Training for a Mud Run

This past weekend, Jenn and I (along with our good friend Logan) competed in this year’s annual Big Sur Mud Run. The fact that it takes place approximately 40 miles from any portion of land which can be called Big Sur seems to be conveniently overlooked by the event coordinators as well as the thousands of folks who sign up for the run each year. In keeping with tradition, I suppose I shall do the same.

Anyhow, when I say that we “competed” in the event, do not be misled (as I was into believing it took place anywhere near Big Sur). We were no more likely to win the race (or indeed finish within binocular-sighting distance of the leader) than Alexandra Wallace is of earning a “UCLA Former Student of the Year” award.

The 5.5 mile course wove its way through the CSU Monterey Bay campus (located in Marina) and the surrounding woodlands (much of which we learned, but don’t yet understand, is a Salamander Protection Area), and included several decent hills, a handful of manageable obstacles, approximately 800 or so caffeine-juiced ROTC cadets posing as angry drill sergeants eager to scream at you to “drop and give me twenty!”, and no less than four sloshing mud pits through which you were expected to crawl lest you wish to incur a verbal bashing by any of a number of the aforementioned drill sergeants just frothing at the mouth for a sissy like you to come their way. For non-runners like Jenn and I, this was not a competition to win. It was a challenge to finish. On your feet and with the fewest number of paramedics involved as possible.

Not only did we finish the run in a very respectable 600-somethingth place, we did so without stopping. Actually, we did pause to drink water along the way, and Jenn had to retie her shoes a couple of times, but basically we started at the start line, and did not stop until we crossed the finish. It came to us as something of a surprise to learn that, at a moment’s notice, we can up-and-run 5.5 miles through muddy, hilly terrain thick with angry young people.

Do not get me wrong. I am fully aware that an astoundingly vast array of people in the world do far more impressive things each day (my friend Craig Christ just finished his third Ironman Triathlon, another friend Jessica gave birth a few weeks back, etc.), but I am equally certain that they at least take some steps to prepare for their achievements. Craig ran, swam, and biked for hours each day, even while stationed in Kyrgyzstan (with not a drop of standing water for hundreds of miles in any direction), while Jessica had to learn how to keep a brand-new human alive without ever having seen her face to face. Heck, the game of golf is always a strong contender for “Least Stimulating Competition to Watch Live or on Television”, and nevertheless showcases a gaggle of smartly dressed folks who have spent astronomical numbers of hours striking a motionless ball precisely with a metal stick to the point that others fall over themselves in order to see them do it. All of these people are good at what they do at least in part because they prepared ahead of time.
We didn’t.

We came up with a number of plans to get us ready for this mud run. We were going to get up 30 minutes early for a brisk jog before breakfast. Failing that, we figured an evening run would be easy to fit in the schedule. It was, except that neither of us cares for running. The thought of setting out at 5 o’clock in the morning with the idea being that we would keep running in no particular direction for some fixed period of time, and with no motivation other than because this was the plan bores me to tears. It occurs to me that lots of people get into a sort of Zen state when they engage in a leisurely sprint around the city from time to time.

“It clears the mind”, they say.

For me, this sort of thing only happens when I glance over my shoulder after crashing through the woods at break-neck speeds and realize that the angry boar I stumbled upon seventeen miles back is no longer snapping at my heels with a blood lust which, in my experience, is utterly unprecedented. Seeing as how this type of event only happens every six months or so (in a good year), you will understand when I say that I just didn’t get around to running much before this mud run. Instead, I decided to focus on staying well-rested in the six or eight months prior to it and counted on adrenaline to get me through. I guess it worked because about four miles in I talked myself into believing I was being chased by a creature with large fangs and managed to sprint the rest of the way to the finish.

Captain Luke!!

After an immensely maddening experience of navigating through the dire straits of federal bureacracy (ie, United States Coast Guard), I've finally managed to right the ship, pump the bilge, and sail away with my Captain's license in hand! That's right, I'm a Captain! The powers that be have decided that I am fit to drive a vessel not greater than 100 tonnes (think: in the 100ft range). Thus, this very weekend I am scheduled to skipper not one but two of the dive boats that I have crewed on for some time now. I'll admit to being a bit nervous (especially if the bloody wind starts blowing from the south), but in the end I'm sure that a) I'll do just fine or, b) I'll break something and force my employers to cash in on their well-stocked insurance. Either way, my goal (as always) is to make sure that nobody dies. Wish me luck!