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I.  Had.  The Coolest.  Saturday.  Ever!

I did my first Mud Run.

At altitude.

With a nasty cold.

It was the , touted as the highest-altitude mud run race.  The course was only four miles long, but it was grueling.  It started with a long slog uphill, after which we sloshed through a thigh-high mud pit; vaulted over giant logs; crawled through a low muddy swamp lined with razor-sharp rocks and covered by thick, concussion-inducing tree-trunks; then ran at a ninety-degree angle up a ski slope�

…and that was just the first mile.

It was INSANE.

By the time we hit that vertical uphill, it was no longer a Mud Run.  It was a Mud Trudge.  Still, every time there was a straightaway, I picked up my feet and attempted to jog � no easy task since my mud-soaked sneakers weighed five pounds each.

The jogging didn't last long.  There were more uphills, and more obstacles, including a mud pit so deep it came up to my chest, and the 13-year-old-boy keeping pace with me had to swim to make it through.

Thankfully, physics rules: what went up had to come down, and the last mile was all downhill.  Treacherously downhill, with no clear path over the rocks, branches, and brambles that lined the steep plummet to the final obstacle, a slide coated in soapy water that you had to throw yourself down headfirst.  I was sure I was done at that point, and threw my hands in the air� only to hear jeers from the crowd and screams to keep going � the finish line was still a quarter mile away.

Finally, I climbed over the mound of snow at the actual finish line, flushed with elation. Okay, it might have been e-coli from the mud pits, but I choose to believe it was elation.  As always post-race, for a few shining moments, I felt like nothing in the universe was out of my reach.

That's why I love to run.

I'm crazy about my career path.  Writing feeds me, and making a living at it is a dream come true.

It also gives me ulcers on a daily basis.

That's the business of writing � so much of it is completely out of our control.  We do everything we can: we write things we're proud of, we pitch our hearts out, we promote like crazy� but there's no formula to success.  That's out of our hands� and yet especially when it's our livelihood as well as our passion, it's brutally important.

Hence, ulcers.

Races, however, are the anti-ulcers.  I like finishing strong, but the truth is it's inconsequential whether or not I kick butt in a race.  There's no pressure; I do my best, and let go of any and all expectations beyond that.  I feel like a superstar just for finishing as well as I can; and the emotional boost I get from that achievement keeps me mentally floating on air all day.

If I could channel my running attitude into my writing life, I'd be completely stress-free.

Oh � turns out the Mud Run had an even happier ending.  Now that I've entered into a new decade, I'm in a new age group� and I placed third in my division!  It earned me the gorgeous medal in the pic, which I'll display proudly.  I'll make it my business to look at it when I'm feeling neurotic about work, and maybe I can recapture the euphoria that comes from doing my best and being completely satisfied, no matter what happens next.

How about you?  Do you get angst-y over the business side of writing, or are you able to capture and hold the zen of satisfaction in a job well done?