Challenge race makes for a good story

My brother, David, and his wife, Apryl, stopped by over the weekend. Apryl was covered in bruises from her head to her toes. David had nary a scratch on him.
All of her bruises were the result of a race they had run. Run isn’t quite accurate as they confessed to walking parts of the course. Other sections had them doing various challenges, mostly involving mud. They climbed rope ladders, hurtled over logs and slithered under barbed wire. There was a pit of freezing water and even more mud to slog through. Their last task involved jumping over fire. They were apprehensive about this until they realized the fire had long since burned out and there were only a few small embers to cross.
They had coaxed their son to join them in this madness and had to wait on him to catch up several times. In the end, they were rewarded with medals and stories to tell. Oh, and mud. They were still picking mud out of their ears a day later, despite several showers.
The joy and excitement in their voices told me they had had a great time. They talked about signing up for another one and said I was welcome to join them. They also said I could come along to photograph the festivities. That sounds easier than trying to get this old body through an obstacle course I wouldn’t have been able to complete 20 years ago, let alone now.
When I told my daughter about David and Apryl’s adventure she said she had wanted to try it. I can believe it. She does have an adventurous side. I suppose a race is much safer than jumping out of an airplane.
Yes, she did that many years ago. The elation in her voice afterwards made me worry that she would keep on jumping out of planes. Thankfully it is too expensive to make into a habit and she hasn’t done it again. Yet.
When we were children we thought nothing of crossing the creek by tiptoeing from one wobbly rock to the next. We nimbly ran across any tree that dared have its roots on one bank and its crown on the other. We jumped out of the haymow into a diminishing pile of loose hay. We tempted fate on a daily basis and lived to tell about it.
Once we achieved the once-coveted status of adulthood our lives became calmer. We race to get to work on time, not because it is exhilarating. Our muscles slowly atrophy from too much time spent sitting and not enough time moving.
To combat the lethargy we take up walking or running. We sign up for exercise classes and organized activity. We search for the happiness and freedom we once felt.
Then along comes something called a challenge race. Those young enough feel a stir of the old sense of adventure. This sounds like fun, you tell your spouse, your friends and anyone else you think you can talk into joining you in the madness.
Then, when you complete the race you share that sense of accomplishment with anyone who will listen. If being covered in bruises is the price to pay for the rush of endorphins then it is well worth it. Even better is the knowledge that your husband is right behind you, covered in mud.
David and Apryl stopped by this weekend. They almost made me wish I had joined them in their race. Then I remember Apryl’s bruises and I realize I’d much rather listen to their stories than slog through mud.