lucky.

I’m one of those wives who is always (half-jokingly) saying to my husband, “You are so lucky to have such a wonderful wife,” as I pick up his socks, make his dinner or let him sleep in on the weekends.

In truth, I am so lucky to have a husband at all, much less one who is a total badass.

I am no picnic, folks. I am snobby, subject to mood swings at any time of the month and am an extreme control freak. I have inherited great skin, sure, but with the complexion comes that jet-black, ever-present, razor-resistant body hair.

(Try to contain your level of attraction to me right now.)

It takes a man to love this woman. A patient, patient man. A man who is darn near blind before he puts in his contacts, so he doesn’t see the train wreck that is my face in the morning. A man who has a good sense of humor, so he can appreciate my dancing.

A man who won’t get mad when I tell him I want to run the Warrior Dash together, only to leave him in the mud a mile or so into the race.

David and I are both competitive. We argue over who cleans better (me), who cooks better (me), who smells better (always, always him, but I still fight it).

So we hadn’t planned on running the Warrior Dash together, because deep down we were both hoping we’d crush each other in the 5K challenge run.

The night before the run, I got sick. Vomiting sick. The next morning, David said he’d stick with me the whole race just to make sure I was OK. Half a mile in, I told him to go ahead and leave me, I wasn’t going to have a good race. But he didn’t – he stayed by my side, despite the fact that I knew he could have picked up the pace.

Then we hit the first obstacle, and I felt good. Then we scaled a few walls, and I felt better. Then we tiptoed across a tight rope that spanned a shallow but wide ditch.

Then I ditched my husband.

I scooted right across the rope and raced up the hillside to the next challenge, leaving David searching the crowd for me, wondering where I had gone. Had I fallen? Had I gotten sick on the side of the trail?

Nope, I decided I was going to try to win the race and took off without telling him.

To be fair, I did slow a bit in the hopes he’d catch up. But he was taking too long looking for me and worrying about me, and it was killing my race time.

I finished only about a minute ahead of him, and he bear hugged me and kissed my muddy forehead. He didn’t say a word about me taking off. Didn’t complain once that I literally left him in the dirt. Didn’t justify his time with the fact that lost he three minutes at that obstacle looking for me before he saw my backside tearing up the hill.

He just smiled and posted a very sweet note on Facebook about how well I had run the race, and that he was proud of me.

He is so cool.

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