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How to NOT train for the ‘Toughest Event on the Planet’, a cautionary tale.

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I only know how to do things one way: Super freaking awesomely.

When I do laundry? It’s awesome. Dishes? Frigging glitter clouds float by. Showering? Unicorns soap me up. So when I had to prepare myself for my very first Tough Mudder, I had only one requirement, make it awesome.

While some people were training by running ten miles or so, I was doing my version of that. I was Botoxing the entire upper portion of my face. Other Mudders were pumping iron. I was getting my highlights done. And the crucial day before the event, when athletes are preparing their bodies for the grueling tasks before them, Casey and I were going on a ten hour drinking binge through Vermilion, Ohio.

SSSHHH. I'm training.

It all started out innocently enough. Casey had seen a winery ad and asked me if I wanted to go check it out. Well of course I do. I am a living, breathing human person, aren’t I? We had no kids and it was raining and we were in a strange town, so yes. At the time, going to a winery for lunch seemed like a good idea.

We headed out to Paper Moon Vineyards, and people, I’m not gonna lie. I am a little in love with this place. Great wine, great food, and the family that owns the place is amazing. If I were to ever lose my mind and get married, it would be the perfect kind of place to do it. I would honestly think about going to Ohio again, just to go there. And I’m not just saying that in the hope that they read this and give me free vino (but if they DID, I would be totally cool with that).

Cab Sav. It's what's for LUNCH.

Once we were done there, we really didn’t have anything to do. It was yucky and rainy. There weren’t any sporting events happening. No outlet malls. No movie theater. Well. There could have been any of these, but to be honest, we didn’t check. We were all like fuck it, let’s go bar crawling.

So we went to the Lake Erie Tap House:

That, my friends, is a Summer Shandy. I am not a beer drinker, but I love, love, love this beer. I made out with it. I proposed. I might be pregnant with its beer baby.

And then crossed to the street to go to Old Prague Restaurant, a Czech joint:

Czech beers? Totally good. Even better? Czech DUMPLINGS. Holy smack your granny.

And then we hopped over to the Knotty Pine, where I consumed even more Summer Shandy and Casey started sucking back 9% blueberry beers, or, as Jeremy the bartender called them, the wines of beers:

You can see Jeremy there in the background. HI, JEREMY!!

Then from there we were off to the aptly named Woodstock. If Phish and Jerry Garcia had a baby, it would hang out here. The place had a total jam band vibe, and a great menu. We had the hummus. And DRINKS!

I switched to a Sweaty Betty Blonde, which, in my buzzed up state, I found HI-LAR-IOUS. Casey kept it up with his super strong beers. A move he would later regret. That's called foreshadowing.

If you thought we were done, you are WRONG. There was still one bar left in Vermilion, OH, and fuck you if you thought we weren’t going. The bar, Touche, is the top floor of a misplaced five star French restaurant. It was a wine and martini bar, and after drinking beer all day, we were feeling some martinis.

Ummm. Martinis. Also, their lobster bisque? Shut up. Just shut up. I would go back just to eat that again. It was that good.

Okay. I will freely admit that at this point, we should have gone home and gone to bed. We sort of had a big day the next day. Buuuuutttt, we didn’t. Instead, we had another round at Touche, and my friend Angela, who was coming in from Akron to meet us, showed up.

Imagine for a minute you’re Angela. You’ve been training for months for this Tough Mudder. You are nervous about tomorrow and glad you have a team you can count on to help you through. Then you meet up with your team, and they are hammered, face down in a bowl of lobster bisque in Vermilion, OH.

Some people might get mad. Not Angela. She just ordered a Merlot and made sure she had her camera handy.

We leave Touche, head back to our cabin, and Casey promptly falls asleep on the couch. Angela and I catch up, talk about what tomorrow might bring, and generally start winding down, when all of the sudden Casey rises like some sort of beer-fueled Lazarus and demands that we go back to the Knotty Pine because they were having LIVE ENTERTAINMENT.

Doesn't her face have a certain 'I'm going to kill them for this' quality about it?

So we did. We didn’t stay long, just long enough for Casey to have three more 9% beers and me to have two more Summer Shandy’s. And to get this picture:

Look at that forehead. SO smooth.

At 10:00 p.m., we decided to call it a night. We had to get up at 5:30 the next morning. To do a Tough Mudder. And that, my friends, is a whoooooole ‘nother story.

Yours in about to get dirty,



4 responses »

  1. So…what’s your official alcohol count? This impresses me so.

  2. Daaaaannnggg girl….that’s just naaaasty! I am reading this visibly cringing at the thought of ya’lls race the next day…can’t wait to hear all about it.

  3. Face down in a bowl of lobster bisque is not an exaggeration. I was afraid that if you didn’t come up for air soon that we would have to resuscitate and it wasn’t even event day yet!

    In all reality, it was a blast and considering our history together I wouldn’t have had it any other way!

    Here’s to our next Tough Mudder….

  4. Pingback: Duct Tape and Death Waivers, An Epic Tale of Tough Mudders « Running On Wine

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