One bright and fall-ish morning, just after Mass was done, I dropped my kids at CCD and rushed off to a mud run.

Dressed in old sneakers, with my logo’d t-shirt worn with pride, I added leggings with my snakeskin, my undies wherefore to hide.

My stomach was in knots at this experience so new, no comrades there to join me, to help me see it through.

As I waited at the start line many prayers did I recite, I fought the urge to throw up or bolt strongly with all my might.

Finally a yell went out, and I took off at full pace, “SLOW DOWN!” I told myself sharply, “Lest you fall upon your face!”

It quickly became apparent that this course was Satan’s work, I lost count of all the hills or times my feet sloshed through calf-high mirk.

And obstacles! Oh how many, oh how strenuous they were! But I completed each without cutting corners unlike some other dainty runners feeling too demure.

Over walls, through tunnels, on my belly in the dirt, no, I couldn’t run the whole course but damn if I didn’t do pretty good for a chick in a skirt.

By the time the finish line was in sight my sneakers were black and full of stones, I was 10 pounds heavier from the mud which clung to my saturated clothes.

As I walked back to my car I swore this would be the last, mud runs and me will be a thing of the past.

Because jogging on asphalt, up gentle inclines and turns, does not properly prepare one for such torture, the hard way did I learn.

Two down, five more to go, more money and awareness to raise, at this rate 35K For SMA will age me well past my days.