My roommate Erin talked me into running the Living History Farms race the first Saturday of Thanksgiving break. She heatedly recommended this race (which would be better described as an off-road race) and convinced me it would be fun. You see, while all competitors leave the race with wet socks and a sweet longsleeve T-shirt, the winners take home dead poultry and a mug.

After signing and sending the check that insured sore muscles and a cool shirt, I woke up every morning dreading the 5-mile-plus jaunt (the race people didn’t even know the exact distance of the competition). Each day, after five hits on the snooze button, I wandered into our freezing basement bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror thinking, “I’m cold walking around inside the house, how am I going to go OUTSIDE and run around some field on Saturday morning?”

I did not want to run that race.

Friday came and I still didn’t want to run. But I had accepted my fate. My destiny to run this race was by choice not chance. Deep inside, I knew I had chosen to run in order to get that longsleeve T-shirt.

Friday night, my roommates and I rented “Prefontaine,” a stellar running movie. (Steve Prefontaine holds every American record from the 2,000 to the 10,000 M. To long distance runners, he is a hero. Mine too.) This man’s amazing story actually got me excited to go shake a leg.

Erin and I planned a 7:15 departure so we could get down to the Urbandale race site with plenty of time to warm-up and stand around to get cold before the race. Well, we left at 7:30 and I forgot my license (which was actually in my car with me). We had to go back to Ames to find it (because I had not checked my car bags well enough to know that it was with me). We were late. Luckily, the race was also behind schedule. We grabbed our numbers and shirts (gotta have the shirts) and then cut over to the starting line. Just as we got to the line, the gun sounded and we took off with the 1600 other nutcases.

Come to find out, this race is what real cross country racing is about.

We started our 5-plus run on a regular dirt road. People whooped it up to hear their voices echo in a cement tunnel. Once we made it to the light at the end of the tunnel, we hit dirt and soon climbed a fence, then ran some semi-normal terrain called grass. I thought, “This is fun.”

Then came the cornfield. This was not so fun, this was dangerous. You see, I thought the remaining corn stalks would be crushed underneath my Adidas Response trail shoes. Wrong. The stalks sent my ankles swaying. I nearly biffed numerous times in attempts to switch rows to pass other runners. I saw the two-mile mark. What? Only three-plus to go.

I survived the cornfield and met a creek and muddy hill. Being the wimp I am, I took the alternate route. I skipped across a tree bridge, made my way through some brush and made it through safely. I thought, “Cool, no wet sock.” I was mistaken. After crawling up a hill with the help of a rope, I approached a creek and realized no tree could save me this time. I carefully leaped through it, managing to only soak one shoe. I made it over another fence and through another creek and eventually crossed the finish with a pretty slow time, a wet sock and a snotty nose.

I had completed what my roommate had previously described as fun. I found my roommate and admitted it had been fun. Then, I got my T-shirt.

---

Amanda Fier is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Davenport.