Originally published in the Democrat and Chronicle.
We might be cool, or just crazy.
I roped my 16-year-old daughter into joining me on an extreme event described as “3.2 hellish miles” of jumping over fire walls, climbing on cargo nets, scrambling under barbed wire and through pitch black pipes filled with mud, among other madness.
And I’m actually paying money to do it.
Not to suffer alone, I rallied friends, trying to get other common sense challenged athletes to join us.
The event – and training for it – will be great mother and daughter bonding. But how do we train for walking planks over a gulley and scaling slate walls? The first part of the Warrior Dash is running straight up a ski slope. I set the treadmill incline to the highest position and began to run. That lasted about two minutes before I lost balance and nearly fell off.
A friend offered to whip a rope at my feet to simulate the part of the race that involves speed stepping over hundreds of tires.
Perhaps I should follow training tips straight from the event’s website: “Find the dirtiest pond in your neighborhood and snorkel in it – in your slippers, without goggles.”
But more than likely you’ll find me running up and down Cobbs Hill with attached ankle weights – red-faced and panting.
My 6-year-old son saw video of the race and is pleading with us not to do it, afraid we’ll die by flames. Most people don’t even believe we signed up.
How can I get naysayers to understand the feeling of elation when I cross the finish line and course officials place a warrior helmet on my head (it’s really just a fuzzy Viking hat; but I’m all for the symbolism)?
It’ll be fun! Or, just plain foolish.
Besides, where else can you get a complimentary post-race shower in the form of a hose down by fire fighters? Or feelings of camaraderie associated with being surrounded by fellow mud covered martyrs eating turkey legs, dressed in clown suits and throwing hatchets into tree stumps?
We are – after all – warriors!