It was awkward, it was painful and I couldn’t walk
for three days afterwards.
Yep, that pretty much sums up my first Spartan Race,
The Georgia Spartan Sprint 2012. As obstacle races go, this one is the toughest
I’ve done yet. I probably should have done some research and eased into it with
one of the less challenging races, but my approach to life is more along the
lines of ‘dive in head first and see
what happens’. So, since the Spartan Race was the first one on the calendar in
my area, that’s the one I did first.
To say the odds were against me would be an
understatement. I had only been seriously working out for a couple of months, I
could barely run for ten minutes straight on the treadmill and I had no upper
body strength at all. On top of that, the week before the race, I was doing a
trail run and tripped over a stump, landing in gravel and successfully removing
most of the skin on my right knee. Yeow. Once I was certain that it was merely
a flesh wound and my kneecap was more or less intact and functioning properly,
I decided to suck it up, wrap it up and carry on.
I was fortunate to have found another brave soul, my
friend (and now blog co-author) Kris, who was as willing to jump into this
craziness as I was. Running with a friend was great, I would definitely
recommend it to anyone who is new to this.
Springtime weather in Georgia is unpredictable to
say the least. It can be 38 with freezing rain or 70 and sunny. We really
lucked out for race day and got the warm and sunny. Traffic was insane and we
had to park about a mile away and walk, so we had a nice warmup on our way into
the venue. The air was thick with that special electricity that comes from
anticipation and fear. As we got closer to the race site, we could hear the
crowds cheering and see the mud-covered finishers milling about. My stomach was
in knots.
It was interesting to see the different types of
people who were doing the race that day. There were the Crossfit fanatics with the
awesome bodies. They were inspiring and I wanted to be like them. There were
also a lot of people who were older, overweight and obviously out of shape.
They were also inspiring. I thought “If they can do this, so can I.” Then there
were the super-fit moms in their little sports bras and short shorts, with their
sculpted biceps, washboard abs and tight squat-butts. I hated those bitches.
OK, OK, I didn’t really hate them. I hated myself for getting to the point
where I looked and felt the way I did and they just reminded me of the path not taken.
When I got into the starting line, my chest was
pounding, my legs turned to jelly and I didn’t know if I wanted to throw up or pass
out. Instead, the cannons boomed and I started running. We ran across a big
open field, then had to crawl under a fence. Bang – sore knee hit the ground
and pain shot through my body. I hadn’t
quite grown any skin back on it yet, but was counting on a waterproof bandage
and elastic knee wrap to get me through the day.
The first obstacle was climbing over some barricades
– easy. I was feeling good at this point, thinking ‘Yeah, I can do
this’. Then came a long walk through a muddy creek. That was pretty much my
favorite activity as a kid, so I enjoyed that part. Next was a set of walls to
climb over. I think they were about four feet high, so not too bad. We were fairly confident about our chances of surviving the day.
Then came the net tunnel. There was no way around
it, it was hands and knees all the way. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. The sore knee was
screaming after being slammed into the hard ground a few dozen times, but I
told it to shut the f*%# up and kept on going.
I almost had a panic attack when the next obstacle
came into view. It was two shipping containers stacked on top of each other
with a big rope net to climb up and over. No safety pads, no hay bales, nothing
to break a fall. And, oh yeah, I am terrified of heights. As the blood turned
to ice in my veins, I stopped for a moment to decide whether I wanted to face
my fear or do 30 Burpees. Bravery (or stupidity) won out and I grabbed the
rope. I took it one rung at a time, making sure that one hand had a firm grip
at all times. Deep Breaths. Don’t look down. One more. Just keep going. I made
it all the way up and finally felt the reassuring steel edge of the shipping
container. I pulled myself onto the top to gather my wits while I had a solid
surface beneath me. I felt triumphant, like I had just slain a dragon. Then I
realized that I would have to swing around and do the same thing backwards and
I almost peed my pants. But there was no turning back. I was shaking and
terrified, but I did it. I backed that thing up, slowly lowered my legs until I
felt the rope underneath and carefully released my death grip on the ropes
above me. Back down. One rung at a time. Deep Breaths. Don’t look down. Then – solid
ground. Yes! I did it!
Next were the higher walls. Luckily, Kris and I could work
together for this one. There had been speculation about the Large Hadron
Collider tearing apart the fabric of the universe, but that is nothing compared
to two hefty chicks attempting this obstacle. If we didn’t break the laws of
physics in hoisting our ample bootys up
and over a five foot wall, we surely stretched them as far as the elastic waist
on our workout pants. Our plan was simple – one of us would kneel in front of
the wall and the other one would use the outstretched leg as a step. We would
step up, grab the top of the wall, swing one leg up and over, while praying that
gravity would do its job and the ass and the other leg would follow. Somehow it
worked.
Then came the baptism that would forever mark us as
mudders – a 400-foot slimy pit full of Georgia’s finest red mud. Squishy,
watery muck as far as the eye could see. And a nice net of barbed wire about 18
inches above the surface. I started with the army crawl. Belly to the ground,
knees and elbows pushing me forward. Inch by muddy inch. Some guys around me
were rolling through the mud. I tried it for a minute, but it made me dizzy and
brought me a lot closer to entanglement in the barbed wire, so I went back to
my belly. For once in my life, I was thankful that I am flat-chested. I had finally
found the one area in life where having no boobs was an advantage. As the more
well-endowed gals struggled to keep their heads out of the barbed wire, I
easily made my way to the end. I stayed well below the danger zone and emerged
without a scratch.
