Tough Mudder training day

It’s 10am and I’m standing in a field, cold, forlorn and wishing I was back in bed. Two huge hands clamp around my neck. ‘Just feeling yer pulse!’ bellows Tony, the tank-chested ex-marine putting me through my paces. I’m shivering but not just because it’s cold. I’m about to start the Tough Mudder Training Day and I’m absolutely petrified. Clara takes casual dress day in the office one step too farTough Mudder is an American import, a cross between a military-style obstacle course, a half marathon and a general mud-filled adventure. It’s a self-christened test of all-round toughness: fitness, strength, stamina and mental grit. Tough Mudder hold up to thirty events a year in the United States and 2012 brings the first three of Tough Mudder’s UK ventures to Edinburgh, the South East and Manchester. Tough Mudder is not for the faint-hearted. Definitely not for faint-hearted girls, at any rate, I r Obstacles are definitely not my thing: nice, flat road races are enough of a challenge for me, thanks. I’m definitely not a Tough Mudder kinda gal. But the group I’m with are not the super-scary fitness freaks I imagined they might be. There’s about fifteen of us and we all look a bit sheepish as we make the Tough Mudder Pledge (it’s American, remember). Indeed, despite my fears about the obstacles I am about to face, I’m reassured by the camaraderie and team-spirited-ness of the whole operation. The course isn’t even timed: it’s all about helping each other getting to the end. First we go for a run. This is fine, I tell myself. It’s going well so far, until we come to a gigantic, muddy puddle. ‘Okay! Get down on your stomachs!’ We belly-flop into the puddle and start to crawl, hauling ourselves with elbows and knees. My elbows bleed. Clara wears her Tough Mudder war wounds with prideDrills follow, press-ups, star-jumps and such like. Despite my apparent lack of muscles in the entire upper half of my body, I’m enjoying myself- until we start sprinting. I particularly hate this bit because it reminds me of the bleep test- forever scarred upon my memory since year ten. Finally, we approach the two obstacles. Everest is a perilously tall quarter pipe- the top of which I am supposed to fling myself- and I start to get really, properly nervous. I don’t like heights, and I don’t see how I’ll make it to the top without crushing either my forearms or my self-esteem. I think about telling Tony I can’t do it. He can’t make me. No one can force me. Suddenly, though, my legs start moving. Like a woman possessed, I’m running full-pelt towards the ramp, and I before I know it I’ve hauled myself to the top. I feel amazing, powerful, triumphant: I could be Beyoncé and Usain Bolt’s lovechild, that’s how good I feel. I don’t even feel the pain of Electroshock, the next obstacle with electric fence-esque wires hanging down. Over bananas and protein bars, I bond with my fellow Tough Mudder pals as we bask in the post-challenge glow. There is nothing like mud to make you feel part of a team, that’s for sure. I can’t wait until May, when the Tough Mudder hits Britain. The combination of physical and mental challenges is giving me an adrenalin-overload and whatever this obstacle thing is about, I’m hooked. If you fancy joining me, check out www.toughmudder.co.uk and see what all the fuss is about. See you at the top of Everest!