A while back, I told my family that I was considering participating in the Warrior Dash 5K Mud Run. In return, I got mixed reactions of mild support and a series of questions.
Naturally, they wanted to know why I wanted to do it, why I would risk getting hurt to do a muddy obstacle race requiring, first of all, signing a page-long detailed waiver listing all the ways injuries could occur for which race sponsors couldn’t be held liable, and why I didn’t pick something easier. Didn’t I know about other more suitable 5K races?
Finally, I figured out what they were really trying to say in roundabout ways. They were concerned I might get hurt doing something I was basically too old to be doing. I am glad they care about my welfare,but too old? That hadn’t even crossed my mind! Warrior Dash training, here I come!
I would show them but, most of all, I would show myself! After all, when has this tough country girl ever been stopped by a few muddy obstacles? Besides, why should youngsters have all the fun? Yes, tough talk for somebody that hadn’t yet started training in earnest.
Time was already short, so my friend Tammy and I stepped up our training right away. Neither of us knew how to prepare, exactly, so we did a lot of fast walking, some jogging, some wimpy girl pushups and our least favorite, but probably the most helpful in hindsight, climbing the huge set of steps up the side of the hill by California dorm on the JBU campus.
The steps are brutal and we didn’t like them much, but on race day, I wished a few times I had done a few more of them. That might have made climbing steep hills, slick ladders and tall muddy walls a little easier. But, the important thing now is that I made it and had plenty of support from my own little cheering section of family members near the finish line.
The fact that, one day post Warrior Dash, I am sitting at my computer looking at muddy pictures, thinking of the fun and the challenge, and, most importantly, no part of me is hurting except the sunburn on the back of my neck, means I survived in one piece.
Maybe for somebody half my age, this wouldn’t feel like such an accomplishment, but this grandma is kind of proud of herself.
Annette Rowe is a freelance writer from rural Gentry and a speech language pathologist at Siloam Springs High School. She may be reached by email at [email protected].
Opinion, Pages 7 on 05/22/2013