Now What?

                I’ve noticed the last couple weeks that I’ve had this overwhelming feeling of blah. At first I thought I was coming down with some cootie virus, as I had heard sometimes happens after a marathon. But congestