We’ve been running together now for about a year. I got into running as a way to get thirty minutes of physical activity three to five times a week. I didn’t get into it to race; I don’t want to run a marathon, and I don’t care how fast I am.
For the first nine months or so, I really hated running…at least, right up until the point that the running stopped, and I caught my breath. And it is that feeling that gets me up before dawn to do it again tomorrow. That, and as the days get longer I am rewarded with a postcard view: the dawn sky glowing sapphire and green, increasingly distinguishing itself from the black of the mountains to the east.
Somewhere around month nine, we started gearing up for the
World Famous Camp Pendleton Mud Run. My husband was signed up, and he wanted me to join him if a spot became available. The Mud Run is a 10K through the muddy obstacle course of the Camp Pendleton Marine Base. I was not interested. I didn’t like the idea of mud in my shoes and shorts.
To get him ready (and me too, he kept insisting), we challenged ourselves to hilly long-distance runs. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed these runs, and before long I had comfortably surpassed the mileage I’d have to run in the Mud Run. I still wasn’t interested. Then one morning, word came in that someone had dropped off the team and I could join. After months of resisting, I was overcome with excitement. I questioned it, slept on it, tried to resist some more, and finally gave in. It was done. My check was mailed, and my t-shirt was ordered.
Then my running partner pulled a muscle and had to stop running. He assured me he’d still run on race day, but he didn’t plan to run again before that day. I knew he could sit out for two weeks and still power through the run, but I was worried I’d wimp out along the course, if I didn’t keep working. So, I ran…alone for most of the next two weeks.
Race day came, and I was still excited. Is something wrong with me? Why am I excited about running 6.2 miles, scaling climbing walls, wading (or crawling) through mud pits, streams, and a lake, trudging through soft sand, jumping hay bales, crawling through a culvert, and stepping through a tire obstacle? I still don’t know why I was excited, but it was more fun than I could have imagined, and I can’t wait to do it again. And yes, I still don’t like mud in my shoes and shorts.
This morning, I ran a 5K with some coworkers. It was my first official “race”. (The Mud Run is, well, mainly about getting muddy.) I decided to go into today’s run with the mindset that I was out for a morning jog with a bunch of people.
What an experience to be on the road with a hundred or more runners, joggers, and walkers (dogs & kids included). There were traffic cones, angry drivers screaming about blocked intersections, and motorcycle police directing traffic ~and us. And then there was the finish line. Wait. My morning runs do not have a big blue FINISH banner; I just run to a crossroad or a local landmark like the dog up the street.
Suddenly, it was no longer just a morning jog with a bunch of strangers and a few coworkers. A big time clock under the FINISH banner ticked off the seconds as I approached, and it made me run faster to beat some imaginary time. Strangers were cheering for me, and there was music and food. I took fliers for upcoming races and read them to see which ones we might fit into our schedule. Maybe I do like this race thing after all.
See pictures of us from the Mud RunReturn to our home pageLabels: mud run, run, running
