Da Muddy Concert Band at the Dorset Mud Run

In a moment of collective madness, six of us from the Concert Band agreed to Sue’s request to form a team and sign up for the Dorset Mud Run. We dubbed ourselves “Run DMCB” (Da Muddy Concert Band), and while it was meant to be a clever, witty name, by the end it felt more like a prophecy fulfilled.

Let’s be clear: we musicians are not natural-born athletes. Our usual fitness training consists mainly of lugging instruments from the car to the practice room — which we’ll generously call our strength and conditioning — interspersed with the odd jog to the bar. So the idea of hauling ourselves over walls, through lakes, and into what can only be described as nature’s version of a washing machine filled with gravy… well, it was ambitious, to say the least.

SAS: Are You Tough Enough?

The course, it turned out, was about 7km long and boasted no fewer than 14 obstacles. Fourteen! That’s 14 more than any of us had attempted before. From the very first challenge — a tyre field seemingly designed to make us question our foot-eye coordination — we knew we were in deep. Literally. By the time we reached the first mud wall, we had all achieved the unique look of swamp-dwelling creatures who had lost both dignity and footwear, and were now wearing skull caps made of crusty, worryingly smelly mud.

Muddy runners in muddy waters

One of the obstacles looked straight out of SAS: Are You Tough Enough? — a climb up a vertical mud bank from the river below, with only a wet and slippery rope for “help.” Some of us just about made it. Others face-planted with a splash so dramatic it should’ve been accompanied by a studio audience wincing.

The lake crossing turned out to be less “crossing” and more “slow-motion sinking.” At one point, someone compared the lake to the bass section: deep, mysterious, and full of things you don’t want to step on.

Camaraderie was high

Despite the chaos, there was camaraderie. We pushed, pulled, and occasionally dragged each other through. There were shrieks. There were questions about our life choices. And there were uncontrollable fits of laughter when we got stuck waist-deep and had to be “unglued” by those just barely able to remain upright.

We crossed the finish line looking like a lost tribe of compost salesmen — victorious, slightly traumatised, gloriously filthy, and proud. We partook in the obligatory chasing of supporters (the stains still won’t come out of my daughter’s hoodie — yes, I’m in trouble). And in polite company such as yourselves, dear reader, I won’t discuss the state of my shower…

Would we do it again? Well… absolutely! Just give me a chance to stop finding mud in places I’ll leave to your imagination.

By Adam on saxophone