Beating cancer isn't a sprint, it’s a Tough Mudder

"It's kind of fun to do the impossible" – Walt Disney

OK, maybe running a Tough Mudder wasn't exactly impossible, but for 10 miles in muck just down the road from Disney World, that quote seemed a bit relevant.  I used to have it hanging in my locker in high school, never imagining the connection it would have 20+ years later.

The last two years, I have done a lot of things for myself, my health, etc… but I have few very specific, selfish goals.  They're usually all about the bigger picture, have family implications, whatever (although Jen was quick to point out quite a few T.J.-centric checklist items).  Similarly, this blog has been focused on medical and health stuff, and there have been only a few posts that strayed into narcissistic territory (right?).  So indulge me for a couple hundred words, as this accomplishment is one I am extremely proud of completing.

Here's the down and dirty of the Tough Mudder, for those of you with enough common sense to avoid one:

Designed by British Special Forces, it is more a challenge than a race – the course isn't timed, quite a few obstacles require assistance from other runners, and before each heat, participants recite a Mudder creed, which includes "I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time."  You end the course with "Electroshock Therapy," 50 yards of dangling wires designed to give an array of shocks, some as high as 10,000 volts. In between are jumps from high platforms, slicked skateboard half-pipes to summit, and barbed wire to crawl under.  Sounds like a perfect day in the Greater Orlando Area, doesn't it?

Each race is different, and I didn't even look at the course map beforehand, which ended up listing 10 miles and 20 obstacles. The start was a LOT of running - good for warming up, but not exactly my forte.  Luckily, the course was relatively narrow, slowing the pack down to my speed, with quite a few muddy ditches thrown in there for good measure (I saw four different people lose shoes in the muck of the first mile).

There were some typical obstacles in between the bogs – climbing walls and ropes, a looooong (at least half-mile) wade through a waist-high creek against the current, and the notorious Artic Enema, a dumpster filled with ice water.  There's a board in the middle, so you have to submerge fully underneath, in 35° water, to get through it.  Arteries constrict, blood flow slows, and cramping ensues.  Those first few obstacles you hit full steam, but as the run progresses, so does the depletion of your cardiovascular condition, energy level, and adrenalin.  Perfect for a guy missing an adrenal gland and half a lung (another part of the "Mudder creed" is no whining, so this is purely observational).

Just before mile 9, coming out of the woods, the one obstacle I dreaded appeared - Funky Monkey, the Mudder's slightly cruel version of the playground monkey bars. To ensure the proper level of difficulty, the bars are angled up to the midpoint, then back down, and suspended over a mud and water pit.  Oh yea, they're slippery too, caked with a mixture of butter (seriously) and spectator mud.  In 2011, I lasted all of three or four bars before plunging into the water below.

In this race, I was already ticked I had fallen on a similar obstacle ("Pole Dancer", a parallel bars-like traverse over mud) just a few feet before the end. At that point, having just told the guys, "Yea, my tank is on empty", up pops up the one obstacle I was hoping to avoid.  My confidence dropped nearly as quickly as it had from the Funky Monkey three years ago. There was no way in hell I was making it across that thing.

Guess what? I CRUSHED it (see the GoPro footage here or course picture here). I don't even know how. OK, I do sort of know how. Besides being 30lbs lighter this time, I stopped looking at the entire intimidating thing, and just focused on the next bar. Then the next one. Then the one after that.Pretty soon, I was at the apex and starting to believe I could do this. My failure on Pole Dancer from a few miles before reminded me to not look at the finish, and to concentrate on the next bar. And then the one after that. Landing on that platform, getting across that mud pool, succeeding one bar at a time... there's a lot of things I am proud of from the last two years, but I don't know of anything specifically more satisfying than nailing Funky Monkey. The similarities between it and this cancer journey have only reinforced that feeling.

Of course, I couldn't complete the darn race without hurting myself at the finish line - literally.  The race requires some serious concentration, as it's easy to twist an ankle (or worse) on the muddy terrain. For 10 miles I stayed diligent, got through Electroshock Therapy (which didn't seem to have any actual live wires) and was jogging the last 100 feet through the gauntlet of volunteers who high-five contestants at the finish. I went to slap a hand, didn't pay attention, and slipped and tweaked my ankle.  At least it happened at the end of the race, right?

The only disappointment from last Sunday was that Frank (our punter at CMU) and his college crush Jody backed out at the last minute (although there is serious doubt they ever intended to come at all).  Jody lost a bet from the 2012 Flyers-Penguins series and she pulled the "my spouse won't let me go" card on me. I lived with her after college, and she was (and still is) one of my best friends and one of the most supportive people in my melanoma battle.  For the most part, Jody's just one of the guys and usually is instigating the fun, which made it all the more surprising when she didn't show.  Casey was also part of the bet, and he sucked it up and ran the course in an orange tutu and Flyers 2012 Playoffs shirt (complete with "LOST A BET" on the back); I got to thoroughly enjoy the MANY catcalls and giggles as he ran past people.  So Jody and Frank welched on the bet too – we're still working out an "alternative form of pay-up," but it will be a very long time before I let either one of them forget this.

I've heard (and said) that beating cancer is not a sprint, it's a marathon, but I think that needs revision. Cancer is not a sprint, it's a Tough Mudder (or whatever your favorite race may be). It's a long journey, with a lot of unknown obstacles spread out along the way.  Some of them you can beat, some may get the better of you at the moment, but you keep going. You get past failing TIL or falling on Pole Dancer, and keep moving forward. You rock PD-1 or Funky Monkey. Each person has their own obstacles to overcome and distances they must travel, but in the end, it's not how quickly you finish, but that you ran the race at all.

T.J. Sharpe shares his fight against Stage 4 Melanoma in the Patient #1 blog. Read more »