This past weekend, I took on the toughest (pun intended) challenge of my life—the 24-hour World's Toughest Mudder (WTM). Over and over, I ran a grueling 5-mile loop through mud, sand, and forest, tackling 20 obstacles that pushed my strength, endurance, and mental grit to their limits. This post is my race breakdown: the highs, the lows, and the deeper meaning behind this year's Metal Ninja Charity Challenge. Join me as I dive into a day of hardship, determination, community, and triumph.
From "Savage" to "Burrito Joey" - The Origins of the Metal Ninja Charity Challenge
I ran my first obstacle course race in 2017 and immediately loved the sport. The combination of running and ninja-esque obstacles was fun, and it led to what I view as a genuinely well-rounded athlete. Functional strength and endurance combined in one event. Having lived a notoriously unhealthy life, I became obsessed with racing and training for 2017-2018. My training and racing led to me being in the best shape of my life, leading to my first pro-Savage Race in November 2018. During that race, I achieved my goal of 100% obstacle completion. I did not realize that my success spelled the downfall of my training and health.
After a four-year hiatus, I found myself in the worst physical and mental shape of my life. But this was just the start of a journey that would lead me to a healthier, stronger version of myself than ever before.
Fast forward to 2022. My physical and mental health were in decline. However, my family expanded, Metal Ninja Studios was booming, and I realized far too many people depended on me being in my prime. My poor health didn't just affect me anymore. On top of that, I'd been feeling the itch to return to the only hobby I've ever missed: Obstacle Course Racing (OCR). I committed to prioritizing my physical and mental health for the benefit of others.
One cannot pour from an empty cup, and I'd been trying to do just that for 4 years.
I have since dubbed the 4-year timeframe between 2019 and 2022 the "Era of Burrito Joey." The Burrito Joey moniker derived from a loving barb between me and my cousin during my first event back on the race course in 2022. What started as an innocent throwaway joke became a powerful tool for daily motivation. I now say I have two identities - Joel Rodriguez and Burrito Joey. Joel Rodriguez is a badass who does everything he can to better himself for the benefit of those around him. He's the best part of me and who I want to be. Burrito Joey represents every worst part of me: laziness, slothfulness, self-indulgence, fear, etc.
Andy Frisella's 75Hard and Live Hard Programs, combined with the mindset shift away from Burrito Joey, led to the creation of the Metal Ninja Charity Challenge in July of 2023. As I finished my first year of the Live Hard Program, I wanted to use the skills I'd learned to benefit others. So, with a close friend and the Metal Ninja Studios team, I completed the 4x4x48 running challenge and raised $1,000 for Intracranial Hypertension research.
And an annual charity challenge was born.
The Road to World's Toughest Mudder: From Bucket-list to Starting Line
World's Toughest Mudder has been a bucket list race since 2017, although I never thought I'd run it. Originally in Las Vegas, I wrote the race off due to travel, physical ability, intimidation, and fear. How the F%*& could I do a 24-Hour OCR?!
The stars aligned in 2023 after completing the first Metal Ninja Charity Challenge. I began planning the upcoming years and decided my 2025 challenge would be WTM. I hadn't figured out 2024 yet, but I figured, "If I can run 48 miles in 48 hours (4x4x48), I can do World's Toughest...especially if I give myself two years to train." So the date was set, except the universe had other plans.
Within a couple of months of me setting that 2025 goal, Tough Mudder announced that WTM would be moving to Bartow, Florida, for the 2024 season - a mere 1.5-hour drive from my house.
Well...Crap. There goes the travel excuse, meaning the only thing holding me back was my training and fear. So, I signed up for it and made it to the 2024 charity challenge event.
My training consisted of a hybrid program combining marathon and body-building-style resistance training. For months, I did two workouts per day, five days per week, with active recovery rucking and stretching on the off days. The goal was simple: body recomposition to build muscle while trimming fat and help my body grow accustomed to longer stretches of intense work. It was a strategy that proved invaluable on race day.
To add to the pressure, I set an ambitious goal of 50 miles, nearly four times my previous race record of 13 miles. As added motivation, the mileage is connected entirely to the charity challenge. For every 2 miles I ran, we would add 1 page to the limited edition comic Beyond the Challenge.
