My Tough Mudder

On Friday February 24th, 2012, I drove for almost 11 hours down from South San Francisco to Temecula, CA, just about 1.5 hours outside of LA, if traffic is light, which it was not. I signed up for Tough Mudder over a month ago, as it was one of my goals this year to complete one - check. The race was held in So Cal this past weekend at a remote resort literally in the middle of the desert. If you are not familiar with it, Tough Mudder is an 11-mile mountain run with 25 obstacle courses designed by British Special Forces to test your mental and physical fortitude. From wading through swampy waters, hurdling and rolling under logs, getting electrocuted, climbing half-pipes, climbing berlin walls to jumping into and swimming through tanks of ice and water, you come out a different person. As the motto goes,

As a Tough Mudder, I pledge that...
I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race, but a challenge.
I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
I do not whine - kids whine.
I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
I overcome all fears.

My biggest fears have always been water and heights. I always imagined that I would one day drown or fall off a high ledge, so I challenged those fears these past few years by incessantly rock climbing and swimming. I never got over either fear, but I see them as smaller obstacles now. This race would challenge both of those fears, as I dreaded jumping off of the 15-feet tall ledge into a pool below. Endless trenches of mud, electrocution, barbed wire, giant pits to leap, 11 miles of hills, that all I can handle without a second thought, but when I reached the top of that wall and looked down, all I think about was all of those fears. When that drill sergeant told me it was my turn to go, I turned off all of my inhibitions, saluted him, smiled, took a step back and ran forward to jump over the edge. As the wind rushed around me and my body went still before the splash, all I could do was smile. There was no hesitation going over, and I was only on the platform for about 10-20 seconds before leaping. That's the way I want to live my life, and I knew I overcame a serious obstacle that day. No fear, no whining, just ride the thrill and live in the moment.

Before this event, I heard a lot of noise from every direction - friends, coworkers, family, acquaintances. Everyone told me I was crazy, masochistic, insane, and reckless. One of my coworkers asked if I signed my will or realized that I still had to go back to work on Monday. Most friends and students just asked if it was a good idea with my stress fractured foot. Many shook their heads and stayed silent. I know I said this before, but if you have to ask, you will not understand. In some of us, there is an innate drive to push for greater heights, whether physical or mental. My drive always encapsulated both realms, and I still refuse "no" for an answer to anything that people say I cannot do. I will never brush off the chip on the shoulder. It only makes me want to work harder, and by the end of the race, I knew that the Tough Mudder motto had been mine long before the race. It's the same one I try to implore to my friends and students. Don't complain. Don't whine. Help yourself. Help your friends. Overcome. Some of us are content with sitting, wondering, and spectating. I will never be okay with that and accept it as a lifestyle.

I finished the race with a sprained left ankle, sort right foot, bruised shin and chest, sunburned arms, slashed pinkie (from barbed wire), and countless scrapes, cuts, and bruises. I helped my fellow Mudders stand back up and complete their obstacles after I was done. With that said, I want to say that I'm incredibly proud of my brother for finishing as well. I know he had a really tough time, and we both came out injured and battered, but he showed some incredible resilience that day. Respect.

My President's Day

X,

I'm sitting in my classroom on President's Day. School's out for the week, and there are only a smattering of athletes around, but I'm still here, diligently scribbling away in my notepad. My room is quiet, and I'm looking down at my tie in silence. I would be lying if I said that listening to "International You Day" hadn't made me think of you these past few days. I'm headed to X soon, and I have no idea if I'm going to see you before, after, or during. A chance to say hello wouldn't be too far from a miracle. I know you have no reason to want to see me after how we ended. It's probably how it should be, but somewhere in my head, I want to believe that something has changed, that perhaps, I changed enough to be the man you wanted. I want to believe that I'm no longer that impetuous, raucous, immature young boy I once was. If you would give me the chance, I would show you how much I've grown up, beyond the ties and blazers I wear now, but you probably wouldn't do that, and I wouldn't blame you. You moved on long ago, forgetting me, forgetting us, but I never forgot, I still held out hope. When people ask me about what happened to us, I still get that faraway look in my eyes before I respond, just thinking about your smile and how happy it made me. I know it's more fantasy than reality, and the lines between the two often blur when I think about you.

Secretly, I hope that you will read this, but I have no idea how to get this to you, or if you would even respond. Most likely, it would push you further away, but I would prefer at least trying over this semblance of a friendship we have now, which is little more than a formality. I know you won't have me, and I know I didn't treat you well. You deserved more than what I could offer then, but I was too young to see that. I didn't know how to value you, and I had no idea how to hang onto you, or even that I should. All I knew was myself And, now, I sit and think about all the mistakes I made and how much I would give to be able to take them all back, but I can't, so I sit, and I stare at my tie as I write this.

I had a conversation the other night about the greatest romantic mistake I had made. As I pondered how to phrase my response, I stared into my cup, swirling its contents, thinking about you and losing myself in those thoughts. My friend knew the answer before I gave it, because the answer is always the same. It hasn't changed. I would say that you're the Kate Moreau to my Neal Caffrey, but I have no idea if that reference would be lost on you. I have no idea where you are now or what you're interested in since it's been that long since we've talked. In saying that, and in writing this, I think it's time to finally let go.

My Sunday Stroll

I'd be remiss to say that Valentine's Day doesn't make me want to write something. Unfortunately, I haven't had much to write about lately. Everything moves swimmingly at this point, and I'm afraid to jinx it. This year wasn't really any different than most. I was single on Tuesday, just as I've been most years, and it didn't bother me any. I know a lot of cynics who think V-Day is this monstrous, commercialized version of Hallmark "love" being pushed on the masses like some sort of unwanted disease. In all honesty, I only slightly agree with them. Sure, commercialization and consumerism are demons as nasty as the clowns under your bed, but I see nothing wrong with wanting people to care more about each other. Whether it's platonic or romantic, affection is a lost art by most Americans. It seems like hate is an easier emotion to rouse today, but that doesn't need to be the case. The world is beautiful, and the people in it (mostly) are just as lovely. If only we had the wherewithal to try for the more difficult emotion.

I had nothing to do today, so I decided to just walk around downtown. While watching my tie flap around and listening to Brian Fallon croon softly through my earbuds, I realized something was missing, and I knew just what it was. I knew who I wanted to share that moment and countless others with. I knew who I wanted next to me, making snarky people-watching comments, taking sips from my tea, and shoving me around. We cannot all be so lucky to find the person we think about in these moments, thoughts and warm emotions that come so seamlessly, whether during consciousness or times of heavy slumber, but to deny the possibility of finding someone that comes close, that is the real shame. Sometimes, that person slips away, moves off, rejects you, but to forsake all romance and belief in something greater than yourself, a person with whom to share your happiness and random thoughts, a person that you would give more than yourself, for those people, I only feel sorry. Love is more beautiful than a perfect sunset when it works, and it tears asunder your insides when it falls apart, but that's no reason to dispense with it altogether. Love doesn't have to be the way Hollywood makes it out to be, but that doesn't mean that it can't come close. To deny the magic that comes along with finding someone special is to deny something so primal and majestic that you miss out on something too pure and brilliant to be tainted by a few bad experiences. To all those cynics and pessimists, I have two words for you - love exists (and keep trying, because you'll like what you find in the end).