I mentioned the Tough Mudder in my previous post, and it’s just too good a story not to share. Little Lady was 3 months old when the idea resurfaced in my noggin. For years I had wanted to take on this challenge, but something always seemed to pop up. Usually a positive sign on a pregnancy test. But here was my big chance. I’d have 4 whole months to train for the grueling 12 mile trek up a mountain covered with mud, icy water, crazy people, electrocution (yup, I said electrocution) and other ‘fun’ obstacles. I admit it sounded more appealing until I started typing this!
Only problem was, I needed a team. And one that would be willing to dress up in absurd costumes and sign the death waiver. Yup, there was a death waiver.
So who better to ask than the Hero Husband?! Poor man. Here he was, just surviving 2 grueling years of school- and a rather hormonal wife- and I suggest that we celebrate his graduation with the Tough Mudder! Some people choose the beach. A resort. Heck, a nice dinner! Nope, we choose torture.
And he agreed. And so did a few other friends.
And thus was born team Tighten Your Diaper.
I trained hard (remind me to tell you about my first postpartum trip back to the gym) and grew increasingly confident. Confident all the way to the starting line, and then over the first muddy wall, up the first mile of thigh-deep mud, and then down another slippery mile to the first obstacle…and then it all came to a halt. A frigid, icy halt.
My Hero Husband jumped in first and swam effortlessly under the wall (he was a Marine, remember.) Then I jumped in. And then I froze. Later, a Navy diver friend of ours would tell me that what happened to me is commonly called Divers’ Lung. All I knew is that the world stopped and I heard Celine Dion singing “Near, far, wherever you are…” as my Hero Husband tried to encourage me under the wall. “C’mon
Rose Tommi, you can do it! Don’t give up! I’ll never let go!” It almost would’ve been romantic if I hadn’t been wearing an adult diaper.
But there was no way I was going to catch a breath deep enough to swim under that cold cold wall. No way. And so as hypothermia threatened to rear its ugly head, the safety guard (I’d like to think he was an angel!) told me my time was up and I had to exit.
So with hands numbly gripping the barbed wire like a safety line, I lugged my icicle legs and water-logged diaper out of the tank and waddled back into the mud. The waddle of shame.
Confidence definitely dwindled after that, but by mile 6 feeling had returned to my body, my gooey energy packet had hit the ol’ blood stream, and I was back for more! More mud, more icy water, more greased monkey bars, more pushing the limits!