This year Jason and I participated in the Dirty Dash again for the third time in a row. Although our companions on this run change every year along with the weather’s temperament, the outcome never does. We consistently end up goopier than a sick toddler’s diaper after trudging through stinky streams, sludgy pools and slippery hillsides but getting gross is more fun than you’d imagine. You’ve always wanted a mud-stache haven’t you?

Our team this year, originally comprised of Jason and me and our friends Adam and Abigail, picked up a straggler from a different group signup gone awry, my buddy David. He was asked to join a team of six that ended up being five short. Luckily, David had us as a backup and we’ll take anybody. We designated ourselves The Mucky Brewsters and attempted (unsuccessfully) to dress accordingly. If you’re too young to understand our clever pun then you missed out on some quality 80s entertainment.

Unlike last year, our early starting slot did not result in near hypothermia this time. The temperatures were perfect that morning for a hop in the slop. We were warm enough that we didn’t freeze while swimming through vats of muddy goo but cold enough we didn’t crack like the grime on our skin between obstacles.

While the Dirty Dash is a run, “running” is perhaps not the best description for what we did along its route. Adam admittedly loathes exercise and plans on avoiding it for the rest of his life if at all possible. And David, while always very concerned about the size of his muscles, often neglects to remember the size of his puny heart. So yes, we had a few cardiovascular difficulties during our sullied trek. However, although the reluctance of some of our racers necessitated a lot more walking through this course than usual, everyone completed the 10K. (Adam’s exercise-induced catatonic state made tricking him into missing the 5K shortcut easier.)

I’ll admit though that David did come in handy on a few occasions despite his aerobic insufficiencies. As we all know, I have the upper body strength of a gerbil so I’m sure that some of the race barriers that involved the mandatory use of arm muscles would have resulted in catastrophe and humiliation for me had both Jason and David not been around to act as my saviors. For instance, I completely slipped at the apex of one wooden wall that was about 15 feet high and I’m not too much of a stalwart feminist to admit that had those two boys not come to my rescue and grabbed me I would have ended up flat on my face and probably broken. David, I am most grateful for your muscles yet that appreciation will not stop me from making fun of your stride. Idiocy = teasing. Sorry, I can’t change the laws of the universe that dictate the balancing of that equation.

The Dirty Dash was again as filthy as its name would suggest. I’m glad that Jason and I had a couple of fresh, albeit sluggish, recruits to pester along its sloppy path. And yes, those dawdling rookies may have been somewhat instrumental in the successful implementation of my manglement prevention program. Thank you slow people for flexing your limbs when my tiny T. rex arms failed me.

Dirty Dash, may your dirt be as cozy and your muck be as sweet next time me and your mud pits meet.

It is unanimously acknowledged among the chosen that biking is the ride to enlightenment. The insights of the ancients tell us so and who are we to argue with a bunch of really old people? Jason and I have found many favorite local spots for cycling transcendence but we are always happy to add another to our long list and that’s just what we did a couple of weeks ago when we tried out Corner Canyon in Draper for the first time. Those hallowed hills increased our comprehension of the proverbs of old and confirmed the agelessness of their admonitions. Allow me to share the proverbial truths testified by this ride:

Without a map, one cannot hope for a destination.

Corner Canyon contains a myriad of trails that crisscross and intersect each other often. The path options are boggling and the ways to get lost even more numerous so I’d strongly recommend grabbing a map from the trailhead if you wish to explore this region. Unless, of course, you prefer being puzzled perpetually over your whereabouts.

The wise man builds his house on rock; the fool rides his bike on sand.

We started out on the Lower Corner Canyon Trail and then joined up with the Canyon Hollow Trail until we hit Ghost Falls. Lower Corner Canyon traverses some sandy regions. Jason hit one of these, flipped his bike and did a topsy-turvy spiral over his handlebars. Fortunately, he only got a few scrapes and bruises from his unexpected aerial maneuvers.

Breaking the ties that bind makes even going downhill an uphill climb.

From Ghost Falls we had planned on taking another longer loop around the upper regions of the canyon but, alas, Jason’s bike chain broke just as we were nearing that phantom. He had to ride his bike all the way back down the canyon without the luxury of a chain. Luckily, the terrain is mostly downhill in that direction so, although he didn’t have any pedaling power or means of control, he made it to the car without crisis.

The true state of man is sweaty. Only when we accept this are we open to the perspiration of the universe.

Ghost Falls, named so because it disappears altogether when the conditions are right, made for a nice, if unplanned, endpoint to our canyon climb. Thanks to the spring melt off, it was a gracefully twisting stream of water and its curvy flow over a series of flat mossy boulders was serene and mesmerizing.

Only a fool heeds the warning of fools.

We had heard from an acquaintance that most of the bikers frequenting Corner Canyon are jerks. However, we found them to be exactly the opposite. We encountered some of the friendliest, most helpful riders we’ve ever come across while on these trails. Many of them stopped to assist us with directions unsolicited. I guess we reeked of pathetically lost.

Nirvana is not just a state of being, it’s a state of pedaling and it can be reached. Our Corner Canyon adventure opened our third eyes along with our fourth and fifth ones too. Now that I can see so darn well, I predict that Jason and I will find our centers, or the sandy ground, in Corner Canyon again soon.