The McGuire Air Force Base held their second annual 10K MudRun on Saturday, and yours truly was there, not merely as a spectator but as an honest-to-God participant. That's right, you're looking at the oldest member of team Girls Run A Muck.
I was encouraged to join by my four coworkers, most of whom are between 5 and 10 years younger than me, and in the shape to prove it. I signed up thinking that it would be something fun and challenging...and, truthfully, maybe even something that I would back out of as the race date got closer. But I didn't want to be the chickenshit of the group, the old married mom who couldn't take it.
About a week ago, it dawned on me that I had never even run more than 3 continuous miles. So how the hell was I going to double that distance AND take on obstacles like trench crawls, swamp runs, wall climbs, sand hills, and hurdles. Not to mention rapelling into a ravine and crossing a river using only ropes. Positive thinking was all that I had to get me through it. Those of you who know me know that I am not flush with positive thinking, so you can imagine the challenge.
My personal goal was to finish the race in under two hours. Even on a good day, I can only run about a 12-minute mile, and that's without obstacles. I thought that giving myself 15 minutes per mile was a good guestimate of what I could endure.
As we lined up Saturday morning at 9:15, I was starting to freak out. I mean, there were people in phenomenal shape...women older than me with about 7% body fat, young women whose thighs didn't even touch while wearing what looked like kid-sized spandex running shorts. If this was my competition, I was doomed. But the starting pistol fired, and we were off.
I was encouraged to join by my four coworkers, most of whom are between 5 and 10 years younger than me, and in the shape to prove it. I signed up thinking that it would be something fun and challenging...and, truthfully, maybe even something that I would back out of as the race date got closer. But I didn't want to be the chickenshit of the group, the old married mom who couldn't take it.
About a week ago, it dawned on me that I had never even run more than 3 continuous miles. So how the hell was I going to double that distance AND take on obstacles like trench crawls, swamp runs, wall climbs, sand hills, and hurdles. Not to mention rapelling into a ravine and crossing a river using only ropes. Positive thinking was all that I had to get me through it. Those of you who know me know that I am not flush with positive thinking, so you can imagine the challenge.
My personal goal was to finish the race in under two hours. Even on a good day, I can only run about a 12-minute mile, and that's without obstacles. I thought that giving myself 15 minutes per mile was a good guestimate of what I could endure.
As we lined up Saturday morning at 9:15, I was starting to freak out. I mean, there were people in phenomenal shape...women older than me with about 7% body fat, young women whose thighs didn't even touch while wearing what looked like kid-sized spandex running shorts. If this was my competition, I was doomed. But the starting pistol fired, and we were off.
For me, the hardest part of the course was the 1/2 mile striaght run to the first obstacle (sand hills and mud valleys -- see photo to right -- our team is in the red bandanas in the foreground) and the last 3/4 mile straight run to the finish line. The obstacles were amazing. Looking back at it now, I can't believe that I willed my body to do what it did. As if powered by some latent military instinct, I found myself doing whatever it took to get through it without even thinking about the effects on my body. At one point, we were crossing a swamp, and while everyone else was up to their waists, I was in swamp water up to my collarbones.
At another point, we had to cross a river using only a rope above our heads and barrels tied together at our feet which, because they were wet, were exceptionally slippery. The distance between the rope and barrels was 5 feet, but since I'm only 4'11", I spent most of my time with my hands on the rope and my feet dangling in vain to touch the rolling barrels. To reach land and complete that challenge, I had to swing my body up about three feet, let go of the rope, and leap because my feet couldn't touch the barrel closest to the ledge. I hope that someone out there has a picture of me doing that because I would love to see what it looked like. For now, this shot of me precariously balancing on the barrels will have to do.
All in all, this was a great experience. The soreness and bruising, both of which are ample, will fade. But the pride I had in challenging my body to push beyond what I normally expect of it was really amazing, especially because there are so many ways that my body fails me on a regular basis. How crazy is it that something I seriously thought about dropping out of has turned to be one of my proudest accomplishments ever.
All in all, this was a great experience. The soreness and bruising, both of which are ample, will fade. But the pride I had in challenging my body to push beyond what I normally expect of it was really amazing, especially because there are so many ways that my body fails me on a regular basis. How crazy is it that something I seriously thought about dropping out of has turned to be one of my proudest accomplishments ever.
