I sent her a link to a story on CNN whereby day care workers were being charged with child endangerment for starting a "toddler fight club."
No seriously -- a toddler fight club.
Being the proud mother of two boisterous toddlers herself, I expected indignation, outrage....not "first rule of fight club."
Wait, what?!?!
"for TODDLERS?" I insisted.
"you're surprised?"
In retrospect, no, no I wasn't. In fact I had to admit once my WTF moment had passed, I was plotting ways to get her son Destroy into a cage match.
This conversation's predecesor wasn't much better.
For the month of September, I thought I would see if I could really push my body beyond it's limits. I signed up for a half marathon in Disneyland (some people call it the happiest place on earth....I think it's more like the armpit of Hell when it's full of people) followed six short days later by an Olypmic distance triathlon (for those wondering, it's about a mile swim, 25 mile bike ride, and 6.2 mile run). Three weeks after that, I am doing the Tough Mudder.
What's a Tough Mudder you might ask? It's traditionally a 10-12 mile 20+ obstacle course. It was designed by the British Special Forces (there's a joke just waiting to be had in that, isn't there?) or some other shit like that. It involves climbing, ice water, four foot flames and the coup de grace, live electircal wires as beer waits for you in the tempting distance.
Now you're probably asking yourself, um, why the fuck would you EVER voluntarily engage in this sort of insanity. Well my friends and followers, because someone challenged me. Yup, I pulled a Marty McFly. Someone called me chicken and I rose to the occasion to prove I wasn't.
Perhaps being a chicken wasn't such a bad choice afterall.
So when I told Mama that I thought I was going to die this weekend at my tri, her response was "nonsense. you're going to die at tough mudder" I realize now, she was probably right.
Fuck.
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