The Sweat Life: Roots Rock Runs, or How to Add 5 Minutes to Your 5k Time

I'm pretty hot shit. I'll admit it. I'm pretty fast and I look foxy in spandex. I have enough age group hardware to melt down into bullets and fire lazily at zombies or raiders until kingdom come. I can usually make the top 10 in big races, and at least the top 3 in smallers ones. Sometimes higher in races I'm familiar with.
Last year, with a hangover so bad I should have been pulled over for being stupid, I attended the Roots Rock Run Series' Forest 5k. Say that shit five times fast. I brought a few friends and my chain-smoking, alcoholic brother for effect, and because I love all those bastards and want them to be healthy. We all made a good showing; my brother and my buddy the Ceej did fantastically given their physical condition and my friend Athena the warrior goddess who shall never run a 5k again unless it's in the water because she hates running so Goddamn much, even placed in her age group. I threw up everywhere. But, I was throwing up after finishing third overall and second in the age group, so it was more of a congratulatory dry heave. Shit, I even got a high five from the race directors for it, and a verbal callout during awards.
This year, I was determined to do better, so I practiced my hills and thought really hard about running on dirt and gravel and all the places I would push the pace or relax. I told people I was going to try for the course record, 19:50, or some such nonsense. And I was. I meant to, I really did. I even turned down what was probably an awesome night full of tequila to get to bed early. (after a romantic 9 pm walk to the park with my lady friend)
I got up early, did some yoga, drank some protein shake (still gross) and got my stuff together. We left on time, if that tells you anything. I registered, distributed fruit snacks and did my warmup. I jiggled and jumped around during the prerace meeting, dude, I was gonna pwn this course so hard.
And then...
they changed the course.
No big deal, I thought. I'm in pretty good shape, have been doing some ass-kicking workouts with all those lean triathlete marathoner types down at the track. I'm set. Plus, here I am looking all foxy in my spandex.
Brooke sent us off with a cross-fit inspired cheer and I immediately got dropped by the Ceej. I fixated on a foxy lady in short shorts who had the foresight to wear spikes. I didn't even bring my flats, but what the hell? I figured at least-at the very least, while Foxy McShortShorts was busy kicking my ass, I'd get a workout with a view...of the beautiful marshes and forests of Port Gamble.
She didn't exactly drop me. I stayed about 10-25 seconds behind her. The thing is that I haven't run on a trail since...the last time I ran on a trail. Maybe, oh, I don't know, exactly a year ago? So switchbacking and mudding and loose rocks and tiny slippery "bridges" made of split wood and boom, some tall 30's something drink of water looking exactly like a Harmless Soccer Mom* flew past me and Short McSpikesOn, to eventually take the win. The course record was a distant memory, as were the finely muscled calves of my friend in the extremely revealing shorts by the time I made the final push up what amounted to a mud wall. Right before the finish line, no less. You devious bastards (Chris and Brooke and Johnathon at Poulsbo Running. Not really bastards, mostly just awesome people). Then, a short but still mildly exruciating sprint across mud cleverly disguised by grass to the finish line. I arrived, muddy, sweaty and with my spandex-clad ass thoroughly kicked. I did not vomit the puke of the freshly third placed, but it wasn't too far from possible. This time, thanks to the abscence of mid-shelf whiskey, I kept my guts in my body and walked it off.
Now, I love this race. It's small and fun and everyone is friendly, especially the race directors. You might infer from the previous few paragraphs that it was miserable, since it was mostly uphill and mud. Don't get me wrong, it was miserable, but that ecstatic, crazy grin miserable that comes with extreme exertion and fun. Like snowboarding. It's fucking freezing and if you wipe out you'll break your neck. You can hardly see anything or feel your fingertips. ISN'T THIS FUN? It totally is.
The best thing though, aside from Brooke calling me out as the most homeless-looking finisher (thanks grandpa sweater) is the awards ceremony. Top three, top three age group and then a whole shit load of swag raffled off, just for fun. So Foxy ShortLegs and Big Mommy LongLegs and I all got our hardware, but the 45 year-old lady who was worried about getting her shoes muddy got a new tech shirt. And the hungover soccer dad who did puke at the line got a pair of new socks. And the mediocre runners with the beer guts and the awesome runners with calves you could split hairs on all got the same prizes. Brooke knows how to work a crowd and does so with aplomb and raw hilarity while still managing to move the show along before we all start thinking about how our workouts are done and now we can drink beer.
All this awesome, which I challenge any of you Survivor Mud Run Princesses to try, is only a whopping $25. An extra $10 if you want an awesome tech shirt. Yeah, price, ass-kicking course, fast people, awesome prizes. This is My Favorite Race Ever.

*You really have to watch out for them. Last year, I talked with this lady at the Run Wild 8k, she was blah blah blahing about how her kids loved Northwest Trek and then casually slipped in that she finished 3rd in the Black Diamond Long Course Triathlon...yes the same one it took me 5 or 6 Goddamn hours to finish. I may have beaten her in the short, fast, 26 minute battle, but that lady won the fucking war. No joke. HSMs are DANGEROUS.

Not a lot of set up.