The best thing about the Warrior Princess Mud Run is that organizers direct all proceeds, 100%, to Harbor House domestic abuse programs.
The second best thing is the mud.
I’d vowed a more dignified approach this year as I suited up in my Rosie the Riveter costume for our Drama Mamas team. Last year, I over-taped my shoe laces and spent a terrifying eternity trapped in the changing tent, covered in mud and wondering if I’d ever see sunshine again.
I’ll be daintier this time, I thought. I’ll skim rather than submerge. Ha!
By the fourth obstacle I dove face down into a mud pit and combat crawled gleefully alongside my equally giddy team.
We’re mostly mothers, mostly heading north of middle-aged, and mostly the ones who clean the mud off the people and things in our lives. Given the opportunity to romp in giant mud puddles ourselves, we’re going to go all in.
Obviously.
When was the last time you got to make mud pies? The luckiest members of our time shared the fun with their daughters, who made excellent next-gen Rosie the Riveters.
Coached, cheered, and occasionally yanked, every single member of our team cheerfully made it safely through every single obstacle, which is why we all looked like smiling, giant, melting, human fudgsicles by the time we crossed the finish line.
“There’s no ‘can’ in our do!” one of my friends said as she slacklined her way across a swamp.
I looked around my sweaty, muddy, happy friends and thoroughly agreed.
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