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The last 200 meters of Mugshot’s finish at the Magdalena Burro Stampede was far from how I imagined it would go. With eight weeks of training and 40 miles under our belt, stepping on the start-line I was feeling pretty confident my little burro and I would have our best performance yet.
Mugshot on the other hand, figured it was a perfect opportunity to test my humor. There is nothing quite like being humbled by a super cute lovable tyrant in front of all your friends and family.
My hyper-competitive side would have considered our finish an epic failure, but I couldn’t deny the entertainment value the spectators had watching someone (me) desperately push and pull a stubborn ass (Mugshot) across the finish line.
In the last stretch I could hear friends and family notice Mugshot was coming in but as soon as we hit the pavement my little guy appeared confused by all the commotion and froze. The route we’ve trained on twice a week for two months not only had a crowd of yelling people but white chalk lines that he was not impressed with.
Too bad he couldn’t read the cardboard sign that said “GO MUGSHOT!”
Thinking I could redirect his attention I did my best pushing until I realized that nature had called and Mugshot was answering. “He’s pooping on your foot!” I heard my dad yell from the sidelines.
I figured there are some things you can’t rush, so I impatiently waited and looked up to see friendly faces cheering “C’mon Mugshot, let’s gooooooo!” “ You can do it!”
Once he finished up his business I figured we were now free to cross the finish line in style, but Mugshot had other ideas. He showed no interest in the finish line and stopped after only a couple feet to thoroughly inspect a road apple left by another racer.
Before I knew it the two donkeys I worked so hard to un-velcro him from half a mile earlier were literally on his tail.
The two seasoned teams came in calm and collected while Mugshot and I wrestled to the finish line.
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“Oh Mugshot are you kidding me? You only have ten feet to go!” I could hear someone yell.
As we finally reached the line, neck and neck with a beautiful brown burro at least triple his size I honestly couldn’t tell whose snout crossed first but the results show Mugshot a split second ahead. While our confident furry competitors kept moving across, Mugshot held his spot suspicious of the white line and what it might do if he stepped on it.
Cheers and laughter erupted when he finally crossed the dreaded finish line.
“Don’t worry Jessica, everyone’s a winner!” I heard someone say as I lowered down on my knees to reassure my little guy with a hug. It might not have been the finish I hoped for but it was the finish I won’t soon forget (because everyone kept reminding me.)
As much fun as Mugshot’s epic finish was and as nice as the fifth place plaque was, the best part was seeing the streets of Magdalena filled with burros of all sizes and their brays echoing throughout the village.
Each generation of my family since my great grandparents had dreams of what they hoped for in Magdalena. As silly as it sounds, watching my kids race burros in our hometown was one of mine.
