If you have completed a Tough Mudder in the past little while, chances are you have received the following email:
“Mudders,
If 10-12 miles of Tough Mudder grit is somehow not enough for you, you’re going to want to read this email closely. World’s Toughest Mudder 2013 – a grueling 24-hour challenge designed to find the toughest man, woman, and 4-person team on the planet – is on its way. With an amped-up course, more prizes, and new qualification guidelines, it’s more badass than ever. Registration is now open – but don’t even think about signing up unless you’re physically and mentally prepared to be pushed beyond your limits.
PRIZES
We’ve increased the cash prize purse to $60,000 and made cash available to the top five men and women (and the top three teams) – but we’ve also added a few more prizes to acknowledge all forms of badass. Click here to get a taste of the prizes waiting to be claimed.
QUALIFICATION
It’s pretty simple this year – If you’re crazy enough to think that 24 hours of torture sounds like fun, then you’re eligible. Previously, we’ve asked people to qualify by submitting their times from a Tough Mudder event during the season. But this year, we’re going to be feeding you something even more intense, with more obstacles per mile. So how fast you can run isn’t as important – what really matters is how much pain you can push through. We’ll leave it up to the course to decide who the World’s Toughest Mudder is.”
To a lot of people, this email was quite a bombshell. Why mess with a good thing?
Seemingly, we still have “a brutal 24-hour test of physical and mental grit”. Same idea. Same time limit. Same venue.
What’s different? Let us consider the good, the bad and the ugly…
Beep. Beep. Beep. Alarm rings. “Ugh. Just die already”, I think to myself. My bed is so warm, and from keeping the patio door open overnight, I feel the chill in the air. I bury my head in the pillow.
An eager waker-upper, and a sunshine in the morning I am not. Especially before coffee… Insert a picture of Grumpy Cat here.
We drop by Tim Hortons before hitting the road. Large coffee in hand, my functionality goes up a notch. The urge to run up a mountain in this shitty weather is still at its ultimate low. “Why I am doing this again?”, I think gloomily. Finally I nod off in the back, snuggled under my puffy winter jacket.
I wake up as we line up to park – it’s still chilly, but already light, and excitement is in the air. The energy is contagious. We park, and head over to the shuttle, which will take us to the actual race venue. A long 40-minute bus ride is spent swapping stories about prior Tough Mudders and other races – I like this part! As we arrive, it’s almost quarter to eight. If we are to make the first wave, things will have to happen very quickly. Consent forms signed, racing packet picked up – I peel off the top layers and check my bag. Sprint to the start line and jump over the first wall to join the crowd in the corral – whew, now I can actually tighten my shoelaces and take a breath. Made it.
Startline Sean is already firing up the crowd.
I love Sean. I want to be him when I grow up. I’ve never seen such boundless energy and love concentrated in one person.
After singing the national anthem, reciting the pledge and going over the basic guidelines (hands in shape of cross over head in case of emergency, don’t be stupid, etc.), we are OFF.
I know we are about to hit the first hill, so I’m not really sprinting. However, being the first wave, the course is still empty, there’s only a small group of guys ahead of me. Loving it. For those running later in the day, the start line can become quite crowded, and you have to slowly walk/jog for the first 500m or so, until the path clears up and you can charge ahead.
In my morning grumpiness I forgot the one piece of gear that I would need – my watch. Ugh. Tough Mudder is not timed or chipped, so if I want to know what my time is I have to remember to ask someone at the finish line what time it is as soon as we finish. My quasi-religious energy gel schedule is also going to hell – good thing I’ve practiced random feeding during a recent Goruck challenge. Continue reading →
“There are no strangers here; only friends you haven’t yet met” is how Shakespeare Arms bar described on the website. It is everything a small town bar should be. It takes the waitress more than a minute to rattle off the names of beer they have on tap – very good sign! However, at the first inquiry into lagers vs. ales, she sends us over to the bartender.
Nick, the bartender, is actually why we are here. Over a year ago, looking for a watering hole after yet another training run, we end up Shakespeare Arms. I walk away impressed (and pleasantly watered). The bartender knows his stuff, likes talking about it and is incredibly generous with samples. This is the bar from the TV sitcoms that you come to, nod and say “Nick! The usual!”.
Today after a trail run, a waterfall dip and a good rolling in dust, I think Nick has exactly what we need.
The bar fills up noticeably throughout the night, and before we know it, a grey-haired wiry guy in a baseball cap is announcing karaoke. He’s been here every Sunday night for the past 20 years.
I have not done karaoke since undergrad, when we made usual appearances at Silver Spur, an adorably shady dive in Waterloo, Ontario where tables were sticky and waitresses’ voices hoarse.
