Did I mention slippery rocks?  **Props to us!  We left a lot of people (read: guys) in the dirt.  Literally.  Just powered past them.  Cool.  Just to be clear, there was no elation at the time, but later, much later, when the dirt and blood has been showered down the drain…you do recall the small victories that kept you going at the time.  This is where those really motivating signs started to appear:  Remember:  You signed a DEATH WAIVER.

Kerri, Sarah and I took a moment to savor the view from the top of the mountain – it was remarkable to look down and see thousands of people starting or continuing their ascent.  Until we realized we had 8.5 miles and dozens of obstacles ahead of us.  We climbed under cargo nets and ran through mud filled tires a la NFL training (seriously, not too tough) We shimmied through tunnels partly submerged in freezing water.  (pretty lousy, and  the freezing water  and slashed knees offered a taste of what we would encounter next)  Slogged up a few hundred feet of elevation, back down again through ankle deep mud – and did this four more times until we found ourselves holding onto  ropes for dear life when it came time to cross a river (or was it a fiord? A lake?  I don’t recall as the FREEZING COLD WATER obliterated my thinking ability for the next four minutes.) Glad I was numb, because the razor wire I had to crawl under next didn’t really bother me much at all.

I was happy for the chance to run a bit as we crossed the lateral mountain trails.  There were these haunting little red arrows pointing the way…like fingers wagging saying “I told you so!”

And then, they pointed upward.  Not really toward heaven, but more like upward toward a tantalizingly beautiful Mt. Snow hell.  Really.  So we climbed because no one dares OFFEND THE ARROWS.

Up, up, up, up.  Quads are screaming, sneakers are squeaking and man, what I would give for an ounce of water and half a banana right now.  (Another sign. Not like a sign from God – but a real sign with words:  “Danger – many people will break an ankle on this obstacle.  Proceed with Caution”)  And there it was like an oasis in the desert – a water station.  And a HUMUNGOUS pile of wood.  As in, a heap of logs of all shapes and sizes.  The next obstacle involved selecting a log (10-15-20-40 plus pounds, I’m sure) and carrying it up and then back down a super steep stretch of the mountain.  A woman looked at me as I surveyed the pile – she had completed the obstacle and she shoved a fairly even shaped log at me: She whispered “Here, take this **ing piece of wood away from me.  Please.  It’s a good one.”  I accepted the offering and headed up.  You had to dodge people who slipped and fell as they could easily take you down with them.  Yes, I fell.  A lot.  Carrying a log.  Up a mountain.  Down a muddy, rocky, snowy mountain. Which, I reminded myself, I paid for the right to do.  Really.

So we ran some more.  I learned how much I really like trail running, and how happy I am that I retained both of my shoes in the gluey mud.  And how cool it is when you are about to fall off a cliff, that some stranger below you on the trail sticks out their hand and shoves your foot up so you don’t break your arm – or theirs.

So there were walls to scale, nets to climb, mud to embrace.  I can’t even describe the VERY STEEP AND ICY snow mountain we had to scale which was created for the event.  Really.  I just can’t.  I learned that scaling an icy slope isn’t as tough as getting back down.  I also learned that I can endure cold.  (but I still hate it)  Honestly I think my epiphany happened at the point when we had to dip under progressively lower bars across what looked like a tar pit.  I’m positive had we looked we would have discovered mamoth fossils under our feet.   And yet there I was with Sarah and Kerri – emerging from an icy black mud bath – laughing and celebrating the moment.

Not much time to celebrate because the FAT LADY WAS ABOUT TO SING.  It was time to walk the plank.  Ok, so there is a sign as you approach the platform:  “Caution:  The water is 40 degrees.  Do no attempt if you are not prepared.”  Kerri and Sarah ran by me and each climbed up the rope to the top of the …wait for it…20 foot platform suspended over the ICY COLD MUD LAKE.  (so I have to be honest here.  I thought jumping off anything would be the least of my worries, especially after watching recent episodes of the Biggest Loser goes to New Zealand – everyone…everyone….bungee jumped, bridge jumped or otherwise threw themselves off insanely high platforms.  This was 20 feet – no big deal, right?)