I had to do great, not for myself, but because my struggle added extra benefit to those willing to donate to St. Jude, our beneficiary for the 2024 challenge. My hardship directly adds value to every donation, helping the kids and making it more worth it for those donating.
In the Trenches: A 24-Hour Test of Grit and the Heart of a Community
"You don't end at the finish line. You end out there, on the course, then you make it to the finish line."
The event itself was unlike anything I'd ever experienced, and it surprised me in unexpected ways. The biggest takeaways were:
- The mental vs. physical toll.
- The power of one more.
- The strength of the community.
1 - Mental Vs. Physical Toll: I almost didn't finish the race. I completed my first four laps with little difficulty. I had gotten into a rhythm of "do a lap," "rest for 20-30 min., "do a lap." Repeat. The first lap contained no obstacles, allowing the racer's running speed and strategy to space us out naturally. After that, obstacles opened gradually over the next 10 hours. At the end of my fifth lap, I arrived just as an obstacle called "Arctic Enema" opened.
Arctic Enema is an ice bath with two submersion points. You jump into ice-cold water, dip under one overhead beam, come up for air, dip under a second beam, and rush to get out. I've completed ice-bath obstacles before in prior races, including Arctic Enema. However, I had never completed it after completing 20 miles while balancing malnutrition and exhaustion. And I'd never done it after dark. So, I jumped into the pit, completed the obstacle, and finished my fifth lap at roughly 10 p.m.
That's when it all went to shit. I was freezing and couldn't get my body temperature back up. I entered the pit, where my crew was ready to go with food, electrolytes, and a thermal blanket. I sat in the pit for 20-30 minutes...I think. Looking back, my mental aptitude declined as fast as my body temperature. It all kind of blurred together at that point.
I decided the best path forward was to get moving again, get the muscles moving, and raise my temperature. So I went out for lap 6 - a lap so miserable it almost cost me the race.
2—The Power of One More: As I went out for lap 6, my teeth were chattering, I was shivering, and I couldn't get warm. Every obstacle was a struggle, and everything involving water was a nightmare destined to restart the shiver fest. Unfortunately, that included most upper-body obstacles. I was so cold that my hands wouldn't cooperate for any of the upper-body rigs. So, my only choice was to get in and out of the water as fast as possible, complete the required penalty, and get moving to try and dry off.
The problem was that lap six took me until about 1:30 a.m. when the night was at its "coldest," and there was no sun to help warm me. (Note: cold is a relative term. It was in the low 70s, but it felt much, much colder.) Every step was a chore. Every step hurt my body and mind as I knew it took me one step closer to another batch of water.
But I kept going. I had a plan: Take one more step, then another, then another. Just get back to the pit. Once I made it to the pit, I could change into a fresh pair of clothes, throw on my wetsuit over dry clothes, and go back out refreshed.
It didn't happen that way. I finally made it back to the pit at about 1 a.m. When I got back, it took me nearly 40 minutes to change my clothes, eat some food, and wrap up in my thermal blanket. I could tell that my plan wasn't working because I could hardly keep my eyes open. Chrissy was concerned, and I could tell. I looked off, and I felt off. I didn't want to sleep during the event because I feared my muscles locking up. But I knew after lap 6 - I needed rest, or I couldn't go back out. So, Chrissy and I went to the truck, and I laid down for a two-hour nap.
3 - The Heart of the Community: I was utterly defeated when I woke up. My legs were locked, I hadn't warmed up, and I felt horrible. Her concern was evident as I hobbled back to the pit with my wife beside me. She is a woman who has seen me tear my hands open and bleed on obstacles to achieve the goals I set for myself. She knows how hard I push myself when I put my mind to something, and leading into the race, I told her, "No matter what, don't let me quit." So, I know how awful I must have looked when I heard her say:
"Babe, I need you to know that it's okay if it doesn't happen. You've done great, and I don't want you to feel like you haven't done enough."
Little did she know, I was already trying to figure out how to do as little as possible. I was cold, broken, and ready to quit. The rules stated that, in order to be a finisher, you had to finish a lap after 9 a.m. It was 3:30 a.m.
