Last November when I ran the Chili
Chilly Extreme 5K (Nov. 30, 2014, post) I got so caught up in trying to cover it for the
local newspaper that I forgot my number one rule for running:
Have fun.
I mean, I did have fun.... But I
was so worried about everyone else finishing and leaving before I
could take pictures or get quotes that I didn't really have
fun.
So, when they moved the Chili
Chilly to March, I had to try again. But this time I
wanted to focus on having fun instead
of focusing on photos.
Which is a really good thing,
because now I'm thinkin' pictures during a race – especially an
“extreme” one – might be a really bad idea. Or a really,
really good source of blackmail material.
For example...
The Chili Chilly starts on semi-solid
ground before going off-road through a field. The established trail
quickly turned into a slippery, slidey, bog of sucky, sticky mud, so
I decided to blaze a new, more solid route by doing a “high, wide
knees” run to straddle the corn stubble next to the trail.
The only problem is that I am about as
graceful as a water buffalo when running on dry, solid surfaces. Add
in the slippery-slidey mud and high, wide knees and I was about as
graceful as a drunken water buffalo.
Then, just for kicks and giggles, let's
say there were cockleburs mixed in with the stubble. The stubble that
I was straddling.
There I was, trying to run and pick
cockleburs off my crotch when I looked up and realized I was quickly
approaching a volunteer who was directing us out of the field and
into the woods.
And laughing. Really, really
hard.
I was really, really glad he did
not have a camera.
Half a mile later I looked down and saw
a gigantic spider climbing up my thigh. My forward progress was
eclipsed by my skyward progress as I flailed about trying to dislodge
the... mass of cockleburs.
“Not. A. Spider.” I explained to
the policeman who was directing traffic on this portion of the
course.
And laughing. Really, really
hard.
Really, really glad he did
not have a camera.
A few hundred yards later the trail ran
smack-dab into a huge, fallen tree tagged with a sign indicating we
could go over or under.
“This one's for you!” race course
designer and evil mastermind Jerry cheerfully announced. Note to
self: Quit taunting evil mastermind race course designers.
Faced with the option of hard or
harder, I, of course, chose harder. Placing my hands on top of the
log (about chest high), I gave a mighty jump, hoisted myself up, and
flung one leg over. Relieved to have more or less made it to the top,
I lay there straddling the trunk.
Then I realized I still had to get back
down... before Jerry could quit laughing and grab a camera.
I managed the dismount with all the
grace of a drunken water buffalo and scrambled off up the trail. A
couple of twists and turns and 30 yards later the trail circled back
to a small rise beside the Sequia obstacle. I was just about to call
out to Jerry and tell him how glad I was that he
didn't have a camera when SCHWA-LIP my feet shot out from under me
and I slid down the trail on my cockelbur.
Really, really
glad.
The final, big obstacle involved
sliding down a creek bank to wade across the Mississippi River... or
maybe it was just a creek. A really, really cold creek that
was ankle deep on one side and chest deep on the opposite side.
The drunken water buffalo was finally
in her element.
I am really, really glad there
were no cameras to prove otherwise.
After the race I was trying to clean
off the worst of the muck when a chipper girl from the
youngest age group asked if I had gone through the creek.
“Of course!” I answered. “That
was the best part!”
“I know!” she said, excitedly.
“Some people skipped it, but me and my friends sprinted to
get there!”
An ear-to-ear smile lit up her
mud-covered face and she laughed really, really hard.
She really, really had fun.
And I really, really wished I
had a camera.
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