Dear Kid,

Last week Pi found out about the Mud, Guts, and Glory race. She felt it was too late to train for the competition, so she invited me to volunteer with her. Being the kind of Mom I am, I said yes before I found out what volunteering involved.

That is how it came to be that at extremely early in the morning o’clock I found myself sitting alone in the woods next to a pile of tires with no pen, no paper, and only 20…19…18 percent left on my phone battery. Not one of my better planned mornings.

The tire carry at Mud, Guts, and Glory 2016. Pre-race and pre-mud.

I’d been assigned to the Tire Carry obstacle. Really, Pi and I had both been assigned to the Tire Carry but they were short on volunteers and moved her to the Weaver. Did I mention that one of the reasons I agreed to volunteer was to spend time with her?

There I was, by myself. At an obstacle in the middle of Stage 5 of the race. I had about half an hour until the Elite competitors began and the first one wouldn’t get to my area for an hour and a half or so. Here’s what I was thinking.

My feet are cold. Really cold. How can nature be this cold in May?

I have to find a way to entertain myself. Commune with nature. Yep, there’s nature. Still surrounded by nature. Nature doesn’t seem to be doing anything.

What do people do in nature? Try to relax. People relax in nature, right? I’m not one of those people. People paint in nature. Think about whether you’d like to paint the trees. I’m sure someone would, but not me.

15%.  Why doesn’t nature come with electrical outlets?

The race starts in 10 minutes. They won’t reach my station for more than an hour. That’s a lot of nature to contemplate.

I try harder. I look at the trees. The poison ivy climbing up the nearest one winks at me.

13 percent. 

Dear lord.

I listen to the wind in the trees. I picture a gentle breeze on a hot day. I compare that to the reality of a sub-arctic morning with a 90 mile an hour wind.

The poison ivy smirks. It doesn’t care about the cold.

Did you know that nature doesn’t come with coffee? Who invented a coffee-less nature? Coffee’s natural. There should be a Keurig around here somewhere.

Oh, great. My phone’s dead.

Then out of nowhere, colorful racers burst around the corner, running easily and enjoying the course.

Nope, that didn’t happen. Not even a little bit. I was hoping it would, but it didn’t.

I started pacing on my little platform to warm up. I felt like the polar bear at the Central Park Zoo.

Eventually, The First Runner came sliding silently down the hill.

Serious competitors are focused. Really, really focused. Really, really focused on competing. No small talk here. The First Runner grabbed up two tires, slung them over his shoulders and headed around the loop. At the end, he dumped the tires and off he ran. I cheered for him. He didn’t seem to need the encouragement.

Ten minutes later, runners 2 and 3 arrived. They didn’t seem to need the cheering either.

The poison ivy didn’t bother cheering. Apparently it had already computed the outcome.

Eventually Pi showed up and made the day much more entertaining. She has that effect.

Michelle Warnky of American Ninja Warrior fame was the second woman we saw. She is a rock star. (This is my crazy impressed face.)

As the day went on the course, um, deteriorated. By that I mean where there had been mud, there was MUD. Where there had been slippery, there was treacherous. Where there had been sprinters, there were walkers pulling themselves along by their mud-covered fingernails. (Still, they did more than I did, so I’m not dissing.) Where there had been silence and concentration, there was conversation and camaraderie. It was fun.

The poison ivy continued to show its superior attitude. The Keurig didn’t show up. Neither did the feeling in our toes.

Still, it was a pretty cool day.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Week 3 is here. Sort of.

Dart Wars Week 3 and I don’t have much to report.

Week 2 included lots of crazy tweets and photos of puppies (don’t ask why Dart Wars included photos of puppies—I have no idea. But I’m not really one to argue about cute fluffiness.). Week 2 also included our team winning and moving on to Week 3.

And now the giggles and strategies of Week 1 seem to have disappeared as have the girls themselves. Gone are the strategy sessions that rival plots of a Bourne movie (or book—I love the books). Gone are the days of actually talking on the phone (yep, we’re back to texting). Gone are the various team members descending in ones and twos and half dozens on our house.

I can’t tell if they are all too busy or just plain bored.

The interesting thing is that (according to the scouting reports) they are up against a really good team this week. A really good team who seems to have been afflicted with the same malaise.

No one has showed up at our house (Puppy says it’s because they are afraid of him—he’s said he will protect the girls and he means it). No one has chased the girls across town. No one has even hired a helicopter to spy out the situation.

It’s a bit of a change from Week 1.

Stay tuned for Important Dart Wars Updates.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Guess what I did this past weekend? I went to a college rugby game.

I was (of course) there to see my favorite future athletic trainer work the game.

I particularly wanted to see something spectacularly colorful but ultimately insignificant happen so that I’d know the Kid was learning something. (This led to my friend saying, “Enjoy the rugby game. I hope someone gets hurt.”)

I don’t know why, but that reminds me of this:

It was snowing, windy, and about 28 degrees, so I was quite happy to find a parking space right near the end of the field from whence I could watch the game in relative comfort.

I may have witnessed the least injury-filled rugby game in the history of rugby.

No one understands rugby because it was (we think) invented in England where they have a history of creating sports no one understands (looking at you, Cricket). We know that rugby can be played with either 7 players on a side or 15 players on a side (although typically not at the same time) and that the traditional striped rugby shirt was very popular in the 70s. A game without mud is considered a failure and a game without injuries is considered unsporting. A game without alcohol immediately afterward is nonexistent.

