Putting Our Relationship to the Tough Mudder Test

"Just so you know," I told Tiffany as we pulled on our spandex at 5 a.m. on Sunday, "this is not just a race. It's a test of our relationship. If we can survive this..."

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

My brother is getting married next month. In between trying on our matching bridesmaids dresses and looking for shoes, Tiffany and I have been doing a lot of talking about how you know your one is the one.

Anyway, a few months ago, we signed up for this race called the Tough Mudder. It's a 12-mile run up and down the ski slopes of Tahoe during which you must complete a variety of obstacles, like: swimming through ice-filled water, carrying logs down narrow mountain paths, climbing a series of too-tall walls.

I was joking about the race being a test of our relationship. But it turns out it was, and we didn't start out well.

"You are the worst person to do something like this with," Tiffany said before we'd even gotten to the starting line.

I was in the middle of a tiny panic attack. Having been told--only moments before--that if we drowned in the mud or fell backwards down one of the too-tall walls, race staffers would identify our lifeless corpses by our wristbands, I realized I'd put the wrong one on.

"They're going to know who we are," Tiffany said, pointing to our foreheads, where our race numbers were scrawled with permanent marker.

I ignored her and sprinted back to the car to get the green band.

We started talking again after the swim through ice-filled water. I'm not sure if we had actually gotten over our anger or if we had such a severe case of brain freeze that we forgot about it, but it doesn't matter. When we emerged from the tank, I grabbed Tiffany in a bear-hug, ice cubes spilling out of my sports bra, and screamed:

"I love this! And you!"

"My crotch!" Tiffany responded. "I can't feel it!"

Things went beautifully until mile 11. Perched on the two-inch wide top of a 10-foot wall, it became clear I would not be able to pull Tiffany up without falling off myself. She had helped me, and now I was helpless to help her.

This is it, I thought to myself. We're doomed as a couple.

Just then, another participant came up behind us.

"Like a boost?" he called in a thick Scottish accent.

"Yes!" Tiffany cried. "I would love a boost!"

"She would!" I said, swallowing my pride. "Thank you!"

"Don't mind my hands," he said, proceeding to put them all over my girlfriend's lower region.

On the other side of the wall was another wall (this happens in real life sometimes too). Tiffany and I climbed the second wall on our own, hurling our bodies against it at full speed, pressing off mid-way with one foot and grabbing for the top.

Strangely, I did feel better about our relationship after the race even though we hadn't been able to complete it on our own.

Hey, sometimes you need a little boost.

And you should always take it. Even when it comes from a burly man in a kilt.