Taking Birthdays to the Max

Frankly speaking, I believe I have the best husband in the world. As cheesy as that assertion may sound, I mean it with total sincerity. No one who has had the privilege of having Jason as a spouse would disagree, which is a good thing because, otherwise, I’d just be arguing with myself. Only the most fabulous of birthday celebrations could satisfactorily commemorate such a fabulous man. With that in mind, this year I decided to take his birthday to the max!

Max Zipline carts groups up to their zip point in a Polaris Ranger. Ours was crammed and crazy.
Max Zipline carts groups up to their zip point in a Polaris Ranger. Ours was crammed and crazy.
Our group was loud and probably more than a little obnoxious but we were also exuberant.
Our group was loud and probably more than a little obnoxious but we were also exuberant.
Jacob wore flip-flops forgetting that closed-toe shoes were required for this activity. Luckily, he had an emergency pair of Jedi boots in his trunk.
Jacob wore flip-flops forgetting that closed-toe shoes were required for this activity. Luckily, he had an emergency pair of Jedi boots in his trunk.
I've zipped a few times but it never gets old.
I’ve zipped a few times but it never gets old.

In lieu of a birthday party, I invited about a dozen friends to tarzan with Jason and me on a zipline tour of Provo Canyon’s leafy canopies. The gods of temperate temperatures magnanimously blessed our whooshful expedition; the day of our zipping was uncharacteristically cool with precipitation in the forecast but the threat of rain never materialized into more than a short-lived sprinkle making the weather ideal. Glory be!

Aimee had no problems zipping like a pro.
Aimee had no problems zipping like a pro.
Jason is an exemplary human being and husband so, as such he deserves an ideal birthday shindig.
Jason is an exemplary human being and husband so, as such, he deserves an ideal birthday shindig.
Kenny had a broken bone in his foot but naughtily removed his boot to zip with us.
Kenny had a broken bone in his foot but naughtily removed his boot to zip with us.

The fine guides at Max Zipline put up with a lot from our raucous group in way of teasing, harassing, ill-conceived maneuvering, blasting and even singing. Evidentially, our enthusiasm was as unparalleled as our volumes though; we were told that we were the most excited crowd they’d had all week. Thanks to our eagerness, those guides consented to show us how to hang upside-down and cast off with flips. Even I, with my lack of admiration for high places, tried a little inverted zipping. With all that topsy-turvy reversed riding, surprisingly, only one of us got our pants in a twist. That lucky individual was Adam and luckily Jason caught it all on film. Click here to see Adam’s pant mishap.

Though not quite as foolish as some members of our gang, Jason was certainly not timid.
Though not quite as foolish as some members of our gang, Jason was certainly not timid.
Lee gave his best faux frightened face as he prepared to whoosh down the longest line, a 1450-foot cable.
Lee gave his best faux frightened face as he prepared to whoosh down the longest line, a 1450-foot cable.
Adam's jean incident didn't frighten him out of trying other stunts.
Adam’s jean incident didn’t frighten him out of trying other stunts.

Although not everyone in our group was equally comfortable with heights, I’d say that the vast majority of us had a spectacular time. And, more importantly, I believe that fantastic man of mine enjoyed himself, which was the whole point of this little adventure. Soaring through lofty aspens and pines with nothing but fresh mountain air tickling your feet is quite the experience. Soaring through lofty aspens and pines with happy birthday choruses ringing out below your wind-tickled feet is probably an even better one but you’d have to ask Jason; he received just such an aerial birthday serenade as he whizzed down his last cable. I won’t lie, the singing didn’t sound so good but how often do you get to hear the hills alive with the sound of off-key music? Happy birthday to my best and favorite bubba!

Refraction Action

Jason and I have done the dirty several times but we’d never transformed ourselves into speeding human rainbows…until now. We thought we could use a few more shades of awesome in our lives so we signed up for Color Me Rad along with my brother Drew, his wife Simone and our friend Abigail. Color Me Rad, a 5K with color bombing stations, is one part athleticism and two parts nonsensical dye dumping. As it turns out, plastering yourself with pigment under the guise of exercise is pretty rad.