So I replied, "I know. I have to do at least one more."
To this day, I don't know if it was intentional, but her next sentence hit me to the core.
"Two more."
"What?" I replied, confused.
"Well, you're going out now. Then you have to get one in after 9 a.m."
Just like that, she had reignited my fire. She believed in me, even if I didn't. And that was enough.
We returned to the pit, I got geared up, and I hit the course with a vengeance, setting times ahead of expectation for laps 7, 8, and 9.
And here's the best part - my wife and pit crew weren't the only people at the event dedicated to seeing me succeed. The course was full of them.
There were obstacle volunteers, such as the "Everest Angels." They are groups of runners who sacrifice their own records, completing just one lap throughout the 24 hours. Instead of pushing for mileage or personal bests, they pick an obstacle, such as Everest, Mudderhorn, and Berlin Walls, and they spend the entire race lifting every other runner over the obstacle. When your arms give up, and you can't lift yourself over a wall? They give you a knee and a shoulder to climb on. They sacrifice their records and their bodies to make sure everyone around them succeeds.
There were also volunteers of a less intense but just as essential nature. I vividly remember three: Dave, Sandy, and Blind Pete. Dave was volunteering at his 104th Tough Mudder event, and his compassion carried many racers through the night. I remember walking up to his obstacle one time during the night. He looked at me, saw the struggle, walked over, and hugged me - holding on for longer than I expected, but just as long as I needed. I left feeling rejuvenated and ready to continue.
Sandy and Blind Pete worked the hydration station all night, providing much-needed water, electrolytes, and comedy. Plus, it's beyond motivating to continue running the course at 5 a.m. when a blind guy has been handing you water all night and cracking jokes! I'll never forget this one:
I'm getting water with some other runners and hear Pete talking to a guy as he leaves.
Runner: "Alright, Pete, I'm heading out!"
Pete: "Okay! You're looking great!"
Runner: "Thanks!"
The runner takes off, only to stop 15 yards away.
Runner: "Wait...aren't you f%*$ing blind?!"
Pete and the whole group started laughing. The exchange was one of many that kept our spirits high throughout the night.
Sandy was just as invaluable throughout the night. She personally handed water cups to every runner who passed and checked in on us. When the final lap came around, she stopped every runner, hugged us, and said the words we all needed to hear: "I'm proud of you."
The World's Toughest Community is one of the best communities I've ever been a part of - united under the banner of enduring hardship and pushing past physical and mental boundaries. I saw groups of runners guiding people in wheelchairs through sandy dunes. I worked in a group, including a runner with one hand, as we all united to overcome an obstacle. We were all one, pushing toward the same goal. And the pit crews, volunteers, and workers united in supporting us all.
Aftermath: Achievements and Impact
In the end, I hobbled across the World's Toughest Mudder finish line with exactly 50 miles. The video above is unedited footage of my final steps on the course. It was the hardest thing I've ever endured, but I achieved my goal. The community helped push me through. My pit crew—Chrissy Rodriguez (my wife), Bud Rautio (my Father-in-Law), and Blake Morgan (MNS's Operations Manager)—ensured I only had to worry about my next step. They managed my food, clothes, pacing, and photos/videos so I could focus on the race.
The community reminded me of what the Metal Ninja Charity Challenge stands for and what I want to grow it into. While I'm doing the physical events, they serve as a focal point for the Metal Ninja community to rally behind. We can all unite to improve the world, one event and one charity at a time.
My goal was 50 miles because I wanted to give donors a 25-page comic. Despite the hardship, I achieved my goal.
Now, it's your turn.
Join the Mission
Donate, follow along with our progress, spread the word about the challenge, and come together as a community to achieve our next goal: $10,000 raised for St. Jude Children's Hospital.
(P.S. As of this writing, we're already at $1,900 and well on our way!)
Thank you for supporting this year's Metal Ninja Charity Challenge. Our community means the world to me, and I love that we can come together to help others like the kids at St. Jude.
The Challenge Continues!
- Joel Rodriguez
CEO, Metal Ninja Studios
