On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer, On Vixen

“A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.”
Napoleon Bonaparte

In my case, it was a cheap Viking hat with horns that was made in China.

This weekend’s adventure was to complete the Warrior Dash, a 3.2 mile obstacle course including, among other things, LOTS of mud and a fire. 

As is frequently the case when I announce my weekend plans, most people just asked why.  And, as the day of the dash approached, I received a slew of text messages wishing me well.  It was as if my friends thought that text message might be their last contact with me…ever.  Fortunately, I am here to tell my story and they are not just hearing it sorrowfully recounted at my memorial service.  

My favorite question of all was from my mother who asked, “What does this race benefit?”  I thought about it for a moment and responded, “My blog.”  This is not a race that purports to support a charity.  The organizers are simply in it for the money and the participants are in it for the free beer and turkey legs…and Viking hats.

When it comes to participating in such a physically-demanding event, strategy is key.  Months of planning and training go into conquering the course.  Or maybe not.  Since Guido* was unwilling to build me a fire pit in the backyard to adequately condition for this race, I decided to forego training altogether.  What was the point?  If I couldn’t scale the roof of my house or practice jumping over a raging fire, then we might as well enjoy some margaritas with friends the night before the dash and just hope for the best.

The good news is I completed the entire race and only skipped two obstacles.  The bad news is I did not exactly escape this day injury-free.

After wading through murky waters, climbing over wrecked cars, reenacting the scene from “Entrapment” in which Catherine Zeta-Jones crawls through a tangled mess of ropes (albeit not even remotely as attractively as she did it), scaling walls and cargo nets, jumping over fire, slithering through a mud pit under barbed wire, and getting pounded with a water hose in the “Warrior Wash,” I managed to injure myself by slipping and falling out of the school bus that shuttled us back to our car.

Yes, that’s right.  I made it through all of that mess only to fall out of a school bus.  Thankfully, my injuries consisted only of a bruised arm, leg, and ego.  Somehow that’s par for the course for me, but it did not diminish my pride at proving to my friends and family that this girly-girl doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty occasionally.  As for the much sought-after hat, Guido says I look more like a Muppet in it than I do a Viking warrior. 

In the end, Guido and I had so much fun that we're planning to do it again next year.  After seeing hordes of people wearing kilts with fake swords, "Braveheart" warrior face paint, Fred Flintstone costumes, a bridal party having an unconventional bachelorette party, and tons of other people have a ball, it became clear to us that we need to recruit an army to join us in 2012.  Consider this your official invitation.  And, between now and 2012, I plan to train extensively to safely exit the school bus.

*My husband will henceforth be known in this blog as “Guido” as I am tired of referring to him generically as “my husband.”