Many songs were sung, and many lessons learned. Absorb the wisdom.
5 MISTAKES KARAOKE ROOKIES MAKE
1. pick a song that is too long
Trust me, people are here to have a good time and no one wants to hear (you sing) the 8-minute Stairway to Heavenfrom start to finish. However, if you are there to piss off the crowd, then Pink Floyd is definitely your band – lots of painfully long songs to choose from, including Echoesthat clocks in at 23 minutes.
2. pick a rap song
Do not rap at a karaoke unless you are very good. Actually… do not rap at karaoke. It’s like trying to pick out the most appropriate night gown to a funeral – it just doesn’t work. If you are still going to rap, I suggest “Ice Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice. At least everyone secretly likes that one. And it talks about bacon. [I bet you are checking the lyrics now, aren't you?] Bonus points for the hip-hop routine.
3. pick a screaming song
Thunderstruck by AC/DC. Just don’t. Please leave the good rock screaming to the likes of Bon Scott, and Dave Evans. Otherwise, the song ends with your sore throat, and our destroyed ear drums. Ouch. [If you are curious, here's a wiki on how to scream rock music. Maybe it will help. You know for next time, you want to bellow out TNTor something.
4. pick a song for yourself (rather than a song for the audience)
Don't be a buzzkill. I repeat, people are here for a good time. Not to listen to a college kid in the depressed stage of being drunk moan through "Creep" by Radiohead. Yes, you definitely "don't belong here".
Another classic scenario includes a sappy girl getting up to sing "How Do I Live" by LeAnn Rimes, pointedly looking at some drunk idiot in the crowd. Not that I've ever done that or anything. "How do I breathe without you?"... It's easy. Inhale. Exhale. Move on.
5. pick a song you (you think) know
There are songs you know and there are songs you KNOW. Pick the latter. A song that you think you know because you heard it on the radio a bunch of times, and kind of like, will turn into quite an embarrasing act, as you realize that you have no idea about pace or inflections in the middle of the song.
This point becomes painfully obvious as Captain Craig and I bellow out the Lazy Song by Bruno Mars. Thankfully, it's one of those "zero consequence" risks, and the crowd cheers sympathetically. It's the Sunday of the long weekend, and tomorrow's calendar is deliciously empty, so the song is at least relevant.
THE FOLLOWING CAN WORK...
5. anything by Backstreet Boys (I may be biased here...) 4. Losing My Religion by REM 3. The Show Must Go On by Queen 2. Summer Nights from Grease
And to finish off, the ultimate karaoke song of all times...
1. I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor
WOD:
7 mile trail run
100 burpees
one-handed bicep curls… with beer
“There are times when you reminisce about the things you’ve gone through before, and surely you’ll smile and say How the hell did I get through all that?” [Author unknown]
September 22, 2012. Saturday.
We are at the start about an hour early. Hustle and bustle, as Ultra Beasters were setting up their drop bins, and picking up their bright green armbands. Pre-race jitters. Pre-race bathroom line-ups. Wait… this was the first race I’ve even been to, where the line-up was at the men’s bathroom, and not the women’s. What the…? And then I realize that at this race, women are heavily outnumbered. For the Ultra Beast, the numbers are 1 to 5. “It’s gonna be a sausage fest out there”, a fellow male Ultra Beaster comments with a smirk.
I’m snuggled up into my sweater – the morning is crisp – but Leyla peels off her top layers with steely determination. “Time to get used to the cold!”. I groan! “You are only making it worse, Solo”, she says. FINE! Shivering, I take off the sweater, rubbing my hands together to generate some heat. Bye bye, comfort until much MUCH later today.
I’m talking to a friend about visiting his CrossFit box and keeping him company for a workout. “Ok, but promise you won’t make fun of my kips and my double-unders!”, I ask.
“Ha. So you have a DUI, eh”, he grins.
“A what???”
“DUI = double-unders impairment”, he explains patiently.
Indeed. It’s been months, and my double-unders got worse, not better. I am really good at whipping myself with a rope though.
So if you are struggling with the same issue, and cannot do double-unders, here’s a possible reason why:
your rope is too short
your rope is too long
your rope is too cheap
your rope is worn out and catches on the floor
your shoes have too much traction, so the rope catches on them
your shoelaces are too long
your pants are too baggy
you are not moving your wrists fast enough
you are not jumping high enough
your rhythm is off
J.P. Morgan once said that a man always has two reasons for doing anything: a good reason and the real reason. It is perhaps telling that J.P. Morgan was a banker (cue loud laughter). Morgan, as in Morgan Stanley – a global financial services firm. But the sentiment stands.
All reasons above are good reasons for why you (and I) can’t do double-unders.
I am really good at whipping myself with a rope though. 
