My Mom Is Going to Kill Me!** It was around dinner time at my mom's house when we discussed the idea of me doing something called the _Tough Mudder_ , a sort of obstacle course, mud-sliding, and mud-volleyball event that my sister had decided was the perfect "team-building" workout. She was really excited about it, said that it would be so much fun, and she would meet us at the gym so that she could go with us to run the thing. At this point in my life, the prospect of signing up for an "obstacle course" looked like one of the most ridiculous things I had ever heard of, so I just shook my head and said that it was probably fun but it would also be dangerous and likely dangerous. I was sure this was a joke, because we all know that any exercise is a great workout. I mean, think about the things we do for exercise like dancing, lifting, and swimming, right? The only exercise my family had ever done was go to the movies together, a sport that doesn't count at all. Anyway, my mother was a bit taken aback by my hesitation to join the Tough Mudder—to her, it seemed like a good idea. She told me that most people in the class have been to two or three times and that all of them feel invincible. (Apparently, I have an issue with that idea.) She then told me about her friend who had gone several times and how good she looked after her fiftieth birthday. So I promised her that I would try it one time, but would be very wary of sliding down mud slopes, since one false step and I would be covered in mud—a fact that I assured her had not been lost on me. I didn't have an event on the calendar that I could get out of, so I scheduled a massage for the evening, something I knew my mother didn't need, but which I did. A few weeks later, I went to a massage parlor that my brother had used many times and was impressed with the high level of cleanliness, quiet, professionalism, and, most of all, customer service. All in all, it was a far cry from a high-class hooker, so I decided to invest $65 in a massage and told them I would be back. A few weeks after that, I went back and told the girl at the front desk that I would need a long massage; I said that I was stressed at work and didn't want my neck to be twisted on the massage table. She said she would do her best to accommodate me, and when she was through with me, the front desk person called my masseur and gave him the message. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." That gave me the confidence to give him the address for the Tough Mudder. After a few minutes of chatting, he said, "The girl at the front desk said she is treating you like a queen, so I know I am in for a tough one." And with that, I left to make my appointment for my massage with the same girl who had told him that she was treating me like a queen. As soon as I got home, I ran to the computer, booked the massage, and then went back and told her it was a one-hour massage. The rest of the afternoon was a mad dash of packing and getting ready. I was supposed to pick up my mother from work and we were going to get pizza from a new place she had been wanting to try. I felt nervous all of the way there. I kept telling myself not to do the Tough Mudder, to tell her I changed my mind. I had been on Facebook the night before with a couple of my friends, and on a whim, we went to the Tough Mudder website, only to find out that the day we were there, the course had flooded and had closed for the rest of the year. As I drove over to pick up my mom, I was nervous and very excited. I pulled into the parking lot, parked, and then went inside to meet her. We found a booth and ordered, and I told her all about my dilemma, which I was sure was going to be a disaster. We ordered and went to my brother's booth to wait for dinner. As soon as we walked in, we could hear cheers and laughter from his table, and I couldn't help but make the comparison of how much fun he was having with my family with how I was feeling about myself and the Tough Mudder. We waited for a while, ate, and then I told my brother that I was not going to do it. He laughed and gave me a look that said he knew this was a bad idea, and, he said, "I'm sure that I'm going to love it." He drove me back to my mom's house, where we talked about the best place for dinner that I could find, and then we jumped in the car and headed to get pizza. I really didn't have much of an appetite and couldn't finish anything. My sister and I sat there, talking about whether or not I really wanted to do it, and I didn't think I had the confidence in me. As we pulled into our driveway, we turned on the car radio, and I heard about a race up in New Jersey, a twenty-mile course that was the hardest obstacle course I had ever seen. "Isn't that great?" my sister said. I told her about my mom and how much she wanted me to sign up for it and how it would be the best workout in the world if I did it, and I could go out with her and come home to such a great workout, just like I had with my brother. I told her how stupid it was and that I knew they didn't care about me at all. She and I had a great laugh about the whole thing and I ordered a beer and sat there listening to them talk about all the fun they were having. That night, we went back to the Tough Mudder website, found the race up in New Jersey, and figured out that the course went right in the middle of it, so I called my mom and told her that I wanted to do it, but not right then. We talked a bit about her friend who had signed up for it four times and she wanted to know if that would do the trick. I told her to come down and visit me while I was doing it, just so that she would feel better about it and not feel like she was doing me a disservice by coming and hanging out for the rest of the day. My mom wasn't worried about the rest of the day at all, but she did say she was a little worried about what I was going to think of her, since she isn't the type of person who can just go up and do stuff without having some kind of preparation. I assured her that I was very understanding, and that I would love it, as long as it didn't kill me. We made plans to meet at a restaurant next to the course and grab a drink there before I was done, and to meet in a nearby town to celebrate after. I booked the massage and called my brother to tell him that I couldn't do it, but I hoped he would do it and enjoy himself. My brother took care of things while I got my massage, and when I was through with it, I told the girl at the front desk that I was ready for my five-mile trek through the mud. She laughed and said that the Tough Mudder didn't have five miles, it was two miles. I laughed back and said it was nice meeting her and that it was a good thing she didn't know me as well as she thought she did, or she might have been a little nervous about what my reaction would have been. I left, got my stuff, and went to meet my brother to say our goodbyes. He drove me