Six-pack abs here, lean biceps there. Chiseled torsos, sculpted butts, sweeping quads with strong calves...and all covered in new, skin tight spandex or exposed in dainty race attire. And the dudes? Pretty much the same thing...muscles, tattoos and vividly colored name brand clothing. And, everyone was sporting the latest and greatest trail running shoes. I had no idea the Spartan Race series was followed by such a fitness crazed cult.
Foundation Spartan races include the Sprint, Super and Beast that correspond to approximately 5+, 9+ and 13+ miles, respectively. Many months ago, the Beast appealed to me. I like the name, BEAST, it sounds challenging. Plus, the length of the race with 30+/- obstacles also appeals to me. Being hosted up on Breckenridge's ski mountain in Colorado, I knew it would be a leg and lung buster with the high point of the race exceeding 11,600 feet above sea level.
On race morning, I woke early and dug out an old Quiksilver surf shirt with 100% UV protection from a long ago beach vacation and combined it with equally ancient Nike swim trunks. The knee length swim suit has survived many muddy obstacles races, but the elastic is void of any elasticity and the colors are badly faded to dull shades of blue. But, it's like an old steady friend seen only see a few times a year who I enjoy having around and won't let me down.
With nagging Achilles tendons and a sore foot from a bad twist a few weeks ago, I rummaged around the shelves of shoes seeking a magical, therapeutic pair. Nearly all of the shoes are worn out and need to be trashed, but I hang on to them just like my shorts...they, too, are old friends. Each has stories that resurface when I look at them and I grab a pair of Salomon's that, years ago, hauled me up and over Imogene Pass. Holes are blown out the sides at the pinkie toes, but they have a good heel drop to alleviate some tension on the Achilles and I grab them and head out the door.
Parking at Breckenridge was a breeze, kudos to the event organizer, and the shuttle dropped me off near the registration tables. Soon, my race packet was in hand and I sat down with athletic Rock Tape to address my bad foot. I strategically wrapped my foot so the elastic tension cinched my ultra tender, outer metatarsal bones inward to better secure them. I slipped into my shoes and slowly waded into the sea of participants. Yes, as with any group of people, it was a Dr. Seuss show. Big ones, little ones, tall ones, short ones, skinny ones, fat ones, young ones, old ones....but, this group had a high percentage of very fit looking athletes clad in very sporty gear.
I slightly felt out of place, especially in my rags...
Every 15 minutes, waves of racers were released and I wiggled to the start gate, wanting to be near the front to avoid the traffic jam. A young man sporting a greased up mohawk and tricked out in fancy gear told me that after this race, "I'm going competitive." Okaaaay, I said to myself, let's see how this unfolds.
Boom-hiss, a smoke grenade was tossed out and we all began the race running through the smoke. Find a steady pace...you're racing the course, not the people...play with the altitude and adjust to the right gear, I kept telling myself. Several men took off and I kept them in sight while pitter-pattering up the hill. Their powerful long strides were inefficient and very quickly they had worn down as I slowly caught up and passed them, to include the soon-to-be competitive racer. A few runners stayed ahead as we began catching the slowest runners from previous waves.
The first 2 miles were up the ski mountain and I finally caught the leader of our wave, a shirtless 20 something year old with muscles. We went back and forth wading through a glacial lake that made you catch your breath when the icy waters reached waist level and gravel found its way into my holey shoes making the remainder of the race very gritty. We marched up snowfields and encountered other obstacles that included tip toeing across the tops of about 8" in diameter logs sticking out of the ground, monkey bars, carrying a bucket full of dirt, and a log carry. One obstacle required lifting up an atlas stone (big cement ball), carry it about 25 feet and set it down for 5 burpees and then return the stone where it was originally picked up. I squatted down, reminding myself to keep my back straight, and wrapped up the ball in my arms. rrriiiiipppppp. Great! There went the rear seam in my tattered shorts--oh so glad there's a liner!
Walls of different heights were encountered and crawled over as the course kept going up the mountain. Another obstacle involving monkey bars had a different twist to it. In the middle were dangling pieces of rope. After swinging like Tarzan across the ropes, another bar was met and shimmied across length-wise until finally ringing the cow bell to signal completion of the obstacle.
Me and Shirtless continued our back and forth parlay. His power hike passed me uphill, but my downhill running would pass him. The wet spring had the ski runs spongy with moisture which played in my favor with my tender sissy foot mummy wrapped in tape.
Yanking on a rope, we were side by side pulling a metal sled loaded with rock and then dragged it back to reset it for the next racers as we continued on. He wore ear buds so there was no conversation and that was okay since I have my own virtual pacers who keep me company. (No, I don't hear voices inside my head...at least on most days...)
Next was a sandbag carry up and down a steep and rocky trail and soon thereafter, we were pretending to be spiders scurrying along vertical sheets of plywood with little blocks of wood nailed in place for hand and foot holds.
Oh, I almost forgot. If an obstacle is not completed, the penalty is 30 burpees. So far so good avoiding any penalty burpees.
We ran/skied in our sneakers down a long snowy descent and something happened...where did he go? Oh well, I kept moving forward and soon was doing another bucket carry, another log carry and was later yanking on a rope lifting 140 lbs until it hit the pulley and then easing it back down to the ground.
What's that smell? Ah, horses...we must be getting close to the corrals for dude rides.
The next obstacle was throwing a spear into suspended hay bales. I stood in line, desperately watching for any secret technique. Not noticing any, I grabbed it like a giant dart and let it fly.
$%&@!
My spear became allergic to hay and flew wide, as in VERY WIDE, right and skidded to a stop. I stepped off line and began burpeeing with nose touching dried up horse shit mixed in the dusty corral dirt. After the 30 penalty burpees, the course kept winding down to the start/finish line and soon I was grabbing a rope to assist going up and over a peaked wall as spectators stood near the finish line where the next obstacle was a rope climb beginning in knee/thigh deep water.
Not climbing a rope since grade school, I anticipated another round of 30 burpees. But, unlike the practice braided rope in the plaza that I struggled to grip prior to the start of the race, this one was a heavy sisal twist. I grabbed on and recognized my grip was good on the wet and muddy rope and quickly climbed without legs to hit the bell and splashed back down into the water. Another crawl under barbed wire, a plunge in nasty mountain swamp water and a leap over fire finally had me crossing the finish line. My stop watch said 2 hours and 53 minutes. Uncertain of how the time would stand up against others, I didn't care. I gave everything I had on the course and made my way to change out and head to the shuttle bus.
While headed to the bus, I saw a sticker at a booth that I thought I really needed. Still a kid at heart when seeing stickers, I asked what the sticker cost and learned that for 10 more burpees, the sticker was mine. After completing them, I walked away with a Spartan sponsored sticker.
Still makes me laugh.
Happily, I suffered no new injuries except a purple bruise on an inner thigh and the badly damaged ego of probably taking 1st place in being the most ridiculous spear-chucker on the mountain!
Returning home, I fell asleep and was awakened when a friend texted my results. Overall, I finished 39th out of 2,471... 34th out of 1,745 males... and 3rd out of 117 in my age division.
Good enough for this guy. I run for the mental health and thoroughly enjoy spending time with my virtual pacers. The side benefit of physical health is a wonderful bonus and occasionally placing in an event is an added treat.
Thanks, Spartan race series. You have another follower.
(Wait! What about your fancy race shorts that split up the seam on the backside? After changing out, I contemplated taking them home and firing up the sewing machine, but elected to hold a private ceremony at a trashcan and laid it to rest...now it's time to do what I dread the most, shop!)
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