THE FIRST TUTU FALLS EARLY at Tough Mudder. I’m running the 10-mile obstacle event with about 5,000 other people on a chilly Saturday in late May at Snow Valley ski resort, about two hours east of LA. As I sprint past the muddy skirt, I wonder why its owner threw it away. Guys are wearing leopard-print unitards, big-hair wigs and those minuscule neon shorts from the women’s section at Sports Authority. Some have even forsaken shoes — one explained his decision to go barefoot by scrawling “Shoes are for pussies” across his chest. Maybe, but I’ve just shimmied through a corrugated tube filled with wet gravel (the Boa Constrictor) and belly-crawled through muck below barbed wire (Kiss of Mud), and I can only say I’m happy my feet are covered. Just as I’m reading the barefoot Mudder’s chest, I see another runner pick up the filthy tutu and slip it on over his spandex tights. “Pretty,” I tell him. Read more.