the finish line

This afternoon me and my husband ran the Fort Worth Mud Run.
Ok we ran some of it and we walked ……..and we crawled and climbed and waded the 6.2 miles in our boots and long pants.
It was hard.
There were 15 or so obstacles along the course like over-unders, walls to climb, pits to slither through and nets to go under and lots of running.
There were mini Marines ( like 8 year olds) yelling at you to keep running. To jump in or they’d push you. That their grandmother would get a better time than I would.
Occasionally we would stop to catch our breath or to pour mud out of our boots. I needed my husband behind me to give me a good shove over a wall or out of a pit. And I skipped the top plank of the dreaded “Stairway to Heaven”…which is not at all a stairway and more of a giant really tall ladder. (did I mention I am afraid of heights). But mostly we ran, even with our boots full of mud, and We Finished.
Slowly but surely and together.
Wet and dirty and aching.
Today there are blisters and cramps.
Tomorrow there will be unspeakable aches.
Occasionally on the course I wondered why I was doing this.
Why I kept pushing my self to run. Why I was so determined to make it up the nets or over the wall despite my lack of any upper body strength whatsoever.
But mostly I thought it was fun.
I’m not really that fit or a gym rat or an overall fan of pain. But there is something about crossing a finish line. Pushing yourself beyond your limits. Doing something hard and succeeding. Sloshing through the mud and making it to the other side.