I did not DIE doing what I love
Several months ago, after finally gaining back all of the weight I shed while crash dieting on the Master Cleanse (go figure), I realized that if I wanted to maintain some sort of target weight, I’d have to actually get up off my ass and do something. So I finally relented and allowed my wife to start training me. She’s a personal trainer (among other things), and throughout the week runs various fitness classes seemingly designed to make me vomit.
There’s her “Power Hour,” which features circuits of high-intensity exercises that are focused on core body strength. Then there’s her “Power Hike,” which is less of a hike and more like interval sprints up a mountain. And if I seem like I’m whining, that’s because I am. I’m what you might call lazy (though I prefer to think of myself as exercise averse), and every class is a struggle.
Fortunately however, despite the fact that my default mode is set to INERT, I’ve stuck with it and have powered through three to five sessions per week. While I’m no Jake Gyllenhaal, I am in decent enough shape to (possibly maybe) finish the Tough Mudder, a 10-mile obstacle course designed by British Special Forces. With 28 challenges – including a dash through a field of live wires, some of which pack a 10,000 volt punch – it’s billed as “Probably the Toughest Event on the Planet.” And in the interest of penning a funny story about this sufferfest, I’ve signed up for the September 17th event in Lake Tahoe.
Here’s a glimpse of what I’ve gotten myself into.
Yes. This is crazy. And I’m sure I’m not nearly as prepared as I need to be. But then again, when have I ever been prepared for anything?
Oh, and in response to the following photo…
… if I die at the Tough Mudder event, please don’t say I died doing what I love. You hear this all the time… whenever a motorcyclist, marine, scuba diver or such meets an untimely ending. And while it’s understandable for friends and family to use this catchphrase for comfort, you should know that I think it’s a load of shit. For starters, Tough Mudder, or even training for it, is NOT what I love doing.
A ten mile obstacle course? At altitude? Getafuckinggrip.
Hell, if I died while orgasming inside Angelina Jolie with a hall pass in hand, not even that would qualify. What I love doing, you see, is living. And if I die doing anything, no matter how exciting or extreme the experience, rest assured that my very last thought was, I fucking wish I didn’t do that thing that just killed me.