By the time you read this, I could be dead, or very badly hurt, or just badly hurt. Or certainly embarrassed. It’s Saturday and Husband and I are off to another Warrior Dash. The weather appears to be closing in and it may be a sign of my, at least, impending doom.I’m out of shape and often out of humor for exercise, save for the foregone conclusion of a drink or two afterwards. So why did I agree to be a part of the continuing trend of trying not to hurt yourself in some sort of event that aims to hurt you? Ask me again in a couple of hours when it’s all over red rover. I’ll be (hospitalized) euphoric that I’m a) alive, b) unscathed and c) choc full of those hormones that pump through your body because of a) and b).
This is my last year of competition, though, unless I rev up my gym visits and stop hurting myself when I try a few sets of push-ups (true story).
Today we are going for the super hero mindset, so I’m dressed accordingly.
I’ve tossed around the idea of dressing as She Ra for halloween but the shirt may well be ruined after this little outing. Someone please alert my parents if there are no subsequent check-ins later today, or at least, check the hospitals.