Getting muddy

There are times in a marriage that one is reminded of how absolutely different the other person is to oneself and last night and today were two such examples for me. Last night, with the pink solar powered flashlight that he ordered for me in hand, my husband ran three miles in the dark through winding forest trails as part of my small college on the hill's Mudman Triple challenge.

The idea behind the event was to have three races, the first, a 5K last night, and then another 5K this morning at 9:30 a.m. (called the "Super Steeplechase"), which my husband also ran, and then a third, and last, 10K at 11 a.m, which my husband (thankfully) opted out of.

So on the wake of his having run his three miles last night, we woke up early and he left the house before 9 a.m. so he could be at the starting point by 9:30, when the second race began. Lizzy and I went to join him since the race was to be held around the same trails that she and I traverse almost every morning and evening.

However, my day didn't begin as auspiciously as his. Because there was ice on the road and I was on non-winter-ready walking shoes, I slipped on the road and fell hard, and Lizzy got away from me. Most thankfully, she returned immediately to me when she saw I was down and I was able to get a hold of her again. I got up, dusted myself of, and went on to meet up at the point where my husband was to run by, where Lizzy sat to wait, in much anticipation.

Finally, the runners appeared and there was my husband, within the pack of diverted challenge-seekers who had to run down mud holes and up mud piles to complete their second three miles.

Once the runners passed us, Lizzy and I started on the trails back home, and then my luck got just a little bit worse. That's because Lizzy got hold of a dead mouse on the trail and as I struggled to get it out of her mouth, while at the same time worrying that the runners would be by at any time and we were in their way, she got away from me for a second time. But, this time, she wasn't coming back to me and she took off running up the trails and into the woods and I thought I'd never see her again or that she'd run clear into the nearby road and be hit by a car. It wasn't a good few minutes there, let me tell you.

But, thank God! I got a hold of her finally (thanks to the fact that she was dragging her leash) and dragged her home, cleaned her up after she got as muddy as my husband was aiming to get, and put her into her kennel while I went off to nurse an injured hand, ankle and hip.

My husband returned, happy and proud with his accomplishment, and I was happy and proud that he had done what he'd set out to do and that he'd run six very rough miles in two days with no problem whatsoever. Meanwhile, I, the one who stayed home and didn't exert myself at all, ended up having to ice my hand for a few hours and am now able to type without trouble so I know there's nothing broken. So, no harm, no foul.

Still, with the way this day started, I'm going to remain inside all day and nurse what is mostly hurt now: my pride.