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Tough Mudder Is Stupid And So Are The Lemmings That Participate In It

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Tough Mudder became a popular racing event a few years back. All of the Joe Rogan fanboys and dudes with unkempt beards signed up in droves to run a few miles with their boys and complete obstacle courses entitled things like “Ape Shit” and “The Hangover.” How cool!

I watched from afar as close friends signed up for the event, and I would always politely decline their invitations, coming up with excuses like “I have to rearrange my sock drawer that day” and “I’d rather sew my head to the living room carpet than do that.”

It’s not that I was scared, really, I just saw right through the event as one of the dumbest things I could willingly spend sixty dollars on. Was the cultish, Jonestown vibe of your local Crossfit box (be sure to call it a box because it’s definitely not a gym) not enough for you?

After paying the entry fee, you get to crawl through barbed wire in a mud pit. A consent form must be signed prior to starting making sure that you know how serious this is.

Running through electrified wire in your compression shorts, a form fitting t shirt (or no shirt at all if you’re really tough) with a running number on it, and no shoes on because you lost them in the last obstacle courses muddy hole called “Skidmarked”?

Is this a fucking Bosnian war re-enactment or a race?

Couple the mud and possible electrocution with the fact that it all takes place at abandoned airports or anywhere else with large unused plots of land and you have yourself something of a hardo convention. I hate to use that term but it perfectly encapsulates the person that chooses to run a Tough Mudder.

It’s a meetup consisting entirely of people who, through years of niche workout regimens, are now unable to lift their arms entirely above their head or play any sort of normal sport with even intermediate success.

Weightlifters have always been the worst at real sports, and a majority of them are participants in Tough Mudder competitions. Faux athletes that can’t hold my jockstrap on a basketball or volleyball court.

Ask yourself what the point of doing a Tough Mudder is. Do you want an Instagram picture with your entire body caked in mud? Is it the free 12 oz cup of beer you get at the end of the race?

Can’t you just picture it? You finish the grueling 5k and accompanying obstacle courses and are met with one (1) free beer that you can hold while your awful girlfriend takes a million candid photos of you. “IPA’s for life, bro!”

If for some reason social media wasn’t the centerpiece of every situation we now choose to take part in, would you still participate in a Tough Mudder? Imagine if the creators of Tough Mudder made a rule saying you couldn’t take pictures after the race? Would you still do it? I’ll bet next months rent you wouldn’t.

This goes back to a point that I’ve made before. Why do people pay money to do this kind of thing? I once ran a 10k here in Chicago that cost me something like 100 bucks to participate in.

As I ran that race, I could only think of one thing: I could have just done this for free. But back to Tough Mudder. Take a jog outside. Go to your local gym and lift some weights. Fuck it, go sign up for Crossfit if you really want to.

I’ll continue to rip on those Crossfit sheep for as long they remain en vogue but I say this with the utmost sincerity: anything is better than saying you’re training for a Tough Mudder. What a bunch of jackasses.

There’s a very specific type of douchebag that signs up for Tough Mudders. I’ve got to think they’re big fans of MMA and probably Affliction tees. They think quoting Ron Swanson at parties is still funny and take Snapchats of themselves drinking bourbon with a bacon garnish because that’s just who they are. A real man’s man. An affinity for Florida-Georgia Line and late 2000s Eminem is also probably a prereq.

Listen, could I stand to ease up a little bit? Maybe. How about instead of bashing everything that I find silly, mundane, or moronic I just keep my mouth shut? I could turn that high powered roast hand right around and look inwardly. I have flaws. I have things that I could work on, sure.

I could write all day about that. But this my blog, and in my blogs and in my mind all of my opinions are correct and I’m the best at everything.

So to all of my detractors, enemies, and most importantly Tough Mudder participants all over this country, I only have one thing left to say: do less. Do way less. Now cue the motherfucking music.

Image via Youtube

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Johnny D

fashion icon. @dudaronomy on twitter. e-mail: jduda10@gmail.com

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