You know when you meet a new group of people and you’re polite and they’re polite and you hope they like you?
And you know when this new group of people lives next door to you and you realize, after a year, the politeness is over and now they’re reading about themselves on your blog?
It’s April 26th. I have four days to prepare for a 5-mile mud race including 22 military-style obstacles, such as crawling in mud under barbed wire and climbing up walls by lifting each other up like middle-aged cheerleaders.
Scott and I agreed to run Battle Frog on April 30th with our neighbors.
Our neighbors, the highlight reel: A former Kansas City Chiefs player, a former Sporting KC goalie turned broadcaster, a pediatric cardiologist, halloween enthusiasts, a mom with arms that can open any spaghetti sauce jar, and another mom with abs that makes me I should put this cupcake down. Oh! And a nice family from Iowa.
Half of these people have their own Wikipedia page because of their athletic ability. The other half do Crossfit. And the remaining few have the will power to never touch cupcakes.
In move the Burtons. We must have looked promising.
We have Scott Burton – VP of a medical software company by day, ripped caveman by night. He is training to hike a mountain, shoot an elk, and carry the 500-pounds of meat back down on his shoulders.
And then we have Julie Burton – hi.
The neighbors know our schedule. They know when we grill dinner. They know our parents’ cars, friends’ cars, and our kids’ bikes. They know the clanking of the trash truck will be followed by me screaming and dragging a trash bin down my driveway. The one thing they never see or hear is Scott and me having an argument.
They never hear us argue because Scott is a firm believer in the silent treatment.
And I am a firm believer in running for half a mile and then taking a mile-long stroll back home because my lungs hurt and I have a side cramp.
Scott is giving me the silent treatment for being lazy.
I don’t know what happened. I had months to prepare. They say kids grow up in a blink of an eye. Yeah, well, so does signing up for a mud race with the neighbors.
I’m not saying I don’t work out. I’m not lazy. I go to the gym every chance I get. I lift weights. Building muscle makes my metabolism high. I am also tall and an avid eater of jalapeños. My neighbors have no idea I ignored their texts about remembering to get in a morning run.
Sure, I told them I ran a 5k a few years ago. I trained for that race. I worked hard for that race and I made good time. But that was the last time I ran. My neighbors were easily fooled into thinking I have a runner’s body.
And now it’s going to be a dead body on April 30th. Scott will throw me over a wall and leave me there without saying a word. The halloween enthusiasts will stop to take makeup notes on a dying body. And the cardiologist will be hard at work because they need their storyteller alive to tell the tale.
We’re days away from an 8k with military-style obstacles and I’m still eating this cupcake because I’ll just run tomorrow.