Bree: Our adjustment to being home has been anything but smooth and with every passing day we wonder how we fit in in our old lives, or whether we really do at all. While we debate what our next move should be, we’ve been seeking weekend adventures wherever we can find them, so when we saw the Dirty Dash on the schedule for Heber City, we signed up. Never mind that neither of us had run anywhere all summer or that neither of us had completed a 10k in years, we were mostly just in it for a good time.
We put together a little team and promptly forgot about our upcoming “race” until roughly two weeks before we were supposed to run it. The weeks preceding the race we ran between three and five miles in the evenings and came to rather enjoy our new-found method of transportation.
Ben: We were fortunate to have chosen a slightly later time, as the thermometer on the drive up through Heber was not comforting. We made it clear to the starting line with the thermometer barely breaking 50*. We arrived at the starting line not knowing what to expect.
The race was set up in the foothills of the ski area. Bree groaned at the site, since the rest of us have had a formal running career in either track or cross country during high school. All of our training had been on the trail nearby our home which weaves throughout the flat wetlands and farm fields where we live – not a single hill on our entire route.
We lined up along the mass of runners a few minutes before the starting gun. Many of the runners were dressed up in costume – with tutus, sarcastic t-shirts, and a lot of spandex. With the crack of the start gun, we began our run up the muddy hill with brown splotches flying in every direction.
The initial run up the hill convinced us that we were going to get seriously muddy. By the time we arrived at the first pit, however, a choice had to be made. Colton and I figured that we may as well get the most out of our entrance fee, and started off by belly-flopping and diving into the waist-deep mud. As I came up my vision was completely blurred and it took a lot of wiping (using Bree’s still relatively clean shirt) to clear the brown haze from my eyes. From there, we’d set a precedent for ourselves and pungent filthiness ensued.
Between sliding on our bellies down the muddy hills, running up and down the hills, climbing over walls, and wading through the putrid-smelling marsh near the reservoir, we were completely beat with shirts whose colors are unrecognizable.
We cleaned up in the frigid showers, suffering the equivalent of ice cream headaches as a consequence of the cold water, and after a lot of scrubbing and scraping mud off of ourselves, a majority of the sticky muck had been removed from our hair and skin. Enough to get us home without trashing our cars, anyway.
Oh yeah – a big thanks to Miara’s mother for supplying the pictures. They turned out awesome!