Tag: USMC Mud Run

Confessions

Good Clean Fun

I survived.  I don’t really want to write out the play-by-play of the entire 90 minutes of mud hell, especially after sitting next to some 40 somethings at the continental breakfast on Sunday morning doing exactly that.  So I will give you a brief rehash, list style.

  • 5K = 3.1 miles; 5.2 miles = 10K  | Somehow, we got these confused.  This was a 10K mud run.
  • My training consisted of going “running” two Saturdays in a row, about a month before the race.
  • My breakfast the morning of the race consisted of 4 cheese danishes and a cup of coffee.  (I can’t resist those things when staying in hotels.)
  • I decide to tell the members of our teams that this little “fun run” was per the prescription of our marriage counselor, an attempt to re-introduce the “fun” in our marriage.  Many, with concerned looks, believe me.
  • We get sunburned waiting in the line to start.
  • My mental preparation consists of looking around at the rest of the participants and trying to decide who looks wimpier than me.  I sorely underestimate my own teammate: Beth-from-Burlington.
  • 20 minutes into the course it starts raining.  But this sort of helps clean my hands and eyes so I can see a little better.
  • At exactly the halfway point (as I am on my belly in a puddle of mud-water crawling under some logs) the marine in charge yells, “Hold your ground!”  (We civilians naturally assume this means grab the ground harder and crawl faster?)  He then yells, “Get the f- out of the water, NOW!”  *Final log, diverted.  Bonus.
  • Lightening strikes about 100ft away from me.  The ground shakes.  The marine in charge says, “Seek cover.”  I find a really tall red-head and grab his ankles.
  • Lightening strikes again about 100ft away from us in the other direction.  I say a quick (and this time real) prayer that we don’t die.  (Though, truth be told, I’ve always sort of wanted to get struck by lightening and live.  Just thought it would make a good story.)
  • It gets cold.  My muscles get really sore.  10 minutes later we’re instructed it’s “safe.”
  • We go through the rest of the course.
  • I mostly want to die the entire time.
  • There are lots of hills.  Lots.  And Beth-from-Burlington wants to run the entire thing.
  • We climb some walls, lift each other over some logs, swim in several meters of manure (I’m pretty sure), walk through a deceptively peaceful river (my shins and knees prove this was actually the most dangerous part of the entire course), run up and down dirt hills about a million times, I face-plant in some mud about 6 inches short of the “get a running start here” drop-off, do push-ups and other tricep killing exercises, I see my pregnant friend at the rope swings and remind myself that if she’s still alive I’ll probably be okay, and then we cross the finish line about 20 minutes behind the men’s team.

Today is 48 hours post race.  Both shins, one knee, and one elbow are a bit scraped and bruised.  I cannot lift my arms to brush my teeth or lower my body to pee without taking a few deep breaths, which in turn, hurts my ribs.  I’m still blowing black boogers out of my nose.  But, I’m wearing a sweet $35 t-shirt and thank God, my marriage has been saved.

Me. LorieAnn. Before.
Me. John. After.
Women's Team, After
Confessions

US Marine Corps Mud Run

An old friend emailed me a little over a month ago to ask if John and I wanted to do this:

My first thought was (mind you, without actually watching the above video), “There was a time in my life when this would have sounded fun to me.  That mindset has been on hiatus since having children.  Maybe a little before.  Not to mention the fact that I haven’t actually done any real physical activity since Carter was born.  Do I want to do something like that?  Fat no.  However.  Scott and LorieAnn are older than us.  If they can do it we can do it.”  John was up for it immediately, so I agreed.  But then he said, “This sounds fun to ME, Claire.  No offense, but this doesn’t seem like your thing at all.  Are you sure you want to do this?  I mean, I’m pretty sure we are going to be covered in mud, the entire time.”

What.  Do you think I’m too weak to do this?

No no no.  There’s no doubt in my mind that you could probably do it.  I just don’t know if you’d actually have any fun.

Why?  Because I’m a wimp?

Well, right now, yes.  But you have a month, you could get into better shape and then it might actually be fun for you.  If this thing were tomorrow I’d probably tell you not to do it.  But this gives you a goal, and you’re pretty good at working out if you have a goal.

That was 6 weeks ago.

So much for goals.

Though I was given the link to the website a day after confirming we’d do it, instead of navigating things and looking at what I was getting myself into, I was relying on word of mouth and my own imagination as to how “difficult” this little race was going to be.  Up until last weekend, John and I were convinced it was a 5K (“Oh that’s nothing,” she said ignorantly).  I still haven’t read the website, but I actually think it is closer to 5 miles, not kilometers.  And there are over 30 obstacles.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned recently that the last time I was in any sort of regular work out habit was training for the last marathon I ran, when Eliott was 8 months old.  (It was the MARINE CORPS Marathon, and it almost killed me, as I recall).  I worked out through my pregnancy with Carter, mostly done in the form of spinning classes at Gold’s Gym, and this, to help my restless leg syndrome (and fear of pregnancy pudge) more than anything.  Once she was born, breastfeeding was about as rigorous as my weightloss plan ever got.  I only maintained my $10 a month gym membership for the 90 minutes a day of free childcare through the summer, which I spent on a leather couch or at the juice bar, at least three days a week, drinking coffee, reading magazines, and watching other people work out.  *There was a regular group of senior citizens who met there every morning for coffee and donuts.  They loved Eliott and Carter, and I ate the donuts.  Once, there was cake.*

Needless to say, this little “race” is now 4 days away and I’m freaking out.  I put on high heels for the first time all season (and since leaving the professional world) last Sunday for church and my calves are still sore.  People.  I am out of shape.  This is a little hard to admit because there was definitely a time in my life when I was not wimpy.  (I’m hoping there is a fairly substantial group of people from my summers on Fan Lake who will testify for me on this.)  And despite my non existent record with high school athletics, there was a time in my life when I was actually competitive.  Granted, most of the competition was in the form of summer camp grape tosses, egg tosses, super pudding drops, and Thursday night relay races.  But I wasn’t usually on the losing team.  I mean, I once held my breath for almost 4 minutes under water in the name of cool points and auction beans.

So here I am.  8 years, 2 kids, and 3 jobs later.  I am a wimp who doesn’t like to get dirty.  Somebody better have a camera.