I ran my first race today at the Living History Farms Run. The race is a 7 mile cross country mud run.

In a lot of ways I honestly believe running saved my life. I started running a few years ago when I realized I hadn’t seen my belly button in years.* I began by walking, then walking and running, and now I run several times every week. Running is one of the only things in my life that keeps me sane. If I’m ever stressed or upset about anything, I know I need to go for a run to make me feel better. I’ve never felt any urge to run a marathon or race because running is something I do for fun, not for chafing. However, I decided to run in the Living History Farms run this year because I had a few friends that were doing it and I heard it was a lot of fun. Most people don’t run this race only once, they do it every year.

Those people are crazy.

I was really nervous before the race because I didn’t know what to expect. Once the race got started, I immediately felt better and ready to kick the race’s ass. The first few miles were easy, but around mile 3, I needed a beer. Then we had to go through 7 muddy creeks with freezing water up to our waists and pull ourselves up by a rope. Around the time we hit the second creek, I’m wondering, “Why the heck would anyone want to do this?”  Don’t get me wrong, the mud was fun, but I’d rather have a mud facial.  Around mile 4, I’m starting to get cranky. I have a limit when it comes to anything, especially when it comes to social situations. There were 7,500 people there and I was beginning to hit my limit. People who know me well know to take my “limit” very seriously. Eric and I will be in the middle of the bar and I just yell, “DONE!” and he knows we need to leave immediately. No discussion needed. I’ve hit my limit.

Around mile 5, I’m wondering if this race will ever end. Then there were 3 more cold and muddy creeks before we finally hit the finish line.

Of course at the end of the race I told everyone that I was glad to have the experience and I was glad I did it.

I lied.

I mean, really, why do I have to be glad I did it? I feel no sense of accomplishment and all I got from it was a limp and a bad attitude.

My older sister, Liz, beat my time by 5 minutes.

She would.

*For the record, I can now see my belly button. It looks likes like a frown.