World’s Toughest Mudder: My Journey to Belvoir

PREP

My training for World’s Toughest Mudder (WTM) didn’t go quite as planned. I struggled to get the running miles in due to other commitments, but I did spend a lot of time on my feet walking The Betty. Thankfully, I arrived at WTM injury-free—which, for me, is a rare win!

Mentally, I was in a strong place. I knew I could run or walk for 18 hours—I’d done it before. I knew I could cover 70 miles—I’d done that too. But this time, I wanted more.

FRIDAY: ARRIVAL & COURSE WALK

I travelled down to Belvoir on Thursday evening after work, thanks to a tip from Nathan Hawkins. Paula and I stayed in our caravan at the Dirty Duck Pub, just a mile from the venue and right next to Grantham Canal. It made for a relaxed Friday morning—no rushing, no stress.

We arrived at the venue around 10 a.m., and the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a regular Tough Mudder or Europe’s Toughest Mudder—queues at registration, frantic pit setup—but this was different. Only about 50 people were milling around, taking their time. It was almost surreal.

Setting up my pit area was a breeze. Soon after, my crew—Jason, Reece, and Harvey—arrived to help set up the gazebo and organize our space for three athletes. Everything came together smoothly.

At 1:30 p.m., it was time for the course walk. I teamed up with Wil Chung, Matt B Davies, and Sean Merryweather to check it out. Honestly? I was underwhelmed.

I’d seen photos of WTM in the U.S.—massive, intimidating obstacles that looked nothing like what we usually get in the UK. But here, most of the obstacles were either identical or very similar to a standard Tough Mudder. There were a few exceptions:

• Fire Fly – A three-tiered platform jump over fire to hit a bell before plunging into cold water.
• Swing Both Ways – A suspended challenge starting with “Just the Tip,” moving to floating Z-wall boards, and ending with a pole traverse.
• Netflix and Chill – A cargo net suspended four feet off the ground that you had to crawl under without touching the floor.

Some familiar obstacles had a twist:

• Twinkle Toezzzz – A zigzagging balance beam three feet off the ground.
• Rat Frost – A crawl-through tube ending in an ice plunge.
• Funky Monkey – Replaced monkey bars with the Spartan Twister.
• Rain Man – Like Cage Crawl, but with water pouring down on you.
• Lucifer’s Luggage – Like Devil’s Beard, but with a Spartan pancake carry.

And of course, the usual suspects were there: Everest, Skid Mark, Block Ness, Mud Mile, Stairway to Heaven, Pole Dancer, The Walls (with a twist—going under one), Killa Gorilla, and Electroshock Therapy.

Then there was Motor Floater—a 10-meter walk through a knee-deep stream. Honestly, I wouldn’t even call it an obstacle. It felt more like a filler section of the course.

Despite my initial disappointment, the course walk gave me confidence. The obstacles weren’t going to hold me back. I was ready to chase my goal.

FRIDAY NIGHT: STRATEGY & SURPRISES

Friday night at the Dirty Duck Pub, I sat with a Coke in hand, going over my race plan with Paula. I believe in simplicity—especially when it comes to endurance events. My strategy was to break the race down into manageable chunks and keep my pit stops as consistent as possible.

Every lap, I planned to:

• Take on Enduo Sports Nutrition food
• Pop 3 electrolyte tablets
• Pocket 3 Caffeine Bullets
• Drink at least 300ml of hydration fluid

Every other lap, I’d:

• Repair my feet with Gehwol cream

Every 20 miles, I’d:

• Change socks

I also had solid food—peanut butter and banana sandwiches—ready in the pit for when I needed a boost. Simple. Uniform. Repeatable. That was the mantra.

Then, as we sipped our drinks, Paula threw in a curveball:
“If you podium tomorrow, I promise I’ll marry you next year.”
No pressure, right?

SATURDAY: RACE DAY BEGINS

Saturday morning started with a calm 3-mile walk with Betty, a light breakfast, and a few litres of water to stay ahead of the heat. I arrived at the venue around 10 a.m., changed in the pit, and found a surprise note from Paula in my kit bag (see photo). It hit me right in the feels.

