I won't do this justice; no matter what I write here, it will not accurately describe how I spent this Sunday morning and afternoon, with friends and with about a thousand other crazy ass people in the canyons of Malibu. I would like to preface this description by saying that all ideas seem good "at the time," as in, when you are signing up, usually months before and, in this case, signing up after having done a race that you thought was relatively easy. Sure, I did that, I can do another one, no problem. If the Warrior Dash that we did awhile ago was oh, um, the teacup ride at Disneyland then the Spartan race that we did today was oh, um, Tatsu at Magic Mountain ON CRACK...
I hope we make it into next year's promo video because we went balls out; all of us: Rosh, Nancy, Mangler, Deb, Deirdre, Noah and other friends whose, I'm sorry, names escape me at the moment due to the probably severe loss of memory and blood in my body today. The Spartan race is touted as a 5K, which it is and it has multiple obstacles, which we encountered and it is described as tough. Well, tough is the politically correct term for "the course will kick your fucking ass and take names."
We arrived half an hour before our heat, checked in, numbered up and met some friends. We hydrated and got in the corral as we watched people from the earlier heat coming around the corner; we laughed as "Gladiator" types in Speedo shorts pummeled runners with those giant Qtip sticks, not thinking that would be us soon enough. We waited a few minutes, snapped some shots, jumped around to the Beastie Boys and we were off. Within ten feet was a strip of fire over which we jumped only to be shot in the face and chest and head with firehoses not 5 feet later. Freezing cold water shot at your head is not usually the way that I start a race, but hey, it's a military course and those guys don't mess around. We move and see the first hill, thinking that we'll "jog" up it. We make it halfway and then, we're walking and we're walking through most of the course for the rest of the course because the Spartan race is not really a race, it's a torturous, bloodsucking, relentless mass of hilly, gravelly terrain that makes Pendleton look like a walk in Central Park. Lining the course and in the midst was a path that literally was overgrown with branches and drop off stones big enough to choke a giant, mud, barbed wire and plants scratching at your non covered legs as you manuevered by. Coming out of the brush was a relief only to see, you guessed it, another fucking hill, to the amusement of the guy from the Navy who had the ingenuity to say, "That's the last one." Fucker. Not only was it NOT the last one, but it wasn't even close. As we meandered along the canyon, up into nowhere, we passed people who looked seriously ill and of course because we're SPARTANS, there is no water on the course. The military is hardcore I tell you. Hard fucking core... that's why we admire them and simultaneously, at least today, hate them for laughing at us as we attempt to get through a course that they think is cake.
A little over halfway through and the obstacles begin: a 15 foot long tent that one must crawl through over gravelly dirt, a rope wall, a balance beam type puzzle that you had to walk over or, upon failure, you had to do squats. Yes, squats in the middle of the course. And yes, I did them, after which, do I even need to say it, there was another damn hill; trying to mix up my obscenities here for your enjoyment. The next heat was coming through at that time and the show off athletes were actually running up the rolling slopes. They were nice to look at, but annoying to have pass me; I was tempted to stick out my foot and trip one of them. Then, there were two walls; cake, jumped over them no problem and after, a bigger wall; I was proud of myself for making it over that too. Put my foot up on the block and pulled myself over. I love that stuff. Forever a tomboy. After the walls came more hills (sigh) and then we began the last 1/4 of the course.
Now to accurately describe what happened over the remainder of the course, I need for you to visualize a troup of people, hot, sweaty, tired, bloody, angry, thirsty and trying very hard not to hurt themselves as they round a corner and view the first mud pit. I dove right in, along with my comrades and I could feel the skin ripping from my knees as the grainy mud tore at my flesh. I watched and ducked so as not to stab my eye or my forehead on the barbed wire as I crawled through, pulling with my elbows while this sadistic girl screamed at us and threw mud in our faces. Of course I yelled at her, "Is that all you've got?" and subsequently, she fired a handful in my face, but hey, I came to play right? I stood up and turned and chucked a handful at Rosh, but she's a great sport and she laughed.
Next came the water pit, more crawling and pulling, this time under ropes and then it was onto a wall with footholds, but it was impossible to get a grip. You had to crawl sideways and I couldn't even get my feet on the damn blocks! So, I took my punishment, 25 pushups and 75 situps and then we were climbing through some haystack looking obstacle of mud, under a fence and around another bend. I'm not getting the entire sequence entirely right here, but I wanted to save the ice water for almost the end because I've never felt like I did when we waded into that water.
We sat on the dock for two seconds and then we were waist high in a lake of ice water and upon taking a few more steps, it was up to my chest and I suddenly couldn't breathe. I was gasping, along with everyone else and I felt like someone was squeezing the air out of my lungs, like I was hyper ventilating. Rosh grabbed my arm and asked if I was okay and if I wanted to go back, but she was hurting too so we all did the only thing that we could and we swam the rest of the 40 yards or so until our feet touched the shore and then we pulled ourselves out and for about a full minute, I was so cold that I was actually hurting. My feet were like blocks of ice and I was, well, let's just say that after that, I thought that I could do anything.
We moved and walked and jogged a bit as we came down toward the last part of the race and as we rounded the bend, we stopped at the javelin pit where everyone took a turn throwing a javelin at a huge suspended haystack. If your javelin didn't stick (you guessed it), more pushups, followed by another wall with a rope where you had to pull your body weight up and over. I tried twice and I almost got my hand to the top and so did Nancy (who kicked complete ass today by the way). I hated to quit, but I really think that if it hadn't been so slippery from the mud that I could have made it. It irritates the hell out of me not to be able to do something, but I couldn't do it. So, I did my pushups and ran with the other four girls toward the Gladiators and their sticks. I dove down so that he couldn't whack me, but he did anyway, on my BUTT and then we all crossed the line together. We got our medals and a group of guys yelled, "Way to go girls" and it felt like a moment. Solidarity. We were Spartans, all of us; covered in filth, freezing, sunburned, pissed off and delirious, but we were fucking Spartans. Hoo ah!
I'd like to say that we took a nice warm shower, had some food and went home and relaxed, but it didn't happen like that. Did I even intimate that anything was remotely easy about the day? Nope, shower lines were too long so, Rosh, the Irish lush, I mean lass that she is, went and got a beer and then we all headed toward the shoe donation booth where we prompty donated our shit covered shoes to help defer the cost of military housing. What a great cause and what a hell of a lot of shoes! We rounded the corner and there was a blood drive happening; like we hadn't given enough already? Joking here, so, the three of us sat down, filled out the forms, ate some snacks in the bright afternoon sun and then we laid down when it was our turn and we donated our blood. It was a highlight. Walking away, still covered in filth, smiling, thankful and exhausted, I couldn't have wished for a better way to spend a Sunday.
What I noticed the most about today was that the people who participate in these events, although most of them are athletes of some sort, mostly runners, they, we all share a common ideal and that is a very simple one; grab life by the neck and choke it dry. Coaches tell us to leave it all on the field so that when you walk off, you don't ever have to look back with regret like you didn't do enough or try hard enough. Well, let me tell you, everyone who ran that course today, left it all out there and then some and they are the ones who are at home, right now, going, you know what? Life is pretty damn good and, where do I sign up for the next one?
Spartan Race, 12/12/10... Hoo to the fucking ya baby! See you next time...
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