Another zombie fest = further justified disgustingness. Yes, for the third time in as many months Jason and I again painted ourselves gray, putrefied our skin with latex, and smeared fake blood all over our mugs. I guess you can take the Sabins out of the filth but you can’t take the filth out of the Sabins.

We participated in Night of the Running Dead, a 5K race to benefit the Huntsman Cancer Institute, with 5 of our buddies about a week ago. Racers could run as a zombie or a meal-I mean a human. The humans got a 2 minute head start after which the undead were set loose on them.

Everyone here was in a fight for their lives...or for their food at the very least. Except Drew, he was just out for a pleasant jog.

Jason and I decided to join the zombie group, as did our sister-in-law Simone. Our choice of allegiance shouldn’t surprise you; we are pretty rotten. The rest of our friends decided they’d rather run for their lives than after their food. Serve yourselves.

That climbing a tree trick never works; zombies like their grub skewered.

The concept behind this race was dreadfully enticing. Who doesn’t dream of being chased down by reanimated corpses or salivate at the thought of some fresh meat? The setting was pretty ideal too. The Utah State Fairgrounds provided that abandoned city feel you’d expect from a ghoul-infested post-apocalyptic municipality. But, while this event had the makings of grisly greatness, its perfection was marred by two pesky problems.

Cam was undaunted by little ol' zombified me. Doh! Even as a decaying corpse I can't get no respect!

First, the run started at 3:00 in the afternoon on what turned out to be an uncharacteristically warm day for October. We were feeling every one of those nearly 80 degrees as we tromped along. Thanks to the heat my zombie makeup practically did transform me into the undead. Not only did that thick stuff block my sweat and accelerate my overheating but it also gave me the sensation that I was falling apart which, due to my disintegrating latex, I actually was. It’s a tad alarming to wipe your perspiring forehead and find blood on your fingers even if you know that blood originated from a bottle you dumped thoroughly all over your face.

Brains are good. Brains are tasty. One of these days I'll get some...maybe.

My second issue with this race was that it was a little too authentically chaotic. It involved three laps around the fairgrounds but the designated route changed on each loop and there were no directing signs, which meant that everyone was literally running around in circles with no idea where they were supposed to be going. That old trick of just following the runners in front of you was no help; it’s not like those people knew where they were headed either or were necessarily even on the same lap as you.

The undead were starving and ready to sprint. Nothing like the incentive of a little intestinal gorging to hurry you along.

And it wasn’t just the participants that were confused. When Jason completed his three laps and then tried to finish the race he was told by a volunteer that he needed to go back around yet again. That guy absolutely refused to let Jason pass. Huh? Though robbed of his impressive finish time, Jason did accomplish his goal of catching up to Cam. I guess the promise of a delicious Camburger sufficiently quickened his step.

The humans taunted us fiends from behind the safety of closed door(s)??? Good thing zombies aren't too bright because it would seem that those people didn't adequately think this situation through.

Like Jason, all of our finish times weren’t even close to accurate owing to the varying routes we took. But we succored our race frustrations by stuffing our faces afterwards with waffles and frites from Bruges. Waffles may not be quite as appealing as brains but when they’re chocolate filled I think it’s a close tossup.

Watch out boys we'll chew you up!

As a side note, we will give this race another shot next year. I suspect the organizers have received many a complaint and will not make the same mistakes again.

What do you get when you combine a cold rainy Saturday morning and hundreds of tough chicks in sweaty garb? If you are now lost in thought envisioning some hybrid between a wet t-shirt contest and American Gladiators drag your mind out of the gutter and back onto the asphalt.

On cue hundreds of women begin booking it across the puddled pavement.

I just ran the Love Your Body 10K, the biggest women’s only race in Utah, with my sister-in-law and our friend Abigail. Although the temperatures were chilly during this event and we got drizzled on as we treaded along, it was a pleasant and empowering run.

Girls were jumping at this race but not on trampolines.

The race course wound through the Thanksgiving Point Gardens, which were a lovely diversion. 6.2 miles flies by when you have pretty flowers to distract you from the pavement. Beautiful blooms weren’t our only source of amusement however. Our hefty feminine mass, over a thousand strong, elicited honks from passing cars and cheers from stroller-toting chaps waiting on the sidelines. We know that we look pretty darn good in spandex but thanks for your support anyhow.

Way to go ladies! You showed that rain and the male species which gender really has a delicate constitution. Every one of you idle men have been called out. We women have set the pace so run all you fat boys run!