Jason didn't keep up his usual quick race pace but slowed down to blitz all of us frequently with his many bags of colored powder.
Jason didn’t keep up his usual quick race pace but slowed down to blitz all of us frequently with his many bags of colored powder.
Our group, Refraction Action, didn't hurry too fast to the finish line but relished cavorting in the clouds of color.
Our group, Refraction Action, didn’t hurry too fast to the finish line but relished cavorting in the clouds of color.
By the end, Drew looked like what would happen if Crayola started making crayons in a TNT factory.
By the end, Drew looked like what would happen if Crayola started making crayons in a TNT factory.

Color Me Rad, for the most part, proceeds like any other race except periodically a giant cloud of purple or orange appears in front of you and you quickly find yourself in a swirling monochromatic haze. Although most of the participants run through these dye mists without covering their noses or mouths, our group decided to wear bandanas through the fog so we could breathe a little easier. Gulping fluorescent dust just isn’t as refreshing as gulping fluorescent Gatorade even if they contain the same FD&C. Despite our precautions, I still woke up a few times the following night coughing like crazy but I’m sure I spared myself some extra wheezing by donning that unstylish handkerchief.

Yes, I wore a shower cap. My hairdresser informed me that dyes like these + blonde hair = not blonde hair so I wasn't taking any chances.
Yes, I wore a shower cap. My hairdresser informed me that dyes like these + blonde hair = not blonde hair so I wasn’t taking any chances.
Just one of Jason's naughty acts during the race.
Just one of Jason’s many naughty acts during the race.

After our scamper for color and follow-up attempt to pound ourselves back into pallidness, we stopped at our favorite waffle spot, Bruges, for some waffles and frites. Although the strange looks we got from some of the other patrons may have suggested otherwise, frites do taste just as good when eaten with neon fingers.

The colors flying around at the stations made the whole world seem bizarrely tinted.
The colors flying around at the stations made the whole world seem bizarrely tinted.
We stuck around after the race for a color toss ensuring that our multihues multiplied.
We stuck around after the race for a color toss ensuring that our multihues multiplied.
Although Color Me Rad wasn't an energy sucker like the Dirty Dash, it definitely left its mark.
Although Color Me Rad wasn’t an energy sucker like The Dirty Dash, it definitely left its mark.

Color Me Rad was a lot of fun and a lot of messy. But dye, oddly enough, is considerably easier to clean off than dirt. (Apparently, I have a lot of experience coating myself in all sorts of tenacious goo.) Sure, we had purple sweat circles covering our inner elbows that were none too eager to be removed and we were the proud owners of vibrant boogers for a few days but, all things considered, we tidied up pretty nicely. Yes, we colored it rad and rad wasn’t half bad.

The Mucky Brewsters

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 costumes did not convey the punkiness that they were meant to. I looked more like a circus biker than an orphan misfit.
Our costumes did not convey the punkiness that they were meant to. I looked more like a circus biker than an orphan misfit.

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.

The Pig House was teeming with suds but, oddly, those bubbles only made you feel slimier.
The Pig House was teeming with suds but, oddly, those bubbles only made you feel slimier.

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.

I lost momentum in the middle of my chute dive but that didn't stop my giggles from descending.
I lost momentum in the middle of my chute dive but that didn’t stop my giggles from descending.
Jason flew down the Slop n slide too quickly to finish gracefully.
Jason flew down the Slop ‘n slide too quickly to finish gracefully.

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.)

David screamed the whole way down the Slop'n Slide. He was going a little faster than his bare arms could handle.
David screamed the whole way down the Slop ‘n Slide. He was going a little faster than his bare arms could handle.
Adam had a big blob of much stuck to his teeth for most of the race but he was too exhausted to notice.
Adam had a big blob of muck stuck to his teeth for most of the race but he was too exhausted to notice.

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.

Our team's incoherent apparel was quickly lost under too many mud layers to count.
Our team’s incoherent apparel was quickly lost under too many mud layers to count.

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.