Hola, folks. I just wanted to post a quick update from the the Muddy Buddy adventure race. Please note that this is republished from an email to The Commish.
Muddy Buddy Website
Click here for some pictures
It was a dark and early morning. The day of the Muddy Buddy race had finally arrived, and I was feeling queasy. Maybe last night's enormous meal of bar food and appetizers (Tex-mex burger, onion rings, fried jalapeno strips, and mini-burgers) from The Tavern was making its presence known. Maybe it was dread about running more than 3 miles, something I hadn't done since my days as a Vines Viking. Either way, there were some serious spicy butterflies fluttering as I groggily dressed for the day.
We had already had yet another great Austin weekend. Olie-O, Natty, Matty, Chris, and Jason rolled into town on Friday. They joined up with the lovely ladies of Shannon's famous "Teacher Happy Hour" for some refreshments, followed by a huge home-cooked meal at Hoover's. If there is a recipe for what not to do before a race, I think this sequence of events would be on it.
The evening continued as the group headed out for some downtown nightlife. Nate kept us all laughing by performing his "Here, I'll take a picture of your group for you, but it's going to take about 15 minutes of endless silly delays to do it" routine.
Then, as the night wound down, Olie-O amazed and frightened us (and bystanders in the packed club) with a frenetic dance routine that was immediately dubbed "The Bird of Paradise." Last week in Dallas while watching a nature movie, we had all learned that birds of paradise in New Guinea use insanely colorful and garish plumage displays with intricate dances to lure a mate. That's how it was with Olie-O's dance. Birds of Paradise are endangered animals, so that should tell you how effective this approach was.
Two days later the fun and games was over. We headed out into the hill country on serene and empty roads, roadside hills and pastures lit gently as night eased into dawn.
We had already overcome several obstacles as Rob and I pulled in Flat Creek Ranch. First, I had forgotten my helmet (nuthin but a big hurt, etc.), but Rob had a spare. My phone call to Shannon requesting that she bring my helmet resulted in her locking herself out of the house. She found a spare key.
We were now finally ready to test ourselves in the Beast division (over 400 pounds of combined weight). I was hoping to make a respectable showing among our Sants group of friends to feel like I was finally back from some previous not-as-good years. Yes, I was staying far away from the door, afraid of it opening up, while playing computer games and getting really fat.
I won't go into the laborious details of the race because this essay is getting really long. Basically, we did great on the mountain biking. There were some steep and rocky downhill areas that we practically flew down, blowing past almost our entire division. Then, conversely, many of these folks would blow past us on the brutal running segments. In the end, we logged a time of 53 minutes, good for 15th out of 40 in our division.
The famous Muddy Buddy mud pit kicked my butt. Like a total rookie, I lunged right into it and got muddy effluvium full-bore in both eyes and the mouth. Blinded and gagging, I lurched forward and began to reassess my participation in this ordeal. At least we didn't have some of the problems of our Sants crew.
Ryan and Jason lost the seat of their bike and had to ride the last 3 miles standing up with no seat. Olie-O and Chris had a tire failure right out of the gate, so they dropped the bike and ran the whole race. Hoyle suffered a nasty crash, so he had to enter the filthy mud pit with cut and bleeding hands and knees. This pit was probably nearly as toxic as Commish's infamous screenball hanky.
We all made it to the finish line. I was proud to have finished with a respectable time. Even better, it was another great weekend with true great friends from the Sants. I was really sore the next day, partially from the race and partially from laughing so much.