How A Tough Mudder (and a Divorce) Became My Declaration of Independence

Struggles to strength: 4 life-changing lessons from the mud

Mud, Sweat, and Tears

The Tough Mudder’s starting line buzzed with energy and anticipation. But as the first notes of the National Anthem echoed across the field, the crowd became quiet, and we faced the American flag, honoring the words in our own way.

In those moments before the race, I found myself caught in an unexpected choke of emotion. As the words of the anthem hit their peak, a few quiet tears of grateful surrender slipped down my cheek. A flash of memories, old and new, washed over me — it was a reckoning with my past and another defiant step towards my future.

The words of freedom struck me hard — a resounding defiance against years of feeling silenced and belittled. It was a moment of profound clarity, a full-circle realization that freedom wears many faces and holds countless meanings. 

I no longer had to hear my ex’s venom pronouncements of “A-mer-ic-a,” his voice dripping with disdain whenever my American heritage came up. Or one of his post-divorce rants: “American women don’t get what real life is. Nothing but gold diggers,” followed by his insistence that it was my turn to support the family, claiming he’d already done his share.

His disdain for my culture and upbringing had been an underlying wound in our marriage. I’d tried hard to make us work — embracing his traditions, language, and family. I learned how to recreate his favorite childhood foods, but it was never enough. I was simply a White Woman.

But standing at that starting line, with the anthem blasting from the speakers, I felt a sense of defiance and brilliance at the same time. The pain and weight of his words had faded into silence some time ago, replaced by a quiet strength. I was no longer the woman defined by his criticisms or expectations.

In that moment, I stood just a bit taller, as the words somehow cemented my hard-won freedom even more. 

A Declaration of Independence

I was American. Strong, resilient, a mother of nine, an entrepreneur, and the 22-year toxic marriage was behind me. This was my time to be unapologetically me.

Our announcer, who must’ve been a marine at some point, energized the crowd with a booming voice that echoed across the field. His words filled with motivation and humor brought a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose within.

I knew this run was no longer about running from my past; I was running towards my future. My ex’s words and the emotional scars he left behind were now simply a learned lesson from the past. At that moment, I knew I’d finally found my own declaration of independence.

A bittersweet contrast to the years of feeling diminished. 

The Challenge Begins

And with that, the run began.

Here I was, about to be covered head-to-toe in mud, laughing (crying?) like a maniac. 

I’ve crossed the finish lines of half marathons before, including one a few months back. But I wanted something that would force me to step out of my comfort zone. So I signed up for a Tough Mudder — 10 miles of mud, obstacles, and electroshock therapy (my training partner thought she’d mentioned 😥).

Lessons From the Mud

1. Embrace the Mess

Life’s not always pretty. Sometimes, it throws us flat-backed into a literal mud pit (yes, that happened to me at my first obstacle). And sometimes, life throws you a curveball even bigger than a Tough Mudder, like divorce. After 22 years, I found myself suddenly single, with a big family still growing, and no clear path forward.

But here’s the thing about messes: they’re not the end. In fact, I’m reminded of a powerful quote from Elizabeth Gilbert: 

“The women I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because things worked out. They got that way because things went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways, on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes.”

When I was facing divorce, I had a choice to make. Let it consume me on every level or accept the mess and find my way through. I knew staying stuck in that pain would only hurt me and my children. So, I chose to fight. And really, is there a better way to wash away the past than with a Tough Mudder mud facial?

Lesson Learned: Setbacks happen, but they don’t have to be the end of our story. My divorce knocked me down, but it didn’t keep me there. I gave myself time to grieve, but then it was time to rise above it. Find your hidden lessons and your new way forward. Fight through the challenges, especially when the way ahead feels uncertain. 

2. Strength Comes in Many Forms

Sure, training for a Tough Mudder builds muscle, but it also reveals the hidden strengths buried within. It takes mental toughness to push through exhaustion, resilience to face our fears, and a whole lot of self-belief to convince ourselves we can actually do hard things.

For years, I confused strength with a facade of perfection, never showing vulnerability or admitting I needed help. I buried my feelings, plastered on a smile, and pretended everything was fine. It was lonely, but it was the role I thought I needed to play as a good wife. After all, wasn’t “standing by your man,” like receiving a gold star for good behavior, the ultimate proof of a good marriage?

In a healthy relationship, supporting each other through thick and thin is essential. But there’s a major difference between unwavering support and sacrificing our own well-being. 

Any time I wanted to give up, I thought, “This is my unwritten story, and I’m far from done.” It became my silent roar against the voice that had repeatedly tried to silence me. It was a promise to myself that I was strong enough to face the challenge, and to rewrite my own ending.