Jason and I recently traveled back to Moab for another long weekend of Sabin adventures.

This time, in addition to our usual hiking and biking, Jason requested that we do some river rafting. I was down with that. We went on a half day rafting trip down the Colorado River. It was surprisingly relaxing. It turns out that rafting mostly involves just chilling and chatting on the boat while you float through calm waters and wait for the occasional excitement of rapids.

Larry's Rock splashed me big time. Yes, that water glob with arms is me.

A few members of our group seemed content waiting indefinitely for some whitewater thrills. The first time we approached a section of rapids a lady sitting at the front of our raft became very concerned about being tossed into the river. The guide admitted that if anyone was going to fall in it would probably be the people at the tip of the vessel. Not surprisingly, this acknowledgement did not soothe her nerves. She promptly requested that someone switch places with her and her husband. Jason and I got volunteered by our guide for this switcharoo either because he had already ascertained that we welcome danger or that we’re wastes of flesh and therefore expendable. Whatever the reason, Jas and I didn’t mind being in the hot seats. However, I wasn’t too hip on getting a surprise river dip so, per our guide’s instructions, I wound my legs around parts of the raft to keep my booteh inside our boateh. All that fancy twisting worked, Jas and I did not end up being tossed overboard but we did get really, really wet. Good thing “getting wet” was on my river agenda. Rafting was a blast and I think Jas and I are up for trying a more demanding section of the river next time.

Lofty monoliths line the streets of Fisher Towers' sandstone cities.

We may not have made it to trail's end before the sun descended but we were immersed in vibrant crimsons much of the way up.

We got back from our dousing at nearly 5:00 that evening but decided that while there was still daylight there was still fun to be had. We assumed, incorrectly of course, that we could squeeze in a hike to the Fisher Towers before it got dark, which is about a 4.4 mile roundtrip. This hike is supposed to take 3 to 4 hours; we did it in 2. Despite our hurried pace, the sun had sunk below the horizon before we even reached the trail’s end. So we spent the first part of our trip back down nearly running in an attempt to cover as much ground as we could until we couldn’t see anymore. Once the landscape became too shadowed to distinguish we were forced to decrease our speed. Since this path travels over slickrock periodically, making small cairns the only trail markers in sections, it was pretty tricky to follow with minimal light. Fortunately, I had enough foresight to grab a flashlight out of the trunk of our car when we started out otherwise I think we would have had to find a cozy monolith to snuggle up to for the night.

The Titan, the largest of the Fisher Towers, rises a majestic 900 feet and attracts both rock climbers and moviemakers the world over.

Standing on a plateau above the Fisher Towers I paused briefly to take in the solitary desert as it was being rapidly subdued by darkness. Jason somehow captured that momentary pause with an enormous amount of pictures.

The next day we biked to a Canyonlands overlook on an ORV road that was pretty tame for the most part. This path did have some fun slickrock and bumpy sections to keep it interesting but the main draw of pedaling these 13.8 miles was definitely the views at the end. Being atop an immense plateau with 270 degrees of grandeur sprawled out below us in the form of the winding Colorado snaking along through a rainbow of whittled rock was well worth our efforts.

The rough road we took to the Canyonlands overlook wasn't without its appeal though it was much milder than our usual ride.

The view from the Lockhart Basin overlook was unbelievable. We stopped to rest, snack, and drop our jaws.

It's amazing how the Canyonlands landscape is briefly transformed by the setting sun into a fiery inferno. The alteration is so instantaneous and fleeting it's as if a match has lit the world and then, just minutes later, the consuming blaze has burned everything out.

The last hike we did before returning home was through Hunters Canyon. This canyon was its own kind of adventure; getting lost in it didn’t require the cover of darkness. The trail we followed was not well-worn and became nonexistent in the thickets or creek bed quite often. But it was a pretty 4 mile trek with flora, fauna, and trail forging aplenty, lots of the stuff that good hikes are made of.

This monstrous boulder spanned almost the entire width of Hunters Canyon so naturally Jason needed to climb it.

Jason took this fantastic picture of a dragonfly in Hunters Canyon. We saw a lot of wildlife in this narrow gorge: frogs, snakes, and, of course, a variety of unusual dragonflies.

