your body is a battleground in 2013-2014

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On Friday, I hauled down to Charleston. I didn't go to work. I called in sick, on account of Don'tgiveashititis. I talked to my parents on the phone again and wished my mom a happy birthday, and the drive flew by.

Saturday morning, we got up at eight-ish, dressed and packed, had breakfast at Cracker Barrel, and were on the road just after ten. We rolled into Charlotte and were checking in by 2. I drove his car for the first time. Love hath no greater trust, or something. He actually dozed off. He's such a car-sleeper.

Unlike a lot of people in the earlier waves, we didn't have much of a problem with lines or wait times. We pinned on our bibs, checked our bag, and went off in the next wave. We mostly just walked because Aaron hasn't run in recent memory, and because I was wearing shoes that are so worn down that the inner sole is now the outer sole, and they give me shin splints in about 100 meters. Also, he has very long legs, and I am a plodder, and this is not a running match made in heaven.

The obstacles were a lot more watered down than when I did the Georgia race in 2012. I talked to another woman while climbing a hill made of pluffy mud and she agreed. Step up, Warrior Dash! I wasn't even sore the next day! (Not really.) We did, however, see a freaking live, mottled donkey just hanging out on the hill watching our idiot selves climb! He gave precisely no fucks and looked like he was just waiting for an excuse to kick somebody. A lot of people squealed and pointed, but no one came close to him! I was, um, very distracted. Aaron practically had to haul me down the trail. But for the most part, it was a romantic, muddy walk through the woods climbing over things and slogging through mud and water. We even did some wedding planning.

We also hammed it up for the cameras, and as we leaped over fire, we're holding hands. Because we're shameless. Hopefully, the photographers will post their stuff this week.

A lot has been made of the obstacle Goliath. I'm of mixed feelings. I didn't have the wait that a lot of people did (second to last wave means no bottlenecks), and the principle is quite awesome. That said, I was really leery of the safety behind it. These things can kill or maim you. Don't pretend they can't. We sign hardcore waivers for a reason and WD has already had one drowning. So why the fuck wasn't there a net or deep water under the 12-foot, shaking balance beam? And only two not-quite-taut guide lines to grab? Someone said that this year's Georgia race DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE LINES. Why weren't there signs at the end of the slide, that the water was at least six feet deep? I'm not making excuses--both Aaron and I plowed straight through--but there was one woman who was genuinely freaking out at the top, and I was kind of nervous when my beam started moving at the end and the ice water jets hit me.

Aaron was ahead of me (due to freaking out people in my line), so I watched him go down the slide into the murky water. He fully submerged, climbed out, and hollered that it was cold. I was already sliding, slowly, and cursed, then grabbed at my rings and bib and face to protect my contacts. I thought that people were absorbing shock in their legs and folding as they hit the ground, so I slacked my legs in preparation of that. Then I hit the water, and did not touch anything. I kept sinking, finally found the bottom, and was able to push to the surface, but it was definitely a good 6+ inches over my head. And yes, it was definitely cold!

I'm not a great swimmer. I'm not built for it at all; my shoulders aren't very strong and I float like a rock. I don't swim so much as I manage not to drown in a given direction. I'm a great doggy paddler. As such, and I'm just being fussy here, I do prefer warning about not being able to touch the bottom! (Or, you know, lifeguards.)

We slogged through a mud pit, crawled under some more barbed wire, which was also deep enough that I could sort of swim in it. More like extend my body, kick with my feet, and somewhat guide with my hands along the bottom, haha. Once we were past the barbed wire, I turned on my back for a few seconds. It was fun. One of those moments where being short is an advantage. :) As Aaron found out, one of my favorite things is figuring out a strategy to compensate for not being six feet tall on obstacles!

This is where it got memorable. We reached the end of the mud pit. The man in front of us completely ate it and everyone laughed. Aaron plunged ahead, and then he completely ate it, fully submerging in sticky, clay-based mud. I watched what they did and did not do that. I crab walked until my feet found the sudden drop, then doggy paddled to the end. Aaron got out on his own, but then I had to guide him past the finish line, to the camera, to get his medal, and to the water station because the mud had slicked his eyes shut. Four cups of water poured on his face later, he could open his eyes again.

The race was about shutting down since we had taken our sweet-ass time. We still got our beers (which weren't finished because we were freezing and out of time) and I donated my piece-of-crap shoes. The high was barely 70, with little sun and a breeze, so I was shivering pretty hard after that cold water. We peeled off our outer layers and wandered around the car with no pants for awhile, letting the mud dry. Someone pitied us and silently handed us a gallon of water to rinse with.

The drive back wasn't shabby. We stopped at Chick Fil A for dinner and my soda came back 100% soda water, so I had to put my filthy (but mostly dry) shorts back on and beg for a new drink. They didn't judge me. I apologized for entering their store such a mess. The people in line behind me snickered and told me to do a Spartan instead. :P

At his place, we staggered inside, threw our stuff out on the balcony, and locked ourselves in the showers. I bummed his sister's and took our clothes in to rinse off while I scrubbed the mud off. We investigated our battle wounds (I have bruises, he has scratches) and then did a whole lot of nothing for the rest of the night. We had a tired.