Lesson Learned: True strength doesn’t mean pretending everything’s perfect; it means acknowledging when it’s not and having the courage to confront that reality. To dare to say, “I’m struggling,” or “I need help.” We aren’t supposed to have all the answers, and asking for support doesn’t make us weak, it makes us human. 

3. Find Your Tribe

I’m not talking about matching shirts (though the colorful gang of Pac-Man ghosts made a strong case for the next race). I’m talking about the rare souls who see us for who we are, beyond the surface. The ones who are there for the good, the bad, and the messy bits in between. 

At mile 9, when my legs were screaming mercy, my training partners were sporting pure determination. We’d already been through too much together — early morning runs in -20-degree weather, supporting each other through ups and downs, and holding each other accountable to become the best versions of ourselves. 

My mud-splattered warrior friends were in it for the long haul — and that’s what a tribe is all about. It’s like the village to raise a child — but for grown-ups. No judgment or hesitation, just pure support.

Lesson Learned: Whether it’s family, friends, a running club, or fellow Tough Mudderists (is that a thing?), our tribe makes all the difference. That cheering squad at mile 9? They’re the ones who keep you going (even when you lose your shoe in twelve-inch-deep muck). And we have the privilege of doing the same for them creating a shared bond of trust and encouragement. 

4. Failure is Fuel 

While I’d love to claim I breezed through every obstacle like a warrior queen, the truth is much less glamorous. I fell flat on my back, went face-first into muddy waters, and questioned my sanity (and life choices) more times than I care to admit. Let’s just say I’m an ongoing work in progress.

But here’s the thing about failing — it doesn’t have to be the end of the story. It can actually be the beginning of something even greater. Every time I slipped, fell, or came up short, I wiped the mud out of my eyes and just kept going. 

It’s like that time I decided to start rollerblading again (very recently actually). I ended up in the ER with a sprained jaw and a mild concussion (my jaw’s still not fully recovered!). But I didn’t let it stop me. The following week, I was back out on the trail (a much smoother one this time), rollerblades strapped on, ready to roll. And this time, success was mine.

Lesson Learned: Setbacks happen, but they don’t have to define us. They can actually push us forward — to grow, learn, and adapt. Each failure holds valuable lessons and makes us more determined to succeed (when we let it). Welcome the stumbles and keep on rolling (or running, or climbing, or whatever your Tough Mudder equivalent might be) toward your own finish line. 

The Finish Line

As I crossed the line, catching my breath (my body was still contemplating whether to feel exhaustion or exhilaration), I looked back at what we’d just done. It felt surreal. Was it really over? 

We collected our medals and snapped a few selfies before we found our way over to the garden hoses. The cold water and biting wind did little to wash away the layers of mud that clung to every nook and cranny. My knee was throbbing with a bloody wound, a souvenir from a particularly enthusiastic mudslide encounter. But under that makeshift tent, shivering from the cold, the feeling of accomplishment and belonging warmed me through and through.

Every muddy streak was a badge of honor, a hard-won strength I’d learned to fight for. 

Swimming With the Big Fish

Though I still haven’t gotten all the mud off my shoes (literally), I’m not slowing down. I’ve got a half marathon this weekend, another Mudder on the books (because one wasn’t enough, apparently), and a 2.1-mile open water swim looming in the bone-chilling waters of Lake Superior. 

Life’s too short to just go through the motions, right? 

These challenges aren’t just about checking items off a list. Just like the point of the Tough Mudder wasn’t simply about crossing the finish line. It was about who I had to become to be able to finish the race.

I’m not chasing records or medals. I simply love the person I am during the training process and in pursuit of my goals. It’s about pushing my limits, physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

With these challenges, there’s a clear and compelling reason to get up for my 5:00 am workouts, the long runs, and the healthy choices. For me, it’s building a life where showing up for myself is non-negotiable.

Having these (not-ever-perfect) habits makes striving to be the best version of myself a must, rather than a desire. And without these practices, I wouldn’t be showing up — or finishing the race. Good habits create a cycle that keeps giving. Pushing our limits and tapping into our strength transforms us inside and out.

For me, at first, it was about silencing his voice of doubt I’d heard for way too long and replacing it with a resounding “YES, I can!” But now, it’s about redefining my potential — for myself. 

We’re capable of so much more than we believe possible.

And that’s the message I want to share with anyone who feels like they’re simply treading water in their own lives: Embrace the mess, the challenges, and uncertainties head-on. Find your tribe, those who will cheer you on. And perhaps most importantly, believe in yourself. 

Simply surviving is no way to live — fight your way through, push your boundaries, raise your expectations, and find the incredible strength that’s been there all along.