Kerri flies by and off she goes – splash, (man…it really took her FOREVER to get back to the surface!)  Sarah is right behind her and she is smiling as she takes her leap…SMILING…and I …I …I …get to the ledge, make my deal with the devil and I…stop!  Then I approach the edge and I …stop!  Sarah and Kerri were just too cold for me to seal the deal.  The safety guy at the top tries every motivation he can offer to get me to leap but I…climb back down the rope.  Sigh.  Next time.  I never looked back and I did not feel like a failure.  Cool.

And off we ran.  We needed to keep moving.  Back through the trails, up and down, over trees, through streams of icy run off.  I just don’t understand why I was having so much fun in my misery.  Clearly I was on the older side of the demographic.  Carrying a few too many slices of cake in my trunk probably didn’t help either.   But man, if you don’t count the bloody mess on my knees, the sawdust in my right ear, the rock in my shoes and the soaking wet  clothes, it was a great feeling so far.  The end HAD to be getting close, we had been on the mountain for hours.

Follow the arrows, follow the arrows…more hiking/running and another set of obstacles was just around the corner.  The funky money bars is a set of bars that peak at the center, elevated over – guess?  An icy pool, silly.  I made it to the third bar and landed in the water – not at all prepared for the heart stopping frigitiude that came over me.  The big guy still hanging on over my head was deciding whether to hang or fall, and I was stuck where I was until he decided.  Thank goodness I could take a few swim strokes forward until a helpful hand yanked me out – looked at my pupils, decided I was still alive and shoved me off to the next obstacle.  It was a Blood Bath.  Really.  It was called the blood bath and for the rest of my life I can say I swam though a pool DUMPSTER of blood red ice water and came out the other side.  Dripping red water and picking ice cubes out of my hair and shirt.  Cute, eh?

What we needed next was a team  of tall and willing folks to help us over the 12 foot  walls. After realizing we were freezing and fatigued as a trio we opted for” injury avoidance”, moved past the walls and raced toward the finish.  There was a little more running, a dash through acrid smoke and smoldering fire walls, hurdling over large pipes with metal protrusions toward a water slide.  Not exactly Six Flags people.  Unfortunately my unintended slope of choice was the mogul run so instead of a moment of speedy fun  I feared for my spine, smashed into some rocks and managed to  make it to the end where we …guess..were immersed in a pool of freezing water.  A quick dash to the finish and only a mad dash though a gauntlet of wires poised to deliver 10,000 VOLTS OF ELECTRIC SHOCK stood between me and the coveted ORANGE HEADBAND. 

The volunteers angels of mercy at the finish line hugged, head banded and beered (I just made this word up – figure it out) every TOUGH MUDDER.  We got our t-shirt, nutrition and a foil blanket and our super support gal Megan met us with high fives and a camera!  It was almost four minutes before hypothermia started to kick in, and my teeth nearly broke as they chattered with cold, my beer nearly jumped out of the cup and the fire I was standing in front of nearly caused blisters but could not get me warm.  But that’s another story. Sarah’s insistence that we remove icy clothing and Megan’s maneuvering toward gear and a warming station saved the day.

So, the last mile or so the three of us SWORE we would never, ever in a zillion years do this again.  It was, we vowed, a once in a lifetime event.  But then we stood in a really long and miserable line to collect our things.  Found a bathroom.  Shook the mountain chunks out of our hair.  Found a great place to get a burger and a few more beers.  Watched the Kentucky Derby at a bar surrounded by smelly people wearing orange headbands.  And the mood changed a bit.  you could almost feel Finish-itis in the air.  Never again became, well – if it was a bit warmer, and we maybe had a taller team and if we trained more on hills…and…

The next New England Tough Mudder is July 2012 and the team is already making plans.

Categories: Goals and Motivation