By 11 a.m., we were called into the start chute. The energy was building—photos, warm-ups, introductions. I found a quiet spot out of the sun to sit and focus. At 12 noon, the countdown began. 10 seconds. Deep breath. Go time.

THE FIRST FEW LAPS

I started with a steady 9-minute mile pace, running alongside Linda Johnson for the first few miles. Then I zoned in, following the rhythm of the feet ahead. 50 minutes later, I crossed the line and hit the pit.

Jason, my pit boss, had everything laid out. Efficient and calm, he made sure I had what I needed and pushed me back out. Less than a minute in the pit—perfect.

Lap 2, the heat started to bite. A few obstacles had opened, but I kept a steady pace. Back in the pit just after the hour mark, I took off my shoes and socks, applied Gehwol cream, and got back out. I spent about 3–4 minutes in the pit, but I knew foot care was non-negotiable.

Lap 3, the sun was relentless—someone said it hit 32°C, and I believed it. I was grateful for the water obstacles, especially Rain Man, which offered full submersion about 4 miles in. It was a welcome relief.

LAP 4: THE FIRST TEST

Lap 4 mirrored Lap 3, except for one thing: a sharp pain between my little toe and second toe on my right foot. “Not a blister already?” I thought.

Back in the pit, I told Jason. Even before I took my shoes off, I knew. The blister had popped. Jason took control—sat me down, raised my feet, gloves on, cleaned it, taped it, fed me, and sent me back out.

Now it was about keeping moving. I monitored my heart rate, keeping it between 140–170 bpm, and walked when I had to. Paula’s note echoed in my mind:
“It’s in the mind. Only your mind can beat you.”

My lap times slowed to 1:45–2:10, but I was racing smart. I was still in the game.

SATURDAY NIGHT: STRATEGY, STRUGGLES & SURPRISES

As the sun began to set, I had my race strategy dialled in. I knew I could run the downhills, most of the flats, and power-walk the inclines. But I also knew I had to start protecting my muscles. Coming out of Rat Frost on Lap 5, I felt the first twinge of cramp in my calf. Then again at Netflix and Chill. That was my cue.

From that point on, I made a tactical decision: if an obstacle risked triggering cramp, I’d take the penalty. So every lap after that, I skipped Netflix and Chill and Swing Both Ways. I was also struggling with Twister on Funky Monkey, so I took the penalty there too to conserve energy. And my Obstacle Bypass Band? I handed it to the amazing volunteer at Mud Mile—100% cramp territory.

MIDNIGHT MILESTONE

By 10 p.m., I was 35 miles in. My friend Ian Kay had arrived at the pit with Paula. Seeing them gave me a boost, but this was a quick stop—just a wave and a smile. When I came in for my 8th lap just before midnight, they were still there. Jason checked my feet while I chatted briefly with Ian and Paula.

That’s when I asked the question I’d been avoiding:
“Where am I in the standings?”

Ian told me I was in 6th place in my age group. A bit of a gut punch—until he added that only one person had done more laps than me, and 2nd to 6th were separated by time alone. That lit a fire.

With a quick thanks and a kiss for Paula, I was back out. I swapped my running top for a neoprene rash vest—the temperature had dropped, and the water was getting colder. Every obstacle was now open, and I was diving into them with gusto. Firefly was especially dramatic, its flames lighting up the night.

THROUGH THE NIGHT

I pushed through two more laps during the night and earned my 50-mile bib. My feet were holding up, and I was still clocking 2-hour-ish laps. Most of the night blurred into autopilot—my strategy was working, and I just kept moving.

But then, coming down the hill from Stairway to Heaven, I felt the skin on my foot slide. I knew instantly: a massive blister had formed near my toes on my right foot. Every step was agony. For the first time in the race, the thought of quitting crept in.

Even Paula’s note couldn’t pull me out of it.

As I reached Swing Both Ways, all I could think was:
“Can I even make it to the pit? And if I do, it’ll be too early to finish.”
It was around 8:30 a.m., and I’d have to wait until 9 a.m. to be classed as an official finisher.