Oh sure, there was mud. And yelling. And several dudes getting up from the bottoms of various piles looking a bit dazed. And Our Boys won, so yay.

But there weren’t any interesting injuries. There weren’t even any uninteresting injuries. The highly developed medical assistance skills waiting on the side in of the field in the cold were not called upon.

Until about 5 minutes before the end of the game when one of the other team’s players went down with a splat and didn’t immediately bounce back up. (Fact: Rugby players may be big, but they are very Tigger-like in their bouncability.) After another moment or two, I thought “Oh good. I’ll see the Kid in action.”

Just as I thought that, the player got to his feet and lumbered off the field, and I thought, “Oh good. I’ll see the Kid in action on the sidelines.”

Do you know what an injured ruby player does? He does not head over to the athletic trainer’s table for assistance, oh no. He decides to walk it off. When that fails, he sits down. When that doesn’t help any more than the walking, he shrugs, gets up, takes his rugby shoes to the car, turns to his cell phone, and begins to take selfies.

When the athletic trainer (aka the Kid) brings him a Helpful Bag of Ice, do you know what he does? He takes the bag politely, thanks the Kid, places the ice bag on his injured knee (while standing) for 1.387 seconds, then stands there holding it (not anywhere near the injury) cheering on his team to defeat, all the while thinking that it will be much easier to deal with the pain (and the defeat) as soon as he’s drunk. (Probably also hoping that the team will finish quickly so he can begin that medical journey as soon as possible.)

So that’s what I saw. The Kid delivering ice. But very well-qualified and well-bagged ice.

Note: Turns out there was also a pretty significant nosebleed that required nose plugs, but I didn’t know about that until much later.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

As I may have mentioned, it’s Spring. And with Spring comes tulips, and bunnies, and weeding, and Dart Wars.

Dart Wars originated in Ancient Greece when the students of Greekus High Schoolus formed squads and bought Nerf guns.

The rules have remained relatively unchanged since then (with slight modifications for inventions like cars and cell phones).

Pi is participating in Dart Wars this year and the Wars start tomorrow.

Planning for Dart Wars is somewhere between planning for Prom and organizing shopping for Black Friday. It requires the attention to detail generally only seen in operating rooms and the audacity of a Hail Mary pass with only 3 seconds left in the game.

There are meetings, wardrobe consultations, battle plans, alternative plans, hiding places, instructions for allies (and parents), contingency plans, housing arrangements, reprovisioning stations, and warnings to NOT under ANY circumstances—ANY—invite an Unknown Person into the house. ANY.

It also involves teenagers voluntarily getting up much earlier than usual which may be the most amazing part of the entire event.

Stay tuned for the next six weeks of attacks and counter attacks.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I’ve been thinking about college sports.

This should not particularly surprise you, since we are in the middle of March Madness (and by “middle” I mean the early days) which means everyone and their brother is talking about brackets and basketball and how to skip out of work in order to watch Important Sporting Events.

It will (probably) not surprise you that I’m not trying to skip out of work since I can barely figure out how to follow basketball. (It helps when Dad yells, “Look right there! Right There! He grabbed his arm! He definitely grabbed his arm!! That’s a foul! You have to call that!” and then they show the alleged foul in ultra slow motion. Fourteen times.)

I have been thinking about college sports in terms of (wait for it) academics.

Yes, I said it. Sports and academics. In the same sentence. I’ll write quickly so I can finish this before the fan police arrest me.

I sort of understand that some sports can be played around an academic schedule. Like crew (I still haven’t figured out if one actually “plays” crew, but go with it for a moment). When you were rowing, you went to class (presumably), did homework (presumably), worked out with the team (for sure), and studied (presumably). (NOTE: I assume these things because I was not there to see you do them and you didn’t really talk about your academics that year. Also, you didn’t get kicked out which was a good hint that you were busy learning something.)

I assume that even some sports with more, um, political and alumni pressure can be played while continuing with one’s academic pursuits.

What I’m confused about (at this particular moment) is how one breathes the rarified air of playing basketball during March Madness and manages to attend class, do homework, and study subjects other than the next team on the schedule. The travel alone makes it seem daunting if not impossible.

So how is it that these athletes stay academically eligible? I can only assume some magic, a bit of time travel, and some exceptional tutors. If it’s anything else, I’m not sure I want to know…

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

We’ve been in Pittsburgh for several hours now and I’m happy to report that I haven’t been mauled by raving Steeler fans. I haven’t even seen a Steeler fan (although they might be traveling incognito).

Quick: What professional sports teams call Pittsburgh home? That should be an easy one, so you don’t get any extra points for adding the Pirates and the Penguins to the list with the Steelers. But can you name the professional soccer team? They’re called the Riverhounds and they are an affiliate partner with the Columbus Crew (don’t fuss—I said professional, not MLS).

There are several women’s full-contact football teams in Pittsburgh, as well as a whole slew of rugby teams. There have to be a lot of teams—they keep murdering each other, and need replacement players.

Today we are off to play the sport of Not Freezing To Death At The End of March. (It was snowing last night. Ridiculous.)

Love, Mom