So, a team from Liquid pulled together on the weekend to raise money for clean water by running the New Jersey Muddy Marathon. We took part in the day's 'Fun Run', but according to my body today, I may be able to start litigation on grounds of false advertising!
Oh sure, it started out as fun. We all laughed as we missed the start and trotted off after the herd. And the first mud pit was a lot of fun! After running over a grass hill we hit some deep mud and a few of us dived hysterically in head first. We threw mud and posed for photos, pushed people over and frolicked in a freezing stream ... blissfully unaware of the agony to come.
The first indication of something sinister came at about 1.4 miles when the terrain took a sharp incline. What followed was a 1600ft rock climb up two sheer mountain faces. Read that again - rock climb! And like that (insert snapping fingers), a race billed as muddy turned decidedly dry as we dodged poison ivy, tripped over fallen logs and balanced on precariously small rocks. We totally wore the wrong shoes!
Of course, what goes up must come down ... and that happened at an unwelcomed pace. At times during the descent, it was all we could do to maintain balance as the speed wobbles kicked in. That's when an injured ankle from a few weeks back flared up.
The second rock climb was worse than the first because it was a more sustained incline. That's when an Achilles injury from my 20s flared up.
We reached a drink station after about 2 hours, filled up on candy and headed on another incline and then decent. That's when a knee injury from year 7 flared up.
We reached the summit and enjoyed the view for a few seconds, then headed down a narrow winding trail, desperately searching for orange markers and any signs of life. That's when a wrist injury from grade 4 flared up.
A little kid sitting on a rock advised us we were close to the end, but I wasn't sure if I was hallucinating at this point - but it was a glimmer of hope that sparked us back to life. We threw ourselves into the final mud pit - more to ensure we were dirty at the end than out of enthusiasm - climbed up a hill of leaves and headed for the home stretch. That's when a crawling injury from when I was a baby flared up.
Coming up the final hill with the finish line in sight was both exhilarating and exhausting. We crossed the line expecting enthusiastic hugs from our loved ones ... but considering the foul smelling mud caked on our faces and clothes, they understandably kept their distance.
A day later as I write this, there's still chunks of mud falling out of my hair, and stuck in various crevices.