Then, just before Mudderhorn, I saw Ian again. He was cheering from the sidelines. I told him how I was feeling—how close I was to calling it. But he hit me with the news:
“You’ve moved into 3rd place.”

The timing system showed I was only 2 minutes behind 2nd, and 30+ minutes ahead of 4th. I had to go out again.

As I took the penalty at Electroshock Therapy, Ian shouted again:
“You’re in second now!”
Apparently, I’d overtaken someone between Mudderhorn and Electroshock.

My mind was racing. Should I stay? Should I go? Could I even make it?

I pulled up my big boy pants, ran across the finish line, and straight into the pit. Jason, expecting a 4-minute stop, looked surprised as I shouted:
“Fast pit—just give me nutrition!”

He did. And I was back out.
One more lap. One more shot at the podium.
And if I made it—Paula would have to marry me next year.

THE FINAL LAP: PAIN, PRIDE & PODIUM

I’m still not sure how I managed that final lap. Every step hurt. Every muscle ached. Every climb, every bend, every movement—I waited for my body to give up. But it didn’t. It held strong. It didn’t cramp. It didn’t quit. It just kept taking the punishment and saying,
“OK, let’s do this.”

At 10:22 a.m., I crossed the finish line for the 13th time. I was done.
Bobby, the MC, gave it his best—five minutes of shouting,
“One more lap! One more lap!”
But I wasn’t having it. My podium hopes were now in the hands of the gods. And if the gods wanted Paula and me to get married, they’d accept this.

Back in the pit, I peeled off my shoes and socks and finally saw the damage. It looked better than it felt—yes, there were blisters, but they’d heal. I stripped off my rash vest, sat in just my shorts, and sipped water. Ian came over and started talking strategy—who could still beat me, what they’d need to do. I couldn’t focus, but I caught the gist:
3rd and 4th place needed to come into the pit within 30 minutes and go out again to overtake me.

I waited.
An hour and a half later, 3rd place came in—and stayed.
4th missed the cut-off to go back out.
It was official:
I was 2nd in my age group.
65 official miles completed

And I was going to be getting married.

Brunch at World’s Toughest Mudder — A Must-Attend Experience

I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would it be cliquey? Pretentious?
Absolutely not. It was incredible.

Athletes of every shape and size filled the room, proudly displaying their mileage bibs like medals of honour. Media teams from around the world wandered from table to table, interviewing people who, just a day earlier, had seemed ordinary—but now stood tall as World’s Toughest Mudder finishers.

Pit crews and athletes alike tucked into a full English breakfast: eggs, bacon, beans, toast—the works. Mugs of English tea and steaming coffee circled the tables, alongside fresh juice, and for a few proud souls… a well-earned beer.

Every first-timer comes for their own reason. Some to collect an award, others just for the meal. But anyone returning for their second, third, or tenth brunch knows what truly brings them back—the Tough Mudder community.

It’s at this brunch where I fades into we, where individual pride gives way to shared camaraderie. It’s not just a meal. It’s the heartbeat of what makes this challenge unforgettable.

MORE THAN A RACE

This story has been about my race—but what I haven’t talked about yet is the community out on the course.

• Block Ness Monster at 2 a.m.—20 people working together to get each other over.
• Bea Wood, in her wheelchair, surrounded by a team of women helping her, laughing, cheering, and pushing through their own struggles.
• Someone forgetting something in the pit—and everyone around offering theirs without hesitation.

I’ve never seen a solo race where everyone helps each other so much.
The camaraderie, the unity, the spirit of WTM—it’s something truly special.

Final Thoughts

I’ll be honest—I felt a bit underwhelmed when the event began. But as the hours unfolded, that feeling shifted.

The obstacles delivered. Sure, I’d love to see more innovation and a clearer Tough Mudder stamp in the future, but what was there still challenged and impressed. The course layout hit the mark. The organisation? Absolutely spot on. And the community—well, it was nothing short of perfection.

Could it be improved? Of course. There’s always room to grow. But for me, this ranks as one of the best events I’ve ever had the privilege to attend.

Author - Alan ( Muddy Duck) Moore