Knee-Deep in Mud and Grace: What the Tough Mudder Taught Me About Leadership, Blended Family, and the Long Game
This one’s a little different—more journal than roadmap. No bullet points, no five-step takeaways. Just some muddy reflection on leadership, family, and full-circle moments.
Picture this: You’re knee-deep in the mud, your muscles are screaming, and your shoes are barely hanging on. You just helped your 21-year-old daughter up the slick mudslide, and now she’s turning around to pull you while your 19-year-old boosts from behind. Up ahead, your daughter’s bonus mom is already reaching out to support her, while behind you, your ex is making sure your husband gets over. And off to the side, your daughter’s boyfriend is helping strangers climb.
It’s chaotic. It’s muddy. It’s real. And somehow, it’s perfect.
That moment didn’t just mark the middle of a Tough Mudder course. It marked something much deeper—a full-circle moment years in the making.
We’d actually run this course before—same terrain, same mud, same ridiculous obstacles—but with a completely different crew and mindset. Back then, it was our thing as adults. We were in the thick of our fitness journeys, proud of pushing ourselves, measuring progress by how sore we were the next day or how many obstacles we conquered without help. It was a personal challenge, something we did for ourselves. And let’s be honest—even if you don’t like beer (hi, it’s me), there’s something about that cold beer at the finish line that just tastes like victory. Maybe it’s the mud, maybe it’s the endorphins, but dang… it hits.
This year was different. In the past, we’ve run for ourselves, to prove we could. We’ve run to raise money and to support charities. We’ve run to support friends. But this year, we ran as a family.
Their dad and I ran our first obstacle course race before they were teenagers. Then my husband and I took it on. It’s been eight years since we last did one, and now here we were again—with our young adult kids choosing to be here. Choosing challenge. Choosing team. Choosing us.
And I can’t stop thinking about what that says about leadership.
Because leadership isn’t always loud or obvious. It doesn’t always come with a title or a plan. Sometimes it looks like consistently showing up over the years—not knowing if they’re watching, not knowing what will stick. It looks like building something sturdy enough that one day, they want to stand on it.
In a blended family, leadership often looks like quiet work. Like patience. Like choosing the high road again and again. Like making room for the both/and—for all the parents, all the dynamics, all the people who love these kids.
That mudslide moment? It didn’t happen by accident. It happened because we’ve all, in our own ways, been climbing toward something bigger than ourselves for a long time.
What struck me most that day wasn’t just the teamwork. It was the unspoken teamwork. The ease. The trust. The fact that no one had to ask for help—we just gave it. And when I looked around, every single person was leading, in their own way.
Maybe it's climbing the ridiculous tower of nets, knowing my daughter and her bonus mom are both scared of heights, and seeing Kailey's determination to be strong kick in and help her bonus mom over. Me locking eyes with Cait, knowing she could do this, coaching her down inch by inch—and then witnessing that huge high five from Kailey when Cait finally touched the ground.
Or watching my son tackle each obstacle like he’s been training for this his whole life—focused, fearless, all in. Our daughter's boyfriend, who has asthma, pushing himself past his limits to complete his very best. He outran all of us, and did it with grit and heart.
This is what legacy looks like. Not perfection. Not hierarchy. But presence.
As a co-parenting family, we get questions. A lot of them. Some people can’t even understand how we do it, and I’ll be honest—we’ve even been criticized for our relationship. Crazy, right? But here’s the thing: I honestly think it would be harder not to have the relationship we do. To not have the friendship. The love. The laughter. To miss out on these kinds of moments because we let our egos get the best of us? That feels like the real loss. I’m not saying it’s easy—it’s taken years of doing the work, having the hard conversations, extending grace—but I believe with my whole heart that through it all, we’re teaching our kids the biggest lesson of all: how to choose connection over conflict. How to show up for each other, no matter what version of the family shows up that day.
If you’re leading anything—a team, a family, a business, a movement—don’t underestimate the power of showing up consistently, even when it doesn’t seem to matter. Don’t overlook the leadership happening in the background. And don’t forget: sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is keep climbing, even if you’re covered in mud.
One day, you’ll look around and realize you’re not climbing alone anymore.
And that’s the real win.
It shifted something in me. I think somewhere along the way, I stopped realizing how powerful consistency is. Not the flashy kind. Not the “watch me go” kind. The kind that just keeps showing up. That keeps choosing peace. That keeps rooting for everyone to win. That trusts that love doesn't get divided, it gets multiplied.
This past weekend reminded me that leadership isn't just about what you build, it's about what you're willing to keep rebuilding. With grace. With grit. And yes—with mud in your teeth and a cold beer in your hand, even if you're not a beer girl.
So, I guess I’ll leave you with this: where in your life are you being invited to choose presence over pride? What would it look like to show up, even if it means getting a little muddy?
I’m rooting for you,
With love and encouragement,
Beth
I’d love to hear your thoughts- What’s a moment in your life where you realized the quiet, steady work was actually the most powerful kind of leadership? I’d love to hear your story—mud, mess, and all.
