Sometimes Grit Looks Like Mud

I thought I would lighten things up a little this week—with a story about mud, obstacles, teamwork, and one very tired mother.

A few years ago, my youngest son and I participated in a Tough Mudder at Northstar in the Lake Tahoe area. My middle child—my oldest son—was serving in the Marines and stationed overseas. I think participating was one small way for us to feel closer to him.

I can’t say I was the best “overseas mom,” but that is an entirely different guilt story for another day.

The Tough Mudder course was about 14 miles—uphill, across flatter terrain, and then downhill—with obstacle after obstacle along the way. There were logs to climb over, mud pits to crawl through beneath wires, monkey bars suspended above water, heavy logs to carry, an ice-water pit to go under, mild electric shocks to run through, and even more things to climb.

You get the picture.

We were both nervous and had no idea what to expect. We completed the warm-up, received our numbers, and took off with our group.

Then we reached the first log.

It looked a little too high for me.

My son looked at me and said, “Trust me. I’m going first.”

He ran toward the log, pulled himself on top, turned around, and yelled as loudly as he could:

“Go, Mom! You’ve got this! Yeah, Mom!”

Two very nice gentlemen nearby looked at him and asked, “Is that really your mom?”

When he said yes, they stopped what they were doing and joined in.

“Go, Mom!”

I ran toward the log, jumped, and they grabbed my arms and helped pull me over.

That moment set the tone for the rest of the course.

Everyone was there to finish, but we were also there to help one another finish. People offered their hands, waited at obstacles, and cheered for complete strangers.

My son could have finished much sooner without me. He was stronger and faster, while I was doing my best to keep moving. But he waited, encouraged me, and finished beside me.

We crossed the finish line somewhere in the middle of the pack, completely exhausted. We were so tired we could hardly eat.

And it was a wonderful experience.

Sometimes finishing what we start takes grit.

Grit isn’t being the fastest, strongest, or best. It isn’t completing every obstacle without help. Sometimes grit is being nervous and doing it anyway. Sometimes it is accepting an outstretched hand. Sometimes it is slowing down so someone you love can finish beside you.

Getting back up after we fall—and continuing forward while honestly acknowledging the changes we need to make—takes grit.

Resilience doesn’t always look impressive or graceful.

Sometimes it looks like mud, exhaustion, teamwork, and one more step toward the finish line.

This week, ask yourself:

Where have I mistaken needing help for weakness—and who might be willing to help me over my next obstacle?

With love,

Nadean