We had another lovely trip to one of our favorite vacation locations. Oddly, this time we saw next to no one on all of our hiking and biking excursions because we either hiked at times of the day when only idiots would chose to go or because the trails we hit were a little lesser known. I’m not complaining though; I would never gripe about getting to hog gorgeous terrain all to myself.

No matter how many times we go to Moab we still always find new territory to discover and more adventures to be had. If you delight in the daring and relish unique beauty you will never leave Moab disappointed.

There comes a time in the life of every runner when they need to leave the well kept sidewalks of the world behind and plunge right into the pigsty!

Jason and I, along with four of our compadres, did the dirty this year. The Dirty Dash is a 10K mud race that sends you scrambling through and over all sorts of obstacles including: muck-filled ditches, giant hay bales, soggy tunnels, impossibly high walls, mud pits, a sludgy lake, and of course the slop ‘n slide. Running doesn’t get any messier than this or any more comical!

I love that the bibs for this race listed not only your team number but also group and individual names.

We christened our team “The Filthy Mudbloods.” If you have read the Potter books you’re probably chuckling right now and, if you haven’t, you’re mostly likely shaking your head in bewilderment. I’m not explaining so just keep shaking your noggins or look it up on Wikipedia.

Our group made Hogwarts student hats, which were equipped with elastic bands to keep them on our heads, so the whole world would know that we are magically dork-a-licious. Additionally, Jason kindly sculpted wands for everyone out of wooden dowels. We kept them out and at the ready to obliterate any obstacles in our path as we ran, skipped, crawled, and trudged along. Although we did cast spells in concert as we threw ourselves at impediments, team problem solving proved slightly more useful to our cause than magic, howbeit less entertaining.

I had to have synchronized assistance on both sides of these walls to make it over. Luckily, the men were unusually helpful in this circumstance.

Abigail torpedoed out of her slide chute as catawampus as the rest of us.

Yes, we worked together and helped each other along using any means at our disposal: brute force, stabilizing hands, or just good old-fashioned encouragement. Admittedly, I was probably less helpful than most since I have the upper body strength of a gerbil but, thankfully, the men in our group harnessed their inner Neanderthal and picked up the slack. They offered themselves as steppingstones to propel the weaklings, like myself, over some of the hurdles we encountered. They also selflessly volunteered their assistance in the form of mud-flinging ambushes. There’s nothing like having an enormous glob of muck tossed at your head by one of your teammates to enliven you and expedite your devolution.

Jason's belly practically had its own river system when he emerged from the slop 'n slide. I guess some tummy gravel is just deserts for being determined to go headfirst.

Jeremy, like Jason, slipped down the slide headfirst. Yes, it hurt him too.

We had an unimaginably good time tramping through chest-high rank waters, balancing on thin boards precariously positioned above sloshing pits, and catapulting ourselves over towering walls. Of course, afterwards we literally had to be hosed off with a pressure washer to remove all of our dirt clumps. I took three showers and one bath on the day of the race and I still felt like I had woken up on the wrong side of the pigpen. You’d be surprised by how much grime can hide in your earlobes or unmentionable places.

Run, run as fast you can. You can't catch him he's the mud-splattered man!

A grimy grin on a mud-streaked face: incontrovertible evidence of a dirty good time.

In addition to the dirt farm you are forced to cultivate between your toes, in order to participate in this filth festival you must make one other sacrifice to the mire gods. For some reason encasing yourself in mud, running through murky water, sliding through soil, etc., etc., etc. sends your body into some sort of hypothermic state. You don’t notice it while you are intent on the race and frolicking about but shortly after you stop it all catches up to you and you become colder than you can remember being in your life, so chilled that you get a backache from the fierce shivers that are convulsing through your body. Brr!!!

While the rest of us opted not to cannonball into a mud pit, we all appreciated Jeremy's enthusiasm...even if it splashed us a lot.

And just kept on splashing us...

But, even with those scruples, would I recommend this race? Does a pig answer to the call of suey? If you run the dirty you will become grimier than you ever have been in your life x 100. You will not feel clean after multiple scrubbings and you will be inexplicably drained after all is said and done. But you will get to spend roughly an hour and 45 minutes* grinning from ear to ear while you unabashedly do all the things your mother always told you not to. So yes, I would definitely recommend The Dirty Dash and I plan on doing it again next year.

Our team definitely became filthy enough to deserve its Filthy Mudbloods title.

*Please note that this time estimate assumes a standard allotment of halting for mud chucking. Actual times may vary depending on personal hurling preferences.