Anyhoo, this post is about a more literal kind of dirty. Last weekend I "ran" my first 5K. And I LOVED it. It was the Dirty Dash. A 5K mud obstacle course race. Months ago when I mentioned to E2 that I might do this he just laughed and said "Yeah, right. You? Run?"
I told my parents about it. My Dad thought the idea was great. My Mom, with more than a hint of disdain in her voice said "Oh. So basically it's a wet t-shirt contest but with mud."
Huh? What? No Mom. It's nothing like a wet t-shirt con...ya know, just..nevermind.
My coworker/friend Erin got a team together (Nor-folk-n-chance. How awesome is that name?) and ordered us all matching, painfully bright, t-shirts. Under normal circumstances say no to day-glow, but in this case it helped us keep track of each other. At least for the first 5 minutes of the race, before it looked like we'd all been dipped in a toilet full of runny poo.
I want to post different pictures of the whole team, but I didn't ask anyone's permission and I'm pretty sure that's against the law or something and I don't wanna end up in jail. I don't look good in orange and I don't typically befriend people with names like Big Bertha. I'm kind of a snob like that. So I'm just going to post a team picture of the end of the race where everyone is covered in mud and basically unidentifiable anyway and hope that doesn't count. Except for Erin's dog Zero. I'm posting a couple of him because he's a dog and we all know animals don't get or deserve any kind of animal rights or protection of any sort. Am I right??
So, in typical narcissistic fashion, this post will be about me. Let's get started.
|Pristine and clean before the race. Loved Zero's paw bands.|
|The cleanliness was short-lived.|
|This was the moment things went downhill fast. I tried to take out Erin, slipped, and barely managed to keep my head above mud. Her boyfriend and fellow teammate called it instant Karma. Oh how I hate that bitch. Karma, that is.|
|So much better than any slip 'n slide. However, a little tip you would assume to be self evident, keep your mouth closed.|
|I'm not British. I just don't follow my own tips.|
|Proof that there WAS some actual running involved. My shoes felt like 5 pound bricks at this point.|
|Yes, that is a knee high mud pit. Jealous yet?|
|Nor-folk-n-chance in all our nasty glory at the finish line.|
I'm not gonna lie. Cleanup was a bitch. I'm still blowing mud out of my nose, I think my left ear is permanently clogged with mud and my shoes will never be the same. I can't wait for next year!
I wonder if anyone could tell that I peed in the last mud hole?