Here’s Mud in Your Eye!

16 Nov

I slept with your sister. And she was TERRIBLE.

Ha, I’m just kidding, y’all. I meant actual mud, and my actual eye. Remember when I told you about that terrible race I was convinced to do by Tawagoto No Pantsu Ni Osorete* (That’s Japanese for “Afraid to Shit Pants,” which is the only nickname my Japanese friend deserves after making me do this race)? No? Let me remind you:

It's called the Tough Mudder. You should see my shower.

It started much in the way of other over-the-top endurance races–with me and the Bad Idea Bear (don’t act like you’re surprised she had some part in this) enjoying prodigious bowls of pasta on Tawagoto No Pantsu Ni Osorete’s couch while his normal roommate giggled at our impending doom from the opposite couch.

We get it, Chuckles, you get to have wine and sleep in until noon tomorrow. Now shut up before I hit you with a running shoe.

We fell asleep about halfway through Horrible Bosses, which I consider an eminently reasonable pre-race bedtime, and awoke at 7am ready to face 12 miles of obstacles including (but not limited to):

Cargo Nets, Fire, Ice Water, Miles of Mud, Sprinklers on Motocross Tracks, Enormous Walls, tire-carrying, a 15-foot jump into a freezing lake, and greased monkey bars.

Did I mention the fucking half-pipe?

This is me, temporarily renicknamed "The Silver Bullet," attempting said half-pipe

Tawagoto No Pantsu Ni Osorete, I hate you.

But at 7am, we were all blissfully unaware of this, shuffling around the house cracking jokes and outfitting ourselves in head-to-toe Under Armor.

“Hey guys, you think we should take some Percocets so we can’t feel this?” shouts Tawagoto No Pantsu Ni Osorete from the back of the house.

“I don’t think that’s a very good ide…”

“Bring them for after!” says Bad Idea Bear.

“Ok, definitely after,” I say, and No Pantsu arrives in the front room, wearing a pair of sticky football gloves that he keeps clapping together in excitement.

“I’m just really hoping I don’t shit myself during this!” he says, clapping his hands.

Grimacing, I suggest that maybe we should skip the fourth obstacle, the ice water bath, so we can stay warm and not shit ourselves.

“No fucking way. We’re doing all of them.” says No Pantsu.

The Bad Idea Bear nods in agreement.


It’s 40 degrees outside when we get to the race, and our team of four (we have added a girl named Steph, who is an innocent bystander like myself, and so does not deserve a poorly translated rude Japanese epithet) is jumping up and down to stay warm with multiple jackets layered over the clothes we will soon be wearing alone, and wet.

We begin to get nervous about the cold, but then it’s time for our wave to start, and the emcee (Yeah, the race had an emcee, as well as a Monster Truck) gives this whole speech about the money we’re raising for the Wounded Warrior Project, and how its not a race but a challenge, and how some of the people already out on the course have lost their legs in Afghanistan, and we begin to get a little pumped up.

We’re all shouting Hoo-rah even though the closest any of us has ever been to a war is closing time at a college IHOP (actually, I went to a sample sale once, so I think maybe I’ve been closest), and the monster truck takes off and we chase it down a straightaway, breathing in the fumes of excitement and honor and glory.

First, we cross a cargo net and a big wooden trellis thing and run a couple of miles. We pass a cone and joke with the people next to us that it is one of the obstacles.

“HaHAHA,” we say. “Isn’t this a fun little mud race with silly little obstacles? Aren’t we prepared in our head-to-toe Under Armor?”

Then we got to the Chernobyl Jacuzzi, the ice bath I mentioned earlier.  So many people were shoving their way up the stairs I was practically carted into the thing like a cartoon character on one of those cartoon conveyor belts.

You should probably know that I compared this race to childbirth afterward.

Halfway through the damn thing, which was two ice-pools-wide, you had to completely submerge yourself to get under a wall and into the second pool. Total, we were in it only about 15 seconds, but by the time the four of us emerged, we were all completely numb from the hair down and so dazed we couldn’t speak, except for the Bad Idea Bear, who began emitting a low groan/keening noise that she was completely unaware of, but would make for much of the race.

And that was the beginning of the end.

–To Be Continued–

*UPDATE My Japanese friend has just informed me that this phrase actually translates as “worried about argued pants,” which is fine, because you don’t even deserve a nickname that makes sense, you bastard.


2 Responses to “Here’s Mud in Your Eye!”

  1. Erin November 16, 2011 at 1:00 pm #

    Already, childbirth seems like it was easier than this.


  1. Money: It doesn’t grow on trees. Cause that shit is a root. OneBad, that doesn’t even make sense. Shit, is this thing still on? « The Living Yaylights - January 14, 2012

    […] friend No Pantsu, who you all may remember from the time he unceremoniously signed me up for military-style torture, IMed me the other day in a tizzy about my latest […]

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