Road Trip Tough Mudder Austin, TX  Last Gasp

I’ve met a lot of new people in the past couple of months. (If chatting you up on Facebook is meeting, otherwise it’s the same old crew and no one new.)  It’s also been a long time since I’ve posted about Tough Mudder in Austin.

There really hasn’t been anything to talk about.  Working out is grueling when you have to do it  yourself and you miss dinner, and you have to do 16 loads of laundry that consist of five items. (Dear god, how do socks get that smelly so quickly)

The whole fundraising thing continues to elude me.  I’ve created a site, and I’ve let people know about it.  I’m not one of those people who chase you down and insist you buy my girl scout cookies. I don’t think girl scouts belong in cookies. I think they belong in a white wine sauce over saffron rice.  That’s just me though.  I’m not chasing anyone down to contribute to my charity, either. Here’s a link to my initial blog post.  Do what you want to do.

It’s exactly 2 weeks until the big day.  I believe I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.  This is all about mental tenacity, and I have tenacity in spades.  What I do not have is a buddy to run around in the mud with me.  I have unsuccessfully attempted to lure, shame and bribe some people to join me, none of them are having it.  Most have suggested that I a) up my meds; b) reacquaint myself with a psychiatrist. Whatever. I’ll be the one having fun in the sun.  I even have a personal Facebook photographer. (Oh, you guys have no idea…)

I am having serious fashion stress over this, I must admit.  You see pictures on the Tough Mudder website, of buff young things in stretch pants and tank tops…and that is soooo….not me.  I want to be practical about this, I want to do this..right. I’m thinking boots and utes, and a short sleeve over long sleeve shirt. A bandana to keep the hair in such a state I will not have to shave my head later, and a couple of things stuffed in cargo pockets (that’s why they’re called cargo pockets by the way) for just in case. Goggles for jumping into the water, and a rag for wiping the crap off my face.

The more I think about this, the more amped I get. It can’t get here too soon. And I can’t wait to tell you all about it.

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