The “race” was on. I looked around and realized the average body mass index was equal to a Denny’s crowd. True, there were plenty of fit types, but about 15% of them were drunk or wearing Justice League of America costumes. I began passing people from the first heat by the time I was at mile one.
All was good at first, then they decided to put a huge hill followed by a military crawl, immediately followed by waist high water pits back to back. Nothing says “I’ll just be out of shape, thanks” like trying to run with shoes and a shirt soaked to the core. I saw a guy dressed like Jimmy Buffet pass me and that got me back on board. I have standards after all.
Another water pit, this one an actual pond four feet deep, actually helped, as my balls reverse dropped up into my lower abdomen. I was holding up OK, but a few more stupid obstacles and hills were a pain in the ass. Luckily, the wooded part was blaring “Welcome to the Jungle” instead of some nightmarish Rihanna tune, so that boost was needed. I was beginning to do that thick spit move when I realized I was nearing the end.
I determined to push it through the end and dove head first into the mud pit underneath more barbed wire. This was a poor decision, as apparently it was too much to ask the fine race engineers to remove rocks the size of my foot from the mud. Thanks, Hell Run! I made it across, sweaty, wet and covered in mud. Not unlike a typical high school party running from the cops through a wooded area. Substitute chicken shit for mud and that is a story from the Chris Coen circa 1998 annals. (Note: blog about the chicken shit incident sometime)