Spartan Race aftermath

I never knew Ripon mud was so.... well sticky really. And I never knew I could feel pain in so many different places at once. We survived the Spartan Race, my 59 year old mother must try harder next year - I shouted at her as she was stumbling through the mud. Part of me wanted to leave her and make a decent bid for the finish line, but the rational part of me remembered that Prosecco and Marlboro Light promise. She knows me too well.

No matter how hard you prepare for a sports events, there is always the niggle in the back of your mind when you drive to the event. I am not going to be able to do this, I should have trained harder, everyone else will be so much better than me. A little like writing books, the demon in your head telling you to stop, because its crap. Except the different between extreme sports and writing is mud. The blood, the sweat and the tears, well its all the same.

So back to the Spartan Race. We climbed over walls, ran up hills, scaled ropes in the forest, crawled under barbed wire with our heads barely visible through the muddy water. We carried buckets and strange army type boxes over barren army wasteland. Jumped over fire. Fought men with big sticks. Did a total of 60 press ups for forfeiting the monkey bars.

I should be proud that I did all this, the mud is still stuck to my body even though I had a bath when I got back. However the lasting memory for me of the Spartan Race has got to be.... the total amount of hot men doing the race. OMG! I am signing up for next year, and the Tough Mudder.

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