The Dirty 75: Injury, Fear & The Mental Fight to Keep Training for World’s Toughest Mudder
An honest look at injury setbacks, mental battles, and how five brutal weeks might still be enough to hit 80 miles at WTM — if I can get out of my own
Injury derailed my WTM training plan — twice. But with five weeks left, a solid coach, and some brutal self-honesty, I’m grinding my way back. The real fight isn’t with the miles — it’s with the mental games that stop you getting back on the horse.
"Discipline equals freedom."-- Jocko Willink
This isn’t some fake-ass hustle story. No Goggins cosplay. Just one man, one injury, and one ugly mental fight to get back in shape for World’s Toughest Mudder. Here’s how my training almost collapsed — and why I’m still in the fight.
Last year I hit 75 miles at World’s Toughest Mudder — 24 hours of suffering, mud, and decisions you can’t explain to anyone who hasn’t done it. That earned me the coveted “75 bib.” Of course, I couldn’t leave it there.
This year? The plan was simple: train up, hit 80 miles, and wear that dirty 75 with some extra pride. The first few months started well. Ankle acted up — handled it. Gym work was strong. Intervals were dialed in. Until one seemingly normal session wrecked the plan.
Push presses. Mid-set. Back tightens. I figured it was just stiffness. The next morning I couldn’t stand straight. The left side, deep around the QL. The kind of pain that forces you to respect it.
Rest. Mobility. Anti-inflammatories. Short treadmill runs to test it. It felt okay, so I ramped up again. That was my mistake.
Sprint intervals. Four rounds in — twinge. By round seven I was barely moving. Three more days laid up. Physically I was broken again, but mentally? That’s where things got dangerous.
The mental injury whispers: “What if you wreck it again? What if this is permanent? What if you destroy the whole year for one stupid push?”
I texted my coach, Liza at Different Breed. No drama. No #beastmode. Just: “I may be out for a while.”
Her reply: “You’ve got to look at the bigger picture.”
So we did. We scrapped my Europe event (a 12-hour Infinity warm-up) and focused everything on Worlds. Five weeks left. No margin for error.
Now I’m deep in May. Running scared — not of the event, but of the injury. The brain starts looking for ways to quit before you even start. That’s the real fight. That’s where discipline matters.
Jocko says it best: “Discipline equals freedom.” Control the things you can. Show up. Do the work. Accept what you can’t. That’s how you stay free.
Today I’m clocking steady miles again. 9:15 pace. Heart rate easy. Over 55 miles logged this week. And just when I thought today was my rest day, Liza messaged: “Give me as many miles as you can this weekend.”
Because that’s what great coaches do — push you hard enough to find out who you are, but never far enough to break you.
And honestly? If you find someone like that in your life, don’t let them go.
Right now, I don’t know how WTM will end. I might hit 80. I might fall short. But I know one thing: I’m still in the fight.
Injury isn’t always physical. Sometimes your own brain is the bigger enemy. You don’t beat it by pretending you’re unbreakable. You beat it by showing up, doing the work, and keeping people in your life who call you on your own bullshit.
Your Turn: The Mental Injury Check-In
Be honest: are you nursing real injuries — or protecting yourself from imagined ones?
Find one person who will call you out when you’re slipping.
Rebuild with discipline, not denial. Small sessions done consistently are better than the fantasy of the “perfect session” that never happens.
Want to follow the full WTM prep? I’ll be documenting my training log and lessons in real time.
👉 Subscribe to stay on the grit journey.
👉 And if you’re serious about training right, check out Liza at Different Breed. She’ll push you — but never let you break yourself.
Chris Unfiltered
Raw. Relentless. Real. Chris doesn’t sugar-coat life’s challenges. With decades of grit and resilience, he turns obstacles into fuel — and shows you how to do the same. No fluff. Just truth.
