Dara and I just returned from the 10k mud run at Camp Pendleton, a sloppy, slimy hair north of San Diego, and this? this is the race report any of y'allz could give a rat's ass about:

We stayed overnight Saturday evening to assure a fresh wakeup Sunday morning to arrive at the race at 6:30 with ye wife's coworkers James, Marlon, Tracey, and Dale. Of course, after dinner and upon to our return to the hotel, we were greeted with the sight of MANY drunken revelers in mid-party standing outside of their doors, awaiting pickup from the train to Boozetown. After burying our heads beneath our pillows, we drifted off to a completely restless slumber.

The wakeup call hit at 5:30, and we rose, dressed, stuck James and Marlon in our car, and headed to the Marine base. The weather was called to be perfect: Overcast and 60 degrees, so we shuffled about the grounds a bit, gobbled down some bagels the wifey was so kind to bring (along with water, iced tea, trail mix and almonds - damn, women think of EVERYTHING. I barely remembered my shoes) and when it was announced, ambled over to the start/finish chutes.

All in all, 3,400 + runners were set at the start, including an 81 year old Scotsman who's run this race many consecutive years. To the sounds of Welcome to the Jungle, the start horn was sounded, and off we went.

James and Marlon have been running fairly consistently for the past 3 months, and James has proven himself to be quite a competitor, so we hung together the first mile + as the herd thinned and we hit the dirt trails...only after being blasted by THREE manned firehoses (the first was amusing, the second made me want to turn around and shove the thing up his ass, and the third seemed more like an afterthought than anything else). At mile one (where 3 Marines unethusiatically stated, "Mile one."), we kicked it up a notch and passed more people as we hit the first climbs of the day. they were steep, and James and Marlon trotted ahead of me (I always conserve on the early uphills) as we came to our first "obstacle": The hay bales. Hopping across the lines of bales, we headed into steeper terrain ("Suicide Hill" - not a good sign), and I was feeling pretty good, although I'd run a 2 1/2 hour mountain run the day prior: James directly in front, Marlon ebbing beside me and behind.

Crossing some shallow rivers, and getting muddier and muddier - hey, it ain't called a "Soap Run" - we hit the first of 2, 5 foot high climbing walls, which, after climbing, you're dumped into a waist high, 25 yard muddy water run before exiting. By this time, Marlon was fading, and James and I were keeping pace.

Immediately following the wall situation, were turned a trail corner to see the lake crossing we had to make: About 5 feet deep, 200 yards across. Although challenging, it was really refreshing, and James and I warned one another about "warm spots" we might encounter as we hit the mud climb on the other side and were sent switching back past the incoming runners.

Up another hill, we turned to find MEGA downhills, so I leaned into them and started pulling away from James. I slowed and said "Lean", and as he did we both accelerated to, what I imagine were, 6 minute miles, as we blazed past about 20 runners, James elated at my letting him in on this fascinating concept.

One more mud wall to climb, and I was feeling the pain of a long run the day prior, but we were hitting a fantastic pace considering the obstacles, and we dashed towards the finish...but not before managing the Mud Pit.

We dove headfirst into 6 inch deep mud and crawled beneath ropes dangling across, with flags hanging from them that were adverts for "Coors Light". I growled at the idea that this was the "right beer now", because all I wanted was to hit the finish chutes, and as I clawed my way up the mud embankment, I saw the finish just 50 yards ahead, James inches in front of me...but alack, I had no gas left for a final kick, so we both pulled in at nearly exactly 56 mns, placing 74th out of 3400.

Pictured is me with Dara, in our post-race, soiled glory. She did FANTASTIC, pulling in at 1:20. We were lucky enough to catch her crawling through the mud pit, where, upon hearing our cheers, hauled a fistfull of mud at us.

'at's my girl.