{"id":3756,"date":"2017-09-01T14:35:13","date_gmt":"2017-09-01T19:35:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/etereman.com\/remanu\/?p=3756"},"modified":"2017-09-01T14:35:13","modified_gmt":"2017-09-01T19:35:13","slug":"the-road-to-rugged","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/etereman.com\/remanu\/2017\/09\/01\/the-road-to-rugged\/","title":{"rendered":"The Road to Rugged"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"
\nI remember during my second interview asking my would-be-boss if it was something of an unspoken expectation that I be athletic or at least possess the desire to participate in the Tough Mudders, 5ks, and Warrior Dashes of the world. See, the office had distinct signs of competitive athleticism. From sports gear to prints of team races to an overall wellness that my weekly deep-dish pizza eating was pretty intimidated by. Not only had I recently sprained my ankle in pathetic fashion, but I was on the off-again of my on-again-off-again relationship with fitness. I was assured that, no, I could eat all the donuts and binge watch geeky TV shows for competitive water cooler conversations instead.
\nFast forward. It\u2019s a bright summer Saturday. My alarm goes off earlier than on a weekday, and I set off for a Rugged Maniac: 5k, 25 obstacles, mud, sun, fire, and fun?
\n\"\"How did I end up here? Where had I gone wrong?
\nA few unexpected things happened:
\n\u2022 Sponsorship
\n\u2022 FOMO
\n\u2022 Camaraderie
\nRewind. In early spring, we were pitched the idea of participating as an office in a nice an easy 5k in the fall. While I was no more athletic than I was the day I started, I thought, a 5k? You can do that, Andee. You have all summer to train \u2013 and even if you don\u2019t, you can probably manage to jog\/hobble\/walk 3 miles.
\nLoved ones started asking me how my training was going. \u201cOh, you know\u2026 good.\u201d<\/em> Lies. Lies, I say!
\nThen I was presented an offer I couldn\u2019t refuse: A company-sponsored Rugged Maniac including a group personal trainer 2 mornings a week, a shirt, and a promise of free beer to lull me into healing post-race.
\nI signed up. I agreed. And a not-yet-sunny summer morning in July, I showed up to the gym to see the somewhat smiling faces of my colleagues ready to sweat, bleed, and laugh together with me.
\nFor weeks we ran in laps together around the small gym. We cleaned each other\u2019s droplets of sweat from off shared mats. We collectively dreaded bear crawls. We limped around the office.
\n\"\"
\nOn the first week, beside The Remaniac<\/a> with his inhaler, I questioned all my life choices, the present one most of all. I wheezed and rasped, and wondered if I might not throw up instead of drinking more water. I was sore all over. I hated life and exercise and health.
\nAnd then\u2026 somewhere along the way, my mood improved. I\u2019d cheerfully bounce around the office, if a little gingerly. I\u2019d wheeze less and run more. I\u2019d choose maybe once or twice the slightly harder of the moves. I\u2019d watch my peers and friends out of the corner of my eye and wonder if I might not beat them on that next suicide run.
\nIt was about getting in shape, and it wasn\u2019t.
\nIt was about the looming race, and it wasn\u2019t.
\nThe day came and looking over the list of obstacles we were to be traversing, I was feeling meek. I wasn\u2019t hydrated. I had eaten a lavish celebratory meal the day before, and come on, all that working out wouldn\u2019t suddenly provide me the upper body strength to propel myself across a muddy pit on slippery rings. And, to be fair, it didn\u2019t.
\nBut as our team arrived in varying states of excitement and preparedness, I realized that I\u2019d likely live and probably have a lot of fun doing it.
\n\"\"And I did (not die, the other thing \u2013 fun.)<\/p>\n