But I think he's hooked. :) He wants to do a Spartan, since this one was largely underwhelming. The Badass I did in March was a lot more challenging, and the Down & Dirty I did in October was as well. If we can find a Spartan Sprint within a few hours' drive, we'll jump on it.

Needless to say, we were late to church in the morning. I felt awkward, conspicuous, and like there was still mud on me--I could see it in his ear. But it was fine. No one said anything or frowned disapprovingly. After the service we met with President Powell (pastor guy) about wedding ceremonies and logistics and church rules and such. I sent this to my mom:

"It was surreal, but it went well! Aaron has the contact info of the woman he needs to talk to in order to reserve dates/buildings. We have an offer of a smoked pig. Whoo! The president went over what the ceremony would be like. I think you'd like it, actually. If it takes place in the sanctuary, then the focus is on the sanctity of the event and pageantry is not allowed. So no heavy decorations, no tons of music, no elaborate speeches or readings of 1st Corinthians, no rows of bridal party standing on the altar (one person from each side; the rest can sit in the first row, and since I'll have a pregnant bridesmaid, that works fine for me). The three-ring circus is completely stripped out. We go in (there can be SOME music), the officiant of legal/spiritual choice says stuff, we get married, rings are exchanged, we leave. 10-15 minutes tops. He read the standard vows, which gave me a chilly little surreal panic moment, but they're pretty standard. I can't find a version online, and it's not the 'to have and to hold,' but it's pretty simple about life do you part and covenants and before God and witnesses. Nothing objectionable that I heard (through my internal freaking out). President Powell is welcoming any family/friend questions and he also said that if I didn't want to go all out with the flower petals and ribbons, to blame the church.
If it's not in the sanctuary, and it's in the community room or whatever, then there aren't as many rules and we can do pretty much whatever we want. Same for the reception, since that would be in some kind of community room as well. For clarification's sake, it's a civil ceremony, not the crazy official Temple anything, so everyone is allowed inside, there will be a kiss, it's laidback, and aside from not being a tramp I can wear whatever style of dress I want. Technically, there is no Ring Ceremony, but rings are still formally exchanged, if that makes sense. In case you were hearing... Things. I did try to Google civil ceremonies and got... the expected Internet garbage back. Ugh. So don't do that. It's all utterly unhelpful.
We're still sorting out how we want to go through all this, but if we can get an early afternoon ceremony, we can do a few hours of reception and be done by evening, which allows all night for any cut-loose afterparty shenanigans away from children and relatives. But hopefully, it'll all be nice and fast and not-chaotic.
(And then we went to the mall, got cookies and an Icee, had an existential moment of oh holy crap we're doing this this is for real, and immediately fled for Taco Bell and video games at his place rather than acknowledge them and be mature about it.)"

I left... probably a little too late, and it was very difficult, as usual. Rachel was dogsitting but she had a conference for her PhD in Indiana, a zillion miles away, and someone offered to split the driving with her if they left Sunday. So we were both kind of stuck. It was rainy, so I didn't think Sheppy would really want to go out anyway. I got home at 10pm and he had made zero messes. So proud! His iron bladder was honed by hurricanes as a puppy.

Moped around and didn't go to work Monday, either. Gotta burn that sick leave.

For most of yesterday my brother Joey has been calling out/trolling Grandpa on Facebook. This is a great thing, because he's an angry, bitter, entitled, hardly literate and ragingly sexist old man who needs calling out. But between family matters and excessive wedding talk, we've had some great existential discussions about our relationship style, longevity, and the lack of romance. Lots of warm squirmy feelings and lines like as long as you're mine for all time, I don't care. D'aww. There was also the romantic part where he got all dark and growly and offer-threatened to deck any of my family members shit-talking me, because "you're my wife and no one says that." I talked him down, mostly because no one says anything to me that qualifies as shit-talking, but yay, w-word! Eee.

...Accordingly, I spent a lot of time at work today researching wedding rings and metal durability.

(I also translated a military summary out of Ukraine last night that took two hours and was horrible and I ended up feeling completely humbled and incompetent. That the two editors also couldn't figure out how to translate two terms that both meant 'conscript' kind of helped.)

I'm so tired of my job. I'm tired of not having any work to do, of the door constantly slamming behind me, of people barging through my teeny personal space and trying to startle me by slamming the back of my chair, of loud voices, of my actual responsibilities being hijacked. I found four pennies today, which completely fills my water bottle. Mom has joked before that I can only leave when my 'altar' fills up. Well, it's full. I'm kind of anxious now, actually.

I was full of restless stress energy this evening. I had also read an article and the blog of Amelia Boone, a champion obstacle racer, and her musings on mental endurance and willingness to suffer (and like it). She's pretty awesome. But I channeled all that and took it on a short 5k run, and torched my previous personal record. 29 minutes, equaling 9:21-minute miles. And I know for a fact that my plodding first mile and warmup was a hell of a lot slower than the last mile, when I was actually running the last bit rather than jogging, so hooray! I don't suck! I followed it up with a few reps of push ups, lunges, sit ups, and donkey kicks, and now I feel nice and satisfied and tired in all the right places. Dinner was baked chicken, squash, and potatoes, and I am, in this moment, happy.

Sort of.

Enough.

No, socks, that white shirt of mine, and pretty much nothing else that touched mud has recovered despite being washed at least twice. This is my fifth race and first one with awful staining. What did they do with that mud?!