America’s Toughest Mudder East
This past weekend was America's Toughest Mudder East- a 12 hour, non-stop, obstacle course race through the night in Coatesville, PA put on by Tough Mudder. The race is one of 4 regional events in the states, supplemented by one in Europe. The format of the series is simple- how many 5-mile loops can you complete between 8pm and 8am when you're slowed down by 20 obstacles per lap?
For me, the answer was 9.
In the week leading up to the event, my nutrition-oriented friend had convinced me to eat not one, not a couple, not a few, but several watermelon. He said that watermelon is full of arganine, which converts to nitric oxide in the body and is basically a superfood for endurance athletes. "Eat several watermelon this week," he said, "and come Saturday, you'll be unstoppable." This kid works out maybe once per month and podiums at nearly every endurance event he runs. Who was I to not eat any watermelon?
I went straight to the grocery store and picked up watermelons in such large quantities that I felt like some kid you read about in a math problem. "If Kera buys 6 watermelons on Monday and eats 4 on Wednesday, how many watermelons does she have left?" I sat on my couch, enjoyed my taper, and ate absurd quantities of watermelon.
I left my house just before 1pm on Saturday, drove to the Bronx to pick up two friends, and headed down to the venue. We stopped for dinner at a lovely establishment for which we were far underdressed. Between the nerves and amount of watermelon I had eaten, I didn't have too much of an appetite.
We got to the venue around 6:45, thinking we had plenty of time to setup our tent and gear, only to find out that they were starting the briefing at 7:15 and clearing everybody out of the pit area. As if I wasn't nervous enough; I couldn't have been less prepared. I wasn't dressed, my hair wasn't braided, I hadn't taped my ankles. I more or less threw my gear into a pile and told Will, my pit crew member, good luck.
In these types of races, I very consistenly make the mistake of coming out of the gate way, way too hot. This time was no exception. Surrounded by the energy of everyone around me, I flew through the first lap. For the first lap, Tough Mudder keeps all the obstacles closed, this way the herd can thin a bit and there's no bottlenecking at obstacles. My goal had been a 55 minute first lap. I came back through the pit area in almost 45. Oops. Will handed me a banana and I sped back onto the course.
My second lap was supposed to be 1:10. I did it in an hour even. Oops again. I knew I was making a mistake too. I kept telling myself, "Slow down. Slow down. You're going to burn out." But I'm too stubborn to listen to even myself. When everyone around you is fueled with adreneline and excitement, it's nearly impossible to not be infected by it as well.
The sun set and the moon rose during lap 2. Satuday night was full moon. It rose over the venue, orange and bright as could be. I almost didn't need my headlamp. When I checked the leader board, I saw I was in sixth. Exicted, I scadaddled right back onto the course.
This lap was supposed to be 1:25. I ran it in 1:13. When I came back into the pit after lap 3, I really knew I was fucking up. My headlamp battery was starting to die and I couldn't see more than 2 feet in front of me. I tried to yell at Will that I needed to change my headlamp; the psychic already had one in his pocket. He handed me a sandwich and I jumped back onto the course.
I stopped paying attention to everyone around me and repeatedly told myself how long of a time 12 hours is. The importance of pacing. How I can't burn out. Again, my time goal was 1:25. I finished this lap in 1:23. The slowing pace hurt me, though. My body temp dropped a couple degrees. The wind was starting to pick up. I was soaking wet. I passed the girl who had been just seconds in front of me for the first three laps. I saw her shivering as she pulled herself out of a water obstacle. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Just cold," she answered. Fuck, me too, I thought.
When I came back into the pit area, Will forced me to change my shoes and put on a neoprene top.
So it turns out that after lap 4, I was supposed to pick up an orange wrist band from the timing tent . Maybe I would have known this had I made it to the briefing on time. Out on the course, you could exchange the wrist band and skip an obstacle. After lap 5, I was then able to pick up two.
I exhanged both my bands during this obstacle, skipping two of Tough Mudder's popular grip obstacles (Funkey Monkey & The Gaunlet). Grip endurance is such a strange thing. Once it's gone, it's gone. For events like this, I always stress the importance of grip endurance. If you have the option to chicken wing something instead of taxing your forearms, DO IT. If there's a carry, don't hold it by your fingers; hug it or throw it over your shoulder. If somebody gives you a magical orange wrist band, USE IT. I flew through this lap, saving a lot of energy without those obstacles. I was able to pick up a couple places, climbing into third.
The seventh lap was my most mentally taxing. It took place between the hours of 3am and 4:30am. There was next to nobody left on course. I kept wondering what time the sun would come up. I was doing a lot of math, figuring out if I'd be able to get a 9th lap in if my pace was x, y, or z. Then I stopped with the math and started asking myself if I even wanted to do a 9th lap. Would I lose out on third if I didn't go back out? If the fourth place girl was 20 minutes behind me and I would barely be able to finish the 9th lap, then would she be able to? Was I willing to put my body through the pain of another lap?
I heard the birds start to chirp. "Thank god," I thought. Everything got a bit lighter. A bit pink and then a bit orange. I resolved that I wasn't going back out for my ninth lap. I had my slowest lap of the night at 1:36. I was moving consistently at about 20 miles per hour. Couldn't even call it a jog. I made it to the timing tent and said, "That's it! Get me warm. Get me dry. Get me a beer. I'm done." A Tough Mudder employee told me I had a chance to grab second if I went back out. I told him I was zonked; there was no way I'd be able to catch her. "She already handed in her timing chip." "FUCK," I yelled at him, realizing that I had to. Peer pressure works wonders on me. He tied a yellow Lap Leader bib around me, somebody gave me a few sips of their coffee, and I bolted out of the pit area. I knew I would have to give it my all in order to make it back before 8am. I would need to cut over 10 minutes off my lap 8 time. Yikes.
I ripped through my ninth lap. Cutting more than 2 minutes off my pace than lap 8. There was nearly nobody out there. I didn't fail any obstacles and used my orange band on an obstacle called Blockness Monster that, quite frankly, I'm too short to do on my own. I came out of the woods into Mudder Village with 2 tough obstacles and a quarter mile to go and less than 15 minutes to spare. Everyone left in Mudder Village seemed to know the situation. They were cheering my name and yelling out how many minutes I had left. I smiled my first smile of the night. I climbed my way up Tough Mudder's 40-foot A-frame called Mudderhorn and darted through their final obstacle called Electroshock Therapy that is literally a maze of electrified wires. I bolted through the finish shoot. In tears and smiling, I fell into Will's arms. 5 minutes to spare.
Two minutes later, the fourth place female came flying in. Locking in third.
I don't know if I necessarily learned anything in this race, but certainly reiterated a lot of things I already know (but just neglect). A- Ultras are a long, long game. Don't count yourself out. You never know what can happen. B- It's all mental. Your body is capable of so much more than you think. Most people don't go far enough on their first wind to find out they have a second one.
Special thanks to my Vybe for keeping me alive during pits, Will for making me feel like Danica Patrick, and every single Mudder who helped me over an obstacle or gave me words of encouragement, particularly Francis Lackner who spent his entire race pulling people up Everest like some kind of Nepalese god. I’m sending him a pair of boxing wraps to help protect his wrists next time he decides to give so much to others.
