When I think of masochistic hobbies, I imagine things like martial arts. Granted, you learn to kick people’s asses. But you have to absorb a mandatory amount of kickings in the process. You spend money on a nifty outfit and a club membership, and maybe even on entry fees for competitions. All to get your ass kicked.
Another perfect example is a sport we call ijsberen in Belgium. Sort of translates to polarbearing. But what IS this polarbearing? Well, in short, people take swims in open water. In winter. When it’s cold. Yup. Why they do this is beyond me, but it must be fun. Forgive me for not trying it out, though.
Then, this weekend, it hit me.
My hubs and I had planned to take our dogs to a dog agility trial. We were heading out in the caravan the night before. D was going to compete with our two dogs while I helped out in the trial office, processing results and keeping a tight rein on a trial with almost three hundred teams competing.
Come bedtime, I realised something. Goddamnit, March is too fucking cold to go camping. Even in a caravan. As I lay in bed, shivering underneath three blankets, dogs piled around me for warmth, I was about to set an alarm for the next morning and another thing hit me.
That was the night Europe would switch to daylight savings time. One less hour of sleep. And I was expected at the trial office at 7am. Fuck me.
Apparently, an asskicking is not required for masochistic hobbies after all.
The next morning, a cold wet nose burrows its way under my blankets to poke me in the eye. At least fifteen minutes before my alarm. I jump up and crack my skull against the rock-hard dog skull the size of a watermelon. “Goddamnit, Liam! Get your head out of my face.”
Liam, the wolfdog who never obliges my kind requests, replies by slathering his tongue across my face and I barely manage to close my mouth in time. At least his tongue is warm. But I don't want to think about where it's been before touching my face.
I close my eyes and count to ten. Maybe if I play dead, they'll leave me alone. Behind Liam, Lucie starts to bark.
After ten minutes of chattering teeth while getting dressed as fast as I can, my toothbrush and I race for the trial office with its promises of warmth and caffeine and food.
So there I am the next morning. At the trial office. At seven o’clock in the damn morning. The first people walk in to register for the day and I want to throw my coffee at each perky smile. Good thing I like my coffee too much.
The day passes in a flurry of running times and scores and rankings, and coffee. Lots of coffee.
After the prizes are handed out, my friend Erna and I look at each other across the war zone the office has become. I hold out my fist to her. “Thank God that's over.”
She bumps it with her own. “I hear ya, hon. Why do we keep doing this to ourselves anyway?”
“Beats me.” I shrug. “Normal people just walk their dogs.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Ain't that the truth.” She sighs and picks up her empty coffee mug. “See you at trial next week?”
“Damn right.”
Oh my Goddess. I think I just posted a Comedy Openmic Entry. First time for everything, right?
I nominate 
Hugs
Tiny
Disclaimer: Photos are my own, or provided to me by friends with permission to use them.
