So today … uggh … in just a few short hours, I’m supposed to be three hours north of where I am right now (on my warm and comfortable couch) – to somewhere remote, in the middle of the state, right in the middle of Alligator Land, by the looks of it.
According to the “Warrior Dash” website (that’s what this is supposed to be, a “warrior dash”), this will be the “craziest frickin’ day” of my life.
At exactly 2 PM, someone will blow a horn, signalling the start of my heat, and I will dash off as fast as I can (I’m not known for my speed), and will head for the first of twelve extreme obstacles, which appears to be a murkey river infested with … yep … alligators. If I make it through that without being eaten, I will then continue on for 3.05 miles, crawling through mud and leaping through fire, over what (also according to the website) is “some of the most challenging and rugged terrain across the globe.”
And why? Why am I doing this? Why have I paid $60 so that I can drive three hours when I hate driving, run three miles when I hate running, get all dirty when I hate getting all dirty and then have to drive the three hours home all covered in mud and hay and slop, possibly missing a leg?
For fame and glory and the admiration of my peers? To push myself to the limits and see what I can accomplish as a human being? To experience what it’s like to have the craziest frickin’ day of my life?
Nope. None of those lofty goals. The only reason I am doing this is because, as part of the registration packet, I get my very own Viking Helmet. Yep, I’m doing it for the Viking Helmet. It has two horns and is covered in fur and two months ago when I signed up for this thing, there was absolutely nothing in the world I wanted as much as I wanted a Viking Helmet.
Now, I could probably live without the Viking Helmet, but it’s too late to think about that now.
Time to go collect my hat.