Marines are not known for their restraint and moderation. You’ll never hear a war story of a battalion that went in and made some people mildly uncomfortable, broke a couple of things, said sorry and left. That’s just not how they roll. Marines are mildly depraved and dangerous.
Which is why I married one. Who doesn’t want to sleep next to depraved and dangerous every night?
Hubs derives a great deal of joy from enthusiastically hurting himself with physical endeavors and I enjoy watching. Every once in a while he will try to include me in his physical torture, but I’ve become fairly adept at graciously bowing out. See, Moderation is my middle name. When my body says, “ouch” I say, “What’s the matter? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. Let’s talk about it over a beer.”
I might use Hubs as inspiration to stay physically fit, but I do my best to keep our fitness regimens fairly separate. It’s best that way. Because I want to live.
However, I have a friend who frequently does mud runs and physical challenges with her husband. There are always pictures of the two of them looking exhausted and happy at the end, somewhere near the beer tent. Sometimes one of them is wearing a tutu. I look at the pictures and inevitably feel a pang of envy. I want to do that. Suffering is okay when it’s done in a tutu and followed by a beer. And it would be something Hubs and I could do together.
Foolishly I mentioned this to him, thereby proving that communication isn’t always the answer because this is what he came up with:
THE GORUCK CHALLENGE
I should have known that it was way beyond my capabilities by the excitement on Hubs’s face when he called me over to the computer. He looked like a five-year old opening his first box of Hot Wheels.
The Goruck Challenge was created by a Green Beret. Notice the distinct lack of tutus. Still, I looked at the picture above and thought, that doesn’t look so bad. They’re doing push ups in the surf. I like the beach. Maybe there’s a picnic afterward.
Treading water arm in arm can be fun.
Especially if you’re next to the pretty people.
I was feeling cautiously optimistic. I had visions of Hubs and I smiling and sweating side by side, just us and our new friends with whom we’d share laughter and a pitcher of beer later. Like an Amstel Light commercial, but with better beer.
Then I saw this picture and my enthusiasm ran from the room Scooby Doo-style.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that is nighttime. And those people are still carrying a giant log. In cold wet clothes. Without a food truck. I like physical exertion. I also like to sleep and eat.
All of a sudden it didn’t look like fun anymore. Cold, wet pants chafe. Nobody wants raw thighs.
And then I realized what the Goruck Challenge really is. It’s some sort of mini Hell Week for people who fantasize about joining the Special Forces or want to relive that torturous time. I am not one of those people. I don’t need to be a Green Beret. Rambo was a Green Beret. He ended up in a tree, sewing up his own arm. I have difficulty stitching up a stuffed animal. And my big head looks terrible in berets.
Oh look, it’s dawn. And that’s not a breakfast burrito they’re carrying.
There’s nothing I like doing better after not sleeping or eating than push ups. Here is where I would collapse in a pool of my own vomit and cry or giggle hysterically while the Cadre (which is a nice way of saying Sadist) yells at me.
They’re carrying out the participants who’ve lost the will to live. That’s nice of them.
This guy made it through alive, but take a look at his elbow. I believe that’s an open wound. I bet he’s been crawling through all kinds of nastiness all night with that thing, picking up Lord only knows what diseases and no one gave him antiseptic and a Goruck Challenge band-aid. I give him another 12 hours before his arm falls off.
And now everyone is ready to go home. Wait a minute…
No beer tent???? Ah HELL no! If I’m going to carry a log all night in chafing pants, somebody had better be waiting for me, holding a frosty beverage.
Clearly this challenge is designed to make me cry, vomit and tear a muscle. Hubs and I have very different ideas about what constitutes a fun physical challenge. And as many times as I tell Hubs that this does not in any way look like a good time to me, he keeps grinning and saying, “I know you can do it” like some sort of deranged motivational speaker. Clearly he has no respect for my life or my inner thighs, which leads me to wonder if he’s taken out a large insurance policy on me or something. My personal well-being may be at risk.
Please send help.
The Goruck Challenge is now following me on twitter. I’m being stalked by a challenge! They’re coming for me…and I think they’re bringing the log. Please hurry. Time is. Running. Out.
Oh my GAWD. I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt like I’ve endured an intense ab workout! Which, come to think of it, is the only exercise I need (or rather, want; need is an entirely different matter…), thank you very much! Good luck!! 🙂
Thank you, Jill. I prefer my exercise to include laughter. Wine is good too.
You make me really glad that I married a sailor. They’re much more practical about things like this. Marines are crazy. (In a wonderful, lovable way. I’m certain that Hubs’s craziness is both wonderful and lovable.)
Wonderful and lovable is right. Like a teddy bear. That’s trained to kill.
Yeah. Mine is mostly just trained to fly helicopters and complain about the food.
I almost vomited & cried just looking at the pics! Thank GOD my hubby isnt into that!
Do not let him convince you this is a good thing. You can tell by the guy in the back of the truck. Is he smiling? No he isnt and it is probably the 1st time he got to lay down all week! I’d say run..but you might sweat…so get in the car and drive FAR away! 😉
The guy in the back of the truck is probably in need of an IV. I will drive like the wind…to the nearest cocktail.
I am afraid for you. I really am. Can’t you just be the supportive wife taking pictures?
I’m trying to figure out my angle so that I can break it to him that I’m a complete pussy without disappointing him too much. He suggested we warm up for this with the Tough Mudder race which is over 10 miles and has an electrical shock portion, a hypothermic section, and a sprint through fire. Electrical shock as a warm up? I’ve got to learn to keep my mouth shut.
No no no no no no no. No. Just say no.
In this case I think I’m going to tightly seal my mouth and wait for life to distract him. Or fake a groin injury.
More than the message that pain does not necessarily = gain, the overwhelming impression I get from reading this post is that I really wish I had a beer right now. Or a case of beer. So that I could do about 50 reps with each arm and then shotgun all of them.
That’s an excellent fitness plan and overall stress reliever, which we could all use right about now.
Ummm… I had to sit down on the sofa just looking at the pictures. Good luck with this one. I’ll have a nice chai latte and do some yoga-style deep breathing & relaxation exercises for you – because I’m exhausted & stressed just reading this post. Omg – blood! *faints*
Thank you. I appreciate your support. Interestingly enough, I think Hubs would be just as horrified if I suggested we go on a yoga retreat.