World’s Toughest Mudder was quite a rollercoaster.
While I had a pass/fail goal of 65 miles, my real goal going in was 70. Several times in the past I felt 70 was attainable, but mistakes had cost me. This was my sixth WTM, and when I looked back at each one I’d done in the past, I’d always felt a tinge of regret that I’d left miles on the table. I wanted to run one and say I reached the full potential of what I had on that day.
(At 75 miles you get a sweet silver race bib, so a lot of folks shoot for that. Realistically looking at what I can do physically and the amount of time available, I’ve always felt it was just out of reach. Maybe if they make this a 26-hour race…)
The first three laps were rough. I felt like I had no juice, no energy. Everything felt slow and labored. (Maybe the hot sun. Maybe the maddening mile of deep, soft sand.) But while the physical stuff seemed rough early, the mental game seemed on point. I felt more patient than usual and didn’t panic, knowing from experience that you can feel terrible and then bounce back.
And that’s what happened. Laps 4 through 7 felt strong. Really strong. And Owen was doing an amazing job of keeping me on the course. This was Owen’s first time crewing me in a race, and it’s a tough one to crew. He exceeded all expectations. He’d meet me about a quarter mile from the finish line each lap, ask me what I needed, run back (with a flying ninja leap over a gate), and have what I needed waiting for me at the gateway to the pit area.
Even during the night, things felt good. But on Lap 8, I smashed my ankle on a hard wooden obstacle and it left some damage. Walking on it was okay, but running caused a sharp pain. So I wasn’t able to do my ultra shuffle (not really “running” but faster than walking) that I usually do in a long race.
My pace slowed, and by morning it was clear to me that 65 was going to be all I could get in. And I was good with that. This had been the first time at WTM that I felt I had maximized what I had to give. That was a win.
Unfortunately, Owen didn’t agree.
As I told him near the end of Lap 12 (Mile 60), that this next lap would be the end, he started throwing out numbers to me and saying we could get another after that. I chalked it up to him not having race experience and not understanding the physical toll and diminishing lap times. There wasn’t enough time.
Lap 13 (Mile 65) was slow and painful. The sun was hot. Volunteers at obstacles asked me if it was my last lap. I told them yes, did some hugs, thanked folks for being out there, and said bye. It was clear from my slowing pace I wouldn’t have time for another lap. And I didn’t want to try, do almost a full lap, and then not make the cutoff. And do all that under the hottest part of the day. I had to be realistic.
This time Owen met me a full mile from the end. And unfortunately he’s very good at math. He was throwing out crazy equations – what pace I would need to finish, how every minute I made up this last mile would buy me multiple minutes on the next lap – I don’t know; I didn’t understand it. But the bottom line was he felt I could do it.
I was serious. I was done. I was on empty. And I wasn’t confident I could finish another lap in time. And I was satisfied with what I’d done. That stubborn punk wouldn’t listen to me. He followed me the whole last mile, trying to convince me to go for another. It got to the point I was pissed. PISSED! I really DID NOT want to go for another lap. I was happy with what I’d done. I was finished. And he needed to accept that.
But he didn’t.
Ultimately, his argument was better than mine. There was time. Barely. But there was. I grabbed a bottle of water from him and just kept going, walking out on another lap angry and swearing.
Owen met me about a quarter mile into the course and said organizers said he could follow me. And he did for the entire lap. And he needed to move. Fueled by adrenaline and fear of not making the cutoff, I hammered the first three miles of the lap. That was a deep, dark trip. The ankle still hurt, but I needed to do whatever I could to put myself in position to finish. Three miles in, it was clear I had it.
The last obstacle on the course is walking through a rig of electrified wires that give you painful shocks. Walking through it is undeniably horrible. But still easier than holding my sh*t together when it was all over and getting a hug from O.
And even that’s easier than this: Owen was right and I was wrrrr- …. wrrrooo … wrong. As he said, I did have time to hit 70, and I’d be really happy to have done it once it was over.
