Sunday, June 7, 2009

The Camp Pendleton Mud Run: The Good, The Bad, The Just Plain Ugly and The Dirty Little Secrets of Mud Runs


My initial draft of this blog was in the form of an open letter to the mud run race organizers to either add mud to said event or rename it the Camp Pendleton Hill Hell and Back Run due to the relative surplus of hills to actual mud. But after hosing down and wringing out my race clothes and getting nothing but brown water out of them, categorizing the race by good, bad, ugly and dirty seemed far more appropriate.

The Good:


Young, cute Marines.


I finished it! Despite the fact that my longest training run was 2.5 miles and that I was 40 the last time I’d even looked at a hill in a vaguely athletic manner. Despite that pesky little dehydration issue that kicked in before the race even started (but more on that in the Just Plain Ugly section).

My pit crew, Gary. That man suffers with me when the alarm goes off at the ungodly hour of 4:45 a.m. race day; drives endless minutes off two exits to find me suitable facilities when the caffeine kicks in; waits ever so patiently for the start and finish to try to shoot a decent shot of me; and shows up at just the right time with a post-race Blue Moon brew. This man was delivered to me by the running gods. As Gatorade says, “That’s G!”

Young, cute, friendly Marines.

Running with a team comprised of friends and strangers (are there really any strangers in running?) called Team Mixed Nuts – people who inspire, push you, make you laugh and try to distract you from the evil your body has in mind with vacuous conversation. Note to Rick: I’m on to you and your tricks, buddy. You get away with them because I let you! Note to Kristie: Call your buddies at Chanel and tell them to start making athletic eyewear! You rock, girl!

Young, cute friendly Marines from out of state that thought I was cute.

My body, guts and spirit – si se puede! Sure, they let me down a little on Saturday. But no matter how much I may beat myself up for my shortcomings on Saturday – this body, whom I refer to as Cartman-like or fat-ass, and on some days despise with a passion equivalent to my passion for physical challenges – performs miracles that amaze me. It goes fast when I least expect it; quits feeling pain when that’s all I should be feeling and just refuses to give up.

The young, cute friendly Marine from out of state who liked my cowboy hat.

Spectators who cheer for total strangers and put their hands out for a high-five from a runner! They make you feel like an Olympian when your body makes you feel, well, like Cartman.


Being able to laugh at yourself when you fall on your butt after BOTH 5’ assisted wall climbs and enjoying the “active rest” while plummeting down a hill.

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