I suppose there's no news in that. More likely, it just confirms what you already knew.
It all started early last February when Danger posted on Lil's Facebook wall about a tough Mudder event in South Carolina this coming October. This got me all excited, and I enlisted the next day. Not all that much later, another 11 people were in with me, most of them from work. Speaking of work, I immediately left for San Diego and a week in perfect weather by the harbor where I spent an afternoon after work doing the three mile loop thrice, only to produce a stress fracture in the fourth metatarsal of my right foot.
There's no fool like an old fool, and I've demonstrated that in abundance.
Now, it April Fool's day, and I'm feeling right at home, what with it being my day and all. In addition to October's 11 miles and two dozen military grade obstacles designed by crazed British Special Ops, I've added a few more activities to the interim. In April, there's the Rugged Maniac in Greensboro for three miles and only a dozen flaming obstacles. In May, we have the Warrior Dash down toward Charlotte, another three miles and dozen obstacles. In June, there's the Ninja Challenge over in Fuquay, not Varina, three more miles and 12 more obstacles.
July is reserved for my wake.
I agreed to the May activity first because it seemed a good opportunity to learn about the process of running these things. Besides, I'm running with the team from the GLBT Center in Raleigh, and what could be better than running with the homos? The other two activities sprung up before me, and I, being me, could not resist.
It is probably no accident that the Universe saw fit to put the original Three Stoogies on my TV as I write this. It's the episode where Moe takes out a life insurance policy on Curly. Easy money.
When all this mess started and before I cracked a foot bone, I had my yearly physical with the doc. To his credit, he did not roll on the floor laughing. Instead, he talked about staging activities and using the intervening months to get ready. I see him again in June, assuming I survive. If the training doesn't kill me, the Tough Mudder might. Yes, I'll tell him about the foot bone being connected to the pain bone.
While you shake you head slowly, left to right, let me point out that I thought, foolish me, that I'd dealt with my midlife crisis a decade ago, not that there's a trophy spouse in the cards for me. A couple of reinventions later, both for the better, I stand on the cusp of reclaiming the shadow of my former self that had some dimension of physical ability, not just a series of excuses. Whatever. The maker of Celebrex surely has reason to celebrate. Maybe they'll pay me to make one of those over-reaching TV ads.
We'll see how this goes. Today's activity involves a 25-mile bike ride, assuming the weather cooperates. (I haven't checked yet, what with being preoccupied with Curly's preventative decapitation.) This will give me the opportunity to think about a far more important matter, that being whether or not to get the Tough Mudder tattoo.