Last fall one of my trainers, Melissa Garcia, started encouraging us to do the Mud Run as something to work toward. In January she and one of my fellow boot campers signed up, so I decided I would, too. It was easy to click a few buttons and pay $50 for a race that was 6 months away.
May came and the race was only a month away. Trying to get excited and motivate myself to get my exercise in, I checked out the course map online. Uhhhh...what did I get myself into?! I really needed to get my workouts in and work hard. Melissa's idea for motivation was working.
A week before the race I started to worry about whether I had the stamina to finish the 6.2 miles. My workouts had largely been an hour long, and the farthest I'd gone in that time was 3.1 miles. I stepped up my workouts for a couple of days and then gave myself 3 days off before the race to make sure my body wouldn't get too angry with me.
Saturday morning came. I put my white socks on with my hopefully-these-won't-hold-the-mud clothes and we made our way to the base. The base where my step-dad was stationed that brought me to my high school. The base where Harland lived when we met. The base where I became a mother when Emma was born. The base where I was running my first race.
Just walking up to the gathering area was intimidating. Buff marines decked out in camos, boots and matching t-shirts. Fit looking women in skin tight shorts and tanks. Teenage girls in tutus. Once I caught up with Melissa I started feeling a little better. Mostly because she kept boosting my ego with all her "You are going to be great!"
I started out in the back of the pack since I wasn't trying to win the race. It was a nice way to ease into the whole thing. The first four miles was relatively easy: jog, walk, wade through streams, jog, hike up the hill, hike up the next hill, hike some more, jog downhill. Then came the mud pits. You should not skim over the word "Mud" in the race title. It should be more like "MUD". Mud that smells like cowpie.
At least after the mud pits, 5 foot wall into more mud pits & climbing walls of mud we got a little rinse as we walked through a small lake...up to our neck. That was just the begining of the obstacles. The final obstacle was crawling on our hands and knees through yet another mud pit. The whole way there were Marines on the side lines watching out for us and shouting words of encouragement. It helped. It helped a lot.
When I crawled out of that final mud pit and came over the smallest hill of the day I could see the finish line. All I had to do was trounce through some more mud...and then I heard the familiar voices shouting and cheering for me. I looked over and saw the smiling, bright faces of my favorite people. I will never forget the look on Harland's face. It caught me off guard. I smiled, waved my arms at my loved ones, and re-focused on the finish line. But my concentration was broken. Suddenly, I was feeling the weight and importance of my accomplishment. As I crossed that finish line, the tears started flowing. I couldn't stop the sobs from enveloping my chest. More Marines were at the finish line offering high fives, congratulations, and even more encouragement. I did it. I finished. I finished and I wasn't last.
I couldn't stop crying. I walked up to my family. Rachel hugged me even though I was covered in ick (Now that is a best friend). Har kept saying, "I'm so proud of you!" The kids just stared at me.
Maybe the kids were trying to figure out why I would drag myself through the smelly mud if it just made me cry. Funny enough, I think it was at that moment that I realized why I had. It was the hardest physical thing I had done in my life. Hardest ever. But I did it. I worked hard in boot camp. I pushed myself every time I went. I pushed myself every time I worked out on my own. I pushed myself through every minute of the pain and difficulty. Pushed through for the accomplishment. For the improvement of my physical health. In that vital moment of my life as I crossed the finish line I learned how important it is to believe in myself.
I could just call the it the First Ever Carpenter Vacation. Yes, we've travelled. Yes, we've called those travels vacations. But EVERY vacation we have ever taken together has involved visiting our family. But I digress...
Har surfed for the first time.
We all played in the waves. 
We relaxed in the shade.
We had an impromptu Pirate Day.
Nobody liked this stuff, and there was LOTS of it. Everywhere.
We enjoyed the view.
We paid 50 cents for 3 minute showers. 
We roasted marshmallows. Some of us ate s'mores.
We enjoyed cool treats. Some of us were messier than others.
And we exercised...lots.
