In February 2012, I had one of those wake-up calls you don’t see coming. The kind that shakes you to your core and forces you to reassess everything you thought you knew about fitness. It all started with what I thought would be a simple challenge: the Warrior Dash, a 5km mud race that I expected to breeze through without breaking a sweat. After all, I was a decent runner, consistently hitting sub-1:40 in half marathons, and I had signed up for the Tough Mudder later that year. This was just a warm-up, right?
As it turned out, I was dead wrong.
I went into the Warrior Dash, confident that my running background would carry me through. But from the very first obstacle, I knew I was in trouble. My legs, usually reliable, felt like lead after the first couple of kilometres. When it came time to haul myself over walls and through mud pits, I quickly realised that my upper body strength was practically non-existent. I was dragging myself along with sheer willpower, not muscle. The final time was embarrassing, far below where I thought I should be, and it left me utterly demoralised.
That day, I understood something critical: I wasn’t as fit as I thought I was. Sure, I could run for miles, but when it came to total body fitness, I was severely lacking. I weighed less than 60kg, and while that was great for endurance running, it left me with no strength to tackle the obstacles that the Warrior Dash—and certainly Tough Mudder—demanded.
I knew something had to change. I needed to build strength, but I needed to figure out where to start. I dabbled in weightlifting, but it never felt right to me. The gym environment didn’t motivate me, and the repetitive movements didn’t hold my interest. Plus, I was plagued by niggling injuries that only made it harder to stay consistent. I needed something different, something that would not only build my strength but keep me engaged.
One day, while searching for an alternative to the gym, I stumbled upon a book called Convict Conditioning. The premise intrigued me: bodyweight exercises that could be done anywhere, focusing on functional strength rather than just aesthetics. I binge-read the book, completely absorbed by the concept of using nothing but my body to develop real, practical strength. It was a revelation.
The more I read, the more convinced I became that calisthenics was the answer I’d been searching for. I started small, working on basic movements like push-ups, pull-ups, and squats. Progress was slow at first, but I quickly noticed something—this felt right. I was motivated, injury-free, and, most importantly, getting stronger. My body started to change, not just in appearance but in capability. The same obstacles that had once crushed me became challenges I could conquer.
Looking back, that failed mud race was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It led me to calisthenics, a method of training that has not only transformed my body but has become a lifelong passion. I never looked back, and I’m stronger now, both physically and mentally, than I ever was before.
