Moral of this story, listen to your gut. I'm notorious for shelling out advice like the government dole, but not always good at heeding my own. I should have taken my own advice and gotten the #$@% out of there.
So, let me just set the scene for this disjointed tale (the pun will be appreciated later).
A very good friend Karen and I have been running together for quite some time now, and have taken fondly to doing small little 5K runs. We're not starring in It's a runderful life or anything, we're just enjoying the runs, the atmosphere, and the giggles. Over the past couple of years we've done a couple of runs, and this year, we stepped it up. We signed up for a mud run. Ugh
How I should have spent my day
Race day. To be completely honest, I wasn't totally looking forward to sloshing around in the mud and slipping and sliding like escaped convicts. Something about this entire fiasco seemed foreign and crazy to me. But, I had committed to Karen, had paid the fee, and so, like a good little girl, I raced.
Alternately, Clara was hosting her 80's themed 40th birthday party that night. My superwoman plan was to do the piddly 5k run, get home, shower and put on my Run DMC Adidas track suit. I would lob on some fake gold bling, and party like it was 1989. Oh, how naive I was.
Karen and I pre-race
We arrived at the race. Well, sorta. The parking lot at the actual race grounds was full, so we had to park about 10 minutes away and be shuttled to the race. There were thousands of people waiting to be shuttled. It was windy and cold. Our race time was at 10:30, it was now 12:30 and we were still herded in line like cattle to get onto a school bus and get to the race. Ugh, this was not going as planned.
We pull up to the race grounds, and I immediately think "Crap, what the hell am I doing?!" There are grown-ass women literally wading through hip-height mud puddles, skidding and slithering along the ground. Shrieks of delight, fear, and horror ring out all at the same time. I have a yearning desire to get back onto the bus, get my cold behind home, and pour a glass- or 6 of wine.
The cattle (I mean bus line) to get to the race
I look at Karen and say "Can't we just say we did this and go home?" Of course, she was mortified that I would even suggest such a thing. I nervously threw my head back and let out an evil villain chuckle to signify that I was just kidding and I would NEVER imagine doing such a thing. She wasn't fooled.
After more line-ups, more regrets, complaints, and many more jokes about trying to leave, we finally arrived at the start line. My adrenaline kicked in and I was so eager to get it over with. As soon as we started running, my mom (occasionally rational) subconscious kicked in and screamed at unreal decibals in my brain that this was wrong on so many sludgy levels. People were falling everywhere, the slimy mud was not conducive to running, and no matter how hard I tried to get into it, I was just not feeling it. There was a camaraderie between the women because they literally had to help strangers in and out of mounds, piles, and ponds of filthy, clammy, mucky gunk. A brood of brown stained women hugging and guffawing.
Then, there it was: THE LAST OBSTACLE. No exaggeration here people, I literally had a tear roll down my cheek as I couldn't wait for this blunder to be over. All I had to do was climb up the ladder and slide down the other side directly into the finish line. I watched some 30 women go before me, and I was gonna do this and be done. DONE.
I attacked that ladder at spiderman speed. I was climbing that thing with a vengeance- until my foot slipped. My right hand let go of the slippery muddy handles, and I held on with my left hand- suspended in mid air with one arm. Then it happened. POP! I felt something pop in my arm. I looked down and saw that my shoulder had dislocated. I was suspended, in pain, in the middle of the air Tarzan style. All that was missing was the Tarzan yodel, and the ape, Kala. The guy at the top of the ladder kept screaming "come on babe, you got this." I wanted so badly to drop kick him in the throat.
Needless to say, the ambulance ride to the hospital was full of moaning, dragon breathing, morphine and plenty of cursing.
5 hours later, my shoulder was reset, I was high as a kite, and regretted every damn millisecond of this horrible day.
Meanwhile, Clara was getting ready for her party. I didn't quite make it that night, or any other night for the next 2 weeks.
Your gut is smarter than you think. It is sometimes the only enlightened part of your thinking. Listen to it. Nurture it. Dance with it, and when it tells you to run... get the heck out and run like you stole something.
Getting all 80's glammed while I get bones reset
Morphine induced hospital release