How crazy people spend their weekends.

"What did you do this weekend?"

This is the most common question asked on Monday morning in the workplace, usually after people have had their coffee.   This morning, I had the honor to say "I did Tough Mudder. For the second time. With my friends and my team."  Patients looked at me like I was crazy. Then they looked at me like I was really nuts when I described exactly what Tough Mudder entails.

These people are some of the grittiest, strongest I know. Only in Tough Mudder can you be clean, then dirty, then wet, then dry, get shocked, jump over fire and into water, have a nervous breakdown, laugh, cry, pee at every water stop (maybe twice), take your shoes off 10 times, put them back on, have to pee again, and then realize that you might as well just pee through your pants because you don't want to put the effort into pulling them back up.
Tough Mudder is about teamwork and facing your fears. There's signs everywhere that say "Tough Mudder isn't a race. It's a challenge." Well, no shit Big Mudder.

Here's the reason I keep doing it. Those people up there at the top of Everest are PERFECT STRANGERS. They don't know me. But they know that they are going to help me get up that halfpipe. You stand at the bottom, lock eyes with someone, and run like hell. You are running into the arms of a stranger. Now here's the interesting part.

This is a picture of one of the volunteers telling me I have 3 choices: I can jump. She can push me. I can get down. I can run into the arms of a stranger, and I can't jump 12 feet into water.  Which of these is more about control? In this race, you HAVE to surrender everything to other people. You can't control anything.

If you ever want an opportunity to work on SURRENDER, do an event like this. In the several hours you're out there, there is so much to be learned.

So, what did I do this weekend?

I laughed.
I cried.
I panicked.
I jumped over fire.
I scaled some walls.
I got really muddy and dirty.
And I made friends for life.


What did you do?

Signature Colors

Wow. I haven't posted shit in a month. Pretty sad if you ask me. I apologize to those of you who were enjoying my ramblings. This one isn't really a rambling, but a tribute to a beautiful woman.

Last month, my grandmother passed away. She was phenomenal. She didn't want to be referred to as "Grandma."

"Old ladies are called 'Grandma.' I'm not old. I'm Granny," she would say.

 She was 83 years old and beautiful.  Her hair was white, stark white, not a bit of yellow.  Her eyes were the color of the ocean in the Caribbean. She always wore Estee Lauder red lipstick (red was her signature color).

Clearly, signature colors are important to Southern women. Her skin didn't have a single wrinkle. Either we have great DNA for good collagen, or she had one hell of a face cream. In death, she even seemed to be smiling.

She was the epitome of class and style.  Once, she picked out, purchased, and mailed my cousin a cocktail dress she found in Vegas for a semi-formal in high school. This dress was AMAZING.  How many Grannys can do that? And do it right and do it well?

She is the woman I hope to grow up to be one day. Strong in her faith, loved her family, and loved to have fun.

Think about yourself, and then think about your family. I hope you have a Granny. I love mine very much, and I miss her terribly.