“If there is a heaven, I hope God sets up a battleground and He serves big-ass mugs of beer.”
-Me.
I’m a 41-year old Warrior. Last year, I was a 40-year old virg, err, I mean Warrior. Before that, 39. And so long as my body – and a team of physicians – allows for it, I’ll continue to run the Warrior Dash until the day I die or until Red Frog Events goes the way of Enron.
For the uninitiated, the Warrior Dash is a “mud-run” and is about the distance of a 5k. But instead of running on a pussified, flat, certified course, runners conquer what’s simply known as the battleground. A battleground littered with obstacles with names like “Muddy Mayhem”, “Warrior’s Roast”, “Petrifying Plunge”, and “Storming Normandy”.
Some might consider this competition. It’s not. Rather it’s an excuse. An excuse to challenge yourself, run in the woods, play in the mud, drink beer, eat turkey legs the size of brontosaurus burgers, and to hang out with thousands of other like-minded people who want to do something that’s certainly out of the ordinary.
(It’s also, I might add, about the two twenty-somethings in school girl outfits from the Warrior Dash in Illinois two years ago who wore white stockings, short plaid skirts, pig-tails, and tied up blouses.)
Warrior Dash Nebraska
This past weekend my cousin and I ran the Warrior Dash Nebraska dressed up – poorly I might add – as Dr. Seuss’ Thing 1 and Thing 2’s ostracized cousins Drunk 1 and Drunk 2. With the weather being God-awful and the course just torn to hell as a result of constant rain and hundreds of runners, we didn’t even THINK to worry about our time, but rather the experience.
Real Warriors, err, drunks – drink beer.
And when I say ‘torn to hell’ I mean that the course was nearly all mud, with little to no traction to run (let alone walk), and a hills. Lots of hills. People, including myself, fell comically and randomly and I’ve no doubt there are a lot of sore egos and asses as a result.
Mother Nature can be a bitch.
None of this, certainly, was the fault of Red Frog and the organizers. Despite the biblical rains and the cool weather, the Warrior Dash once again lived up to its name and was an awesome time.
Our only goals, really, were not to get hurt and go after each obstacle with all we had.
Mission accomplished on both.
What disappointed me, however, was the lack of costumes. Aside from my cousin and I as Drunk 1 and Drunk 2 – one guy was dressed in a chicken suit and another as a Spartan. Otherwise, nada.
What also disappointed me was the dude with the tramp-stamp (see picture below).
Still, as we helped each other (and many other Warriors-in-need) through the muddy trenches and wall climbs, along with doing our own version of the Nestea plunge in the pond, we conquered the slippery battleground and gave a big FU to the muddy terrain.
And guess what? I get to do it all over again next weekend in Illinois. (And did I really just refer to the Nestea Plunge? Wow. Talk about dating myself…)
Post Warrior Dash Related Facebook Posts
(2011) – I have just four words to say: I am a warrior.
(2012) – Last year I had four words to say, now it’s six: I am a Blue-Man warrior.
(2013) – Today, I am a multi-state Warrior. (And a sad excuse for a Dr. Seuss character.)
For the record: red long-johns weigh 5+ pounds more when wet. Maybe 12 lbs. more when coated with mud. I don’t recommend them when running 3.2 miles.
Mud. Thick, thick, mud.
Drunk, tired and muddy is no way to jump over fire.
A random muddy chick-Warrior.
Oh. We’re almost naked…
Yes that’s a guy. And yes, that’s a tramp-stamp.