The next challenge was a spear toss. Or more
accurately, a broom handle with a nail sticking out of one end that we had to hurl
at a target on a mound of hay bales. One try only. 30 Burpees for me.
30 Burpees is the Spartan Race penalty for failing
to complete an obstacle. Burpees are basically a combination of a pushup and a squat-thrust
thingy, sometimes with a little jump at the end. If you want to see the proper
form, just google ‘how to do a burpee’. I think they were mentioned by Dante as
one of the inner circles of hell, most likely the punishment for fat
housewives who had let themselves go.
On to the slippery wall. We waded through a mud
puddle, then had to pull ourselves up a slanted wall using a rope. I made it to
the top then slipped backwards. With great effort, I made it to the top again
and just as I was reaching up to pull myself over the wall, my feet slipped out
from under me, my body slammed into the wall and I almost lost my grip on the
rope. Then, my guardian angel appeared – in the form of a hunky guy who grabbed
my arm and pulled me up. Thank you, whoever you are. I don’t think I could have
made it up a third time.
For the next obstacle, we had to flip some tires. Piece of cake. Then
a bucket full of concrete on a rope that we had to raise up about 15-20 feet and
lower slowly back to the ground. No problem. I just used my big badonkadonk for
leverage – bucket went up, bucket came down. Then more walls. Then we had to drag a huge
and heavy concrete block on a chain. It was impossible to find a comfortable
position. If I put the chain over my shoulder it would dig into my skin. It
wasn’t long enough to wrap around my waist. I finally had to walk backwards,
pulling it along the best I could, like dragging a screaming toddler out of a
public place during a trantrum. It was a battle to get that thing from point A
to point B. For me, that was by far the most challenging obstacle. But I did
it.
More walls, then Monkey Bars, which for me meant 30
more Burpees. Then the sandbags. We had to carry a sandbag up and down a big
hill. I grabbed the sandbag, hoisted it onto my shoulders and started walking. I
don’t know the exact weight, but it was heavy and I had to dig deep to keep myself
moving up that hill. I saw other racers crapping out, dropping the bags to the
ground and turning around to do the Burpees instead. I was determined that that
wasn’t going to be me. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.
Focus. Almost there. Just keep going. At some point, a random song lyric popped
into my mind, so I just went into the zone, using that as a mantra. I repeated
the lines over and over in my head, kept my eyes on the ground in front of me
and before I knew it, I was done. The feeling of accomplishment when I put that
sandbag down was nothing short of euphoric.
The swamp was next. Wading through frigid,
waist-deep muddy water wasn’t difficult, but I was glad that we were doing the
course in the afternoon. It was warmer, and there had been hundreds of people
ahead of us to scare off the water
moccasins. As I made my way through the murky water, I thought about the open
wound on my knee and hoped that I wasn’t contracting the flesh-eating bacteria
at that very moment.
At the super high walls, I decided that I had
already conquered my fear of heights, so I had nothing else to prove. I took
the 30 Burpees and moved on. Same thing with the rope climb. Another 30
Burpees. At the vertical wall, I acknowledged that there was no way on earth I
was going to make it across a wall sideways on little pegs that were 1-2 inches
thick at most. Between my size 10 feet , my jelly belly and my lack of
upper body strength, it just wasn’t happening. I tried anyway, slipped off
after two steps and did 30 more Burpees.
We were in the home stretch now. We had to climb up
and through more shipping containers (Been there, done that, nothing to it) and
the finish line was in sight. The only thing that stood in our way was a group
of burly guys with big padded sticks. I was ready. Bring it on, boys. I
gathered what little energy I had left and charged full speed ahead. Alas, they
were gentlemen, and we made it through with barely a tap. Victory at last.
Crossing the finish line was amazing. When the
finisher’s medal was draped around my neck, I felt like I had won a gold medal.
I had done it. I didn’t die. I was a
Spartan Racer. Yes, me. It had taken about 2 and a half hours, but we finished.
The beer afterwards was the best beer ever.
Adrenaline and elation must do something for the taste buds.
The clean up station was the most brutal experience
of the day. Rows of garden hoses were available for washing off the mud, blood
and whatever else you picked up along the way. That water was cold. Much colder
than the swamp. I’m talking cut-through-glass-with-your-nipples cold. But, mud
in your unmentionables is an even worse feeling, so cold water it was. At least
enough to get the big clumps out. When I peeled the muddy wrap off of my knee,
it looked like raw hamburger meat. But, thankfully, no flesh-eating bacteria.
The mile-long hike back to the car was painful. The
sun was going down and I was chilled to the bone from the frigid hose water. My
feet hurt and now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, I was becoming
aware of just how battered my body was.
A real shower ( possibly the best shower of my life
) washed away the rest of the grime and revealed the multitude of scrapes and
bruises that I had acquired. To me, they were a source of pride. I had reached
far outside of my comfort zone and had succeeded. I had the battle scars to
prove it. Not just succeeded, I had totally kicked ass. I walked into it a
frumpy middle aged mom and walked out a Spartan. A warrior. I carried a heavy
sandbag up and down a big hill. I did something tough and scary and
intimidating and didn’t give up. I faced my fears. I defeated my weaknesses. I kept going, even when it hurt. I learned
what I was made of and what I could do if I put my mind to it. After this,
nothing was going to get me down. I mean, I did a Spartan Race – what could be
worse than that?
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