Fifty Shades of Arctic Enemas

In a mere two short weeks, I will jump into 34 degree Fahrenheit water.  On purpose.  I am not prepared for this ultra chill factor.  Should I buy a padded sports bra to blanket my breasts?  Because lord knows there’s going to be some extreme turkey-timer action going on when my body hits ice.  Of course, I assume the men will be obsessed with their incredibly shrinking peens, and phrases like “oh my dear sweet gubernaculum” will shake out through their chattering teeth, so perhaps they won’t notice all the high beams in the crowd.

Oh wait.  They’re men.

I also have to run through a mess of live wires, some of which are a stimulating 10,000 volts.  Glory be.  I’d love to have a spine-tingling, dirty time with hot men, but this was not what I had in mind.  Needless to say, I am not prepared for this, either.  I hate it when I flip on a light switch and I get zapped- especially when I’m wearing my footie pajamas.

Why subject yourself to such madness, you ask?  Well, I read the Fifty Shades of Grey “trilogy” and now wish to be gloriously tortured in such a way that Ana’s inner goddess’s inner goddess’s inner goddess would turn fifty shades of crimson and murmur and mutter something about… oh, hell.  I don’t know.  Alright, I lied.  I only read a wee portion of the first book and then decided that gouging my eyes out with a KFC plastic spork would result in far greater enjoyment.  (However,  I did read Speaker 7’s recraps of Fifty Shats of Twatsniffery and plan to contribute to the psychotherapy expenses caused by said Twatsniffery trilogy.  Stay strong, Speaker 7.)

I’m participating in a fun little obstacle course mud run called the Tough Mudder.  Ever heard of it?  I think I mentioned it once before.  Looks something like this:

10.1 miles of tomfoolery.  That is, if you call running a crapload of miles laden with 25 “challenges” such as the Boa Constrictor, the Death March, Funky Monkey, Just The Tip (hey now- I think I heard that just before Maya was conceived…), Turd’s Nest, Fire Walker, Underwater Tunnels (wtf), and the aforementioned Arctic Enema and Electroshock Therapy tomfoolery.  Which I don’t.

So why engage in such lunacy?

Because next year, I will turn 40.  Enough said.

I’m fairly fit as it stands.  I can knock off five miles and not collapse into ground like a limp noodle.  That said, I still know that I need to monitor my diet and increase my game if I want to make it through the challenge without eating dirt from a massive coronary.  During the past few weeks, I’ve increased my standard solo three mile run to five mile stints with Maya in the jogging stroller two days a week (talk about a work-out) and seven to eight miles on my solo Sunday night run while the tot is with grandma.  Two days a week are dedicated to weight training.  And on Saturday mornings, I strap the girl in for a long jog and every half-mile or so I add in rounds of jumping jacks, push-ups, burpees, mountain climbers, jumping lunges, plank poses, jump rope, tip-toes, and when we reach the playground, I attempt to swing about on the monkey bars when I’m not playing “catch me” with the girl.  I can only imagine how hilarious I must appear to onlookers.  Oh well.  They can stuff their Big Macs where the sun don’t shine.

I’m stronger and faster than I’ve been in long time.  I wasn’t this fit when I completed the Devil Dash in May.  Just since Josh left for Spain (I miss you, Joshie!), I’ve lost seven pounds and you can almost bounce a quarter off my butt.  Okay, maybe I still need a month on that one.  I’m naturally eating less and I feel fantastic.  I am determined to complete this sucker.  Although I think the TM will be challenging, I also think it will be (overall) a tremendous amount of fun with my friends and a chance to meet new people (ahem, ahem, universe…).  I am so excited.

This determination has had a domino effect in other areas of my life.  My confidence level is back up.  My stress level is down.  I quit biting my nails.  I know, I know.  Terrible habit since I was a child.  I don’t smoke or do drugs, I don’t drink much, I’m organized, I pay my bills on time, I’m clean, and I have a good work ethic.  Nail biting is/was my one uck habit.  I didn’t plan to quit; I just did it without even realizing I did.

I’m also writing more.  Not on this blog, mind you, but I’m writing where it matters most right now.  Lately, I’ve had several excellent breakthroughs regarding my screenplay and the pieces are now playing nicely together.  I was feeling a bit down about the script, but I hoped knew that if I kept toying with the characters and shifting the story, it would eventually work.  I have a solid idea; the story just needs tweaking.  This has been an ongoing process for the better part of a year, but I think I’m almost there.

Keep moving forward.

Or freeze to death in the Arctic Enema.  It’s up to you.

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4 thoughts on “Fifty Shades of Arctic Enemas

  1. Wowza. That looks quite difficult. I think I could probably handle a weak mudder competition, but nothing more. Thanks for the link to my “twatsniffery”–I love that phrase and am sorry I’m no longer recrapping 50 shades of twatsausage because I would have definitely used that as a post title.

    Like

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