Andrew takes the lead as we head toward the slide. Other runners jostle around us and leap onto the slide without a care in the world. Andrew reaches out for my hand, but I shake my head. “It’s time I’m brave on my own,” I say as I throw myself down the slide before him.
He’s quick to follow me down, and we crash into the pit at the bottom of the slide. As my butt scrapes the ground layer of plastic in the pit, I feel mud crawl into my spandex, giving me a giant wedgie.This is fun! This is fun! This is fun!I begin my new mantra.How would this be going if Becs was here doing this with me?She wouldn’t be patiently holding my hand, but she would be patiently encouraging me just the same. She’d have a toothy grin shining bright through the mud across her face because this experience would fill her with so much joy. Another experience lived. Another story to tell.Another story to tell. I’m going to look back on this one day and laugh my ass off. Honestly, I probably will in about thirty minutes when I’m through the finish line and cleaned up. I’m so lucky I can be doing this right now, especially with the man I love. I need to stop being such a baby.
I tune back into the world in time to see Andrew laugh and wiggle around uncomfortably from all of the mud in his own shorts. He offers to help me too, but I swat him away, blushing when he almost grabs my butt in front of all thepeople behind us.
His face breaks into a smile. “Ready to tackle the barbed wire pit?”
“Yeah. Let’s do this!” I shout, filled with renewed energy.
Andrew does a double take at the sudden change in my demeanor but doesn’t say anything as he dives down into the mud, face first, crawling with ease as if he does this for a living. I take a different approach, getting onto my hands and knees first and then getting onto my stomach. I learned from the last pit that the mud can be deceptive, and it’s much thicker the deeper down you go. My hope is I can stay toward the top layer and not wind up sinking into the tar-like substance sitting at the bottom.
Rising out from under the wire, I exhale. I’d apparently been holding my breath the entire time I crawled through the mud. It’s only after I stand up, not struggling at all to unstick myself from the mud, that I realize I didn’t sink this time.My strategy worked!
I search for Andrew in the masses of people. I somehow lost him while I was intensely focusing on my crawling. Between not wanting to get snagged on the wire and not wanting to sink in the mud, I completely forgot to keep track of where he was.
I feel a light hand brush my lower back, causing me to jolt. “How’d you beat me, through?” Andrew asks.
I shrug. “I couldn’t have beat you. You’ve been obliterating me on every obstacle!”
He smiles, the top layer of dry mud on his cheeks cracking as he does. “No, Em. You beat me on this one. You’re getting the hang of this!” He takes a step forward and then takes off. “Race you to the finish line!” he hollers over his shoulder.
After running with him essentially all summer, I’m quite familiar with his antics. I’m quick to take off behind him, and I swear I’m gaining some ground. I know Andrew, and he will inevitably fall back to me. We still have about a quarter of a mile to go. He won’t be able to keep a sprint for that long, but I will. Iused to run the anchor leg in the 4x400m race in high school, so I am all too familiar with the quarter mile, full-out, sprint.
Sure enough, as the finish line comes into sight, I begin pulling Andrew back in by my side. I wordlessly rush past him with a taunting smile. I watch him drive his arms harder in response, but it’s not enough to beat the fatigue that’s plaguing his sprinter’s body.
I gleefully cross the finish line at least two seconds before he does, and when he joins me in the funnel behind the finish line, he swoops me into his arms and gives me a big, muddy bear hug.
“Andrew! You’re all muddy!” I shriek with laughter.
He glances down at me with a massive grin. “So are you!”
I laugh and lean in to kiss him, as if to saysee even with this mess I still love and adore you.
“Now what?” Andrew deadpans.
I scoff. “I don’t know, but I could use a shower.”
He drapes one of his arms over my shoulder and leans his head against mine as he thinks, continuing to direct me toward where the funnel opens back up into an area set up with games and food.
I take in the scene, amused by the number of people who can be completely fine with being caked in mud while carrying on about their day. Several people sip beer and seltzers at some picnic tables while their skin flakes off dried mud each time they move their arm to lift their beverage.
Together, we move through the crowds and find a bin where people are throwing away their shoes. The thought makes me cringe in horror. It feels so wasteful! But then again, I don’t know how I will ever be able to wear these shoes again. They’re completely destroyed. Next to the bin is a line of open showers. They look exactly like what you’d find at the beach, just a showerhead with a nob and absolutely no privacy.
Andrew immediately begins stripping downto his underwear, alternating between rinsing his skin and his clothes under warm water. When the mud starts to give way to reveal the muscle fibers in his back and shoulders and the way his boxer briefs leave little to the imagination, I try not to be obvious as I ogle him. He may be mine, and I may have been admiring him for years, but it doesn’t mean I still don’t appreciate the view. Damn, is it a good one.
Once he looks human again, he turns to me and tilts his head toward the showerhead, indicating I’m next. I peel my t-shirt off so that I’m rinsing off in just my spandex and sports bra. The car ride home should be an interesting one. While I brought a change of clothes, I don’t see it doing much good considering all the pockets the mud will inevitably continue hiding in until I can truly strip down and shower.
I lean my head back and shuffle my hands through my hair, desperately trying to rid my hair of the sticky feeling it has from all the mud that has made its home in my ponytail.
When I open my eyes, Andrew has made his way to my side. “I think I need to take you home and help you get cleaned up properly,” he says, looking very serious.
“Is that so?” I ask.
A sly smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, and we better hurry. I hear the mud becomes permanent after too long.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I reply, going along with him.
We hurry to the car, not even bothering to change clothes. We just toss some old towels over the seats. As we peel out of the parking lot, he explains, “My parents are gone tonight on another business trip. Do you want some help getting cleaned up? Maybe you could stay the night again too?”
