I LIKE MUD

I don't mind doing stuff by myself.  I take myself out to eat, I go to movies by myself, and sometimes I go on random adventures by myself.

I sign up to do a 5k mud run.

It's nothing horrifying.  There are no burning nor electrified nor hazardous obstacles.  There are fun obstacles that participants can either try ... or not.  Either way, it's 5k from start to finish. 

I've done two of these before, one more strenuous than the other.  But I took a break after pulling both my Achilles tendons -- ouch -- and decided that tugging my legs out of mud might not be the smartest thing I've ever done.

But, like all immature overgrown children, I REALLY LIKE MUD.

I sign up, but nobody else signs up with me this time.  I'll be honest, I love my friends and family, but I'm perfectly happy going at my own pace, challenging myself, and helping out new and interesting people.  And, did I mention before: I really like mud.

I get myself all set and smartly wear an old pair of water shoes because it's truly gross once the muddy pebbles get into tied sneakers.  This way I can empty out my shoes on the fly.  I have a homemade tutu, bright socks, and fake diamond earrings.

I am ready to rumble.

Rumble, indeed.  The night before the 5k, all of the local weather forecasters (why do I continue to listen to these people?!) start talking about torrential downpours, severe and sudden thunder storms, and driving, gale-force winds.  They even start throwing out "Tornado threat!"

Shit.  Shit on a cracker.  Shit all over my fun.

I'm not running out in an open field if I am in danger of electrifying my hair or if a twister is going to shoot me over to Kansas.  However, I don't give up nor give in easily.  I get up early and start watching the weather radar.  An hour before my wave is set to run, there is a large thunderstorm cell headed right for the 5k venue.  I consider eating the registration fee, yet still I start getting ready.  Earrings in, make-up on, deodorant applied.

Suddenly, with 45 minutes until my start time, the cell breaks in half.  The left half and right half completely circumvent the town where the mud run is being held.  I get dressed in less than ten minutes, and I'm in my car and on the highway in short order.  While I am madly (but carefully) driving the thirty-five miles to the venue, the skies open up several times, at one point actually forcing tractor trailers and cars to the breakdown lane as visibility is definitely close to zero.

Forging ahead, I find the location, park in East Bumshoe, and make my way to the registration desk.  Thanks to the horrible weather, the  lines are short.  I look over to the start area and realize my wave has just left.  I know that the next few waves are full, but I have great hope.

"Bad traffic," I lie, "and terrible weather.  I just missed my start time."

No problem.  She puts me right into the next one.  Apparently, many people are bagging the morning run due to the weather forecast.

I do the 5k in a decent time, go into every mud bog, do all but two obstacles (but I do help others get over them) because my height combined with the height of the obstacles, the severity of the climb up, and the fact that it is still drizzling enough to make everything slippery, scares me off a little bit.  I do better than I expect on the obstacles that I embrace, and I meet a lot of fabulous women en route to the finish line and my Muddy Princess medal.

Other than stopping at a gas station to pee on the way home (scaring the hell out of the people inside the place because I look like the Creature From the Black Lagoon) and totally trashing the tutu, I am damn proud of myself.  Filthy, yes, but proud.  After all, I LIKE MUD.