The race had been going well so far. I mean, I wasn’t going to win a medal for anything besides participation, but the fact that I had stuck out the entire course was truly enough to warrant such an ubiquitous prize. It was the first year that most of the family decided to attempt the Warrior Dash and it was very exciting to know that I could have such a good showing in front of some of my favorite people. Sweat was dripping down my face and my shorts were rubbing between my thighs, creating twin burning rashes, but I was doing something. Something that required my body and not just my brain, and I was quite happy with where I was in the world at that moment. 

As I walked/ran/limped my way to the last obstacle of the day, I praised myself internally for, well, staying the course and participating at every activity that was offered. I had sprinted (regular jogging to those that exercise daily), climbed over logs, tip-toed over rocks that could easily turn my ankle, belly crawled through a metal tunnel (as my knees tried to help but being thwarted the by sharp pebbles lining the bottom), used a rope to pull myself over a wall, climbed and slid down a 15 foot tall slide into a pit of muddy, mountain cold water 6 feet deep, and jumped over a 2 foot wall of fire and I was a fucking goddess! I was happy to realize that I would be able to take a small break and catch my breath as my fellow racers began to congregate before the rope tunnels that constituted the end of the race. As there were only five tunnels available, the back-up of foot traffic was quite significant and patience would be required to finally be able to participate. I can’t say that my lungs and legs weren’t happy with the situation.

As my body started to come down from the high of success, I started to feel all of the sore spots that I had accumulated during the morning. I wasn’t quite sure that I would be up to the task of shimmying through a tunnel. And as I had to stand in an ever growing line (the racing group that had started 10 minutes after us had finally caught up) I actually contemplated just walking around the obstacle and finishing the event. But, ultimately, I knew I would be deeply disappointed with myself if I gave in to the urge to quit. I had to be able to get myself through something, damn it! The Warrior Dash was going to elevate my self-esteem and feelings of adequacy, or else. But, the tunnels were made out of rope. And they were tight and suspended 6 feet off the ground. And people would be able to see me squirm and shimmy…

Absolutely none of that sounded great to me and I was definitely apprehensive about what I was about to do, but I was bound and determined to end the morning with a win. As I slowly crept closer to my destiny I psyched myself up the best I could and attempted to regale myself with positive affirmations. But, since I’m the type of person that doesn’t usually subscribe to such notions, I felt as if I were speaking to someone that was decidedly not me. I stepped onto the ladder confused and uncomfortable–which is never the way I ever wanted to enter into a new experience. I turned so that my back was facing towards the tunnel and looked down at the crowd of people below (feeling all of their haste and desire for me to just sprint through the damned tunnel), reached up to grab a bar to hoist myself into the ropes, and pulled myself into the entrance.

As I had been watching my fellow racers I realized that the majority of them were choosing to push themselves through the tunnel by laying on their backs with their heads facing to the exit. Heels would slip into various holes in the rope to act as leverage so that a person could push against them to propel forward. It had seemed simple enough and looked fairly practical and possible so I decided to adopt that tactic as my own. And I have to admit that things started off fairly well as I was able to get my head, torso, and ass into the tunnel on the first pull of my arms. It vaguely occurred to me that I was going to crush this event and I was probably going to be preening for the rest of the day.

Alas, I was quickly proven wrong as I couldn’t seem to get myself to find any sort of purchase to push myself forward. Since I only had half of myself in the tunnel my legs had nothing to push off of and I was scissoring my legs so hard (to make anything positive happen) I was afraid that I was going to accidentally knock teeth out the person behind me who was currently yelling at me to get going. Yeah, that was helping me for sure. I desperately began to rock my body side to side in a solid attempt to just move and I (finally) started making some progress. It seemed that I might be able to get through the tunnel after all until I found myself having to deal with something that I hadn’t previously thought of– my shorts were beginning to get pulled off of my body. Fuck.

I was finally moving but I was so exhausted that my butt wasn’t lifting from the bottom of the tunnel. My body was going forward but my shorts weren’t. I thought about dying on the spot and envisioned what kind of spectacle I would make when emergency services would be called to cut me from my prison, and I trembled to think that the last image of me in this life would be my sweaty, dead, pants-less body being freed from the elevated rope prison much like Luke, Han Solo, Chewbacca, R2-D2, and C-3PO when being freed by the Ewoks. There would be quick drop of my body to the dirt and my ultimate humiliation was sure to be blasted on every form of social media on the planet. II was sure it could not possibly get any worse. Until it did.

On the bright side, I had finally moved my body enough into the tunnel to be able to use my feet as a way to propel myself forward. But by that time I was so worried about my ass and the (very) impatient person behind me, that I failed to realize that a couple of other things were happening to me at the same time. First, I started to feel my hair getting pulled out of my scalp. My thinning tresses were grabbing onto the ropes and refusing to let go. I hate getting my hair pulled in any manner and I found myself just getting extremely pissed. I planted my foot onto the net and pushed with all my might, only to scream with the agony of my throbbing skull and the newly acquired knowledge that the tunnel was getting tighter. It seemed that along with the net wanting to keep my hair and my shorts, it also just wanted to keep me in general. Why else would it stretch so tight as to pull me into a bear hug and feel as if it wouldn’t ever let me go?

Thankfully, I had made it through about ½ of the tunnel by this point and I had a vague notion that I would, in fact, make it out alive. But the confinement of the net had me starting to panic that my win wouldn’t be because I got through of my own volition, but because I had to be rescued by the aforementioned emergency services. I was so overwhelmed that I unclenched my body and just lay in a heap inside. I knew that I wasn’t making anyone happy (least of all myself) but I had to take a minute before I ended up screaming bloody murder and thrashing my body around until I created rope burns that went so deep that people would be able to see my bloody tendons. I hated that my race had to end with such pain and torture and I was truly not sure that I would be able to make my way to the other side.

At the point that I felt hot tears rolling down my face and into my ears I somehow managed to find my inner fortitude and fight the hellish frustration that I found myself in. I (mentally) told the person behind me to fuck off and screamed as I grabbed the rope above my head, pushed my feet into a hole, and shoved my ass forward no matter the ultimate cost to my body. I seemed to drift forward with ultimate ease as (somehow) I had positioned my body into the perfect position for what I was trying to do. My shorts didn’t drag along the bottom and my body was elongated enough to keep the ropes from tightening further. My head had been pulled up enough to not drag my hair, and I suddenly found that there wasn’t even anything to grab anymore anyway because my head was free. Free, I say!!! I gave myself a tight smile and wiggled and fought for my life to get myself out of my own personal hell. And I did! And it was glorious! And it almost didn’t matter that with the final pull of my legs though the tunnel that my shorts (and underwear–yeah) got dragged halfway down my ass. I was but a small price to pay to finally be free.

After hastily hiking my clothing into a more proper area, I skipped down the ladder and I walked/ran/limped to the finish line and began to gather my family together. We laughed, and compared stories, and smeared each other with mud with our hugs of happiness and success. I had been able to complete my goal and I was ready to receive the medal that everyone was to get for participating. It actually was a hell of a great prize and as I gazed upon it (and eventually pulled it over my head) I could only smile because in the reflection I could see the beautific aura that was sure to stay a part of me until I passed out (beyond exhausted) in the car. It was such a good day.

© DRB 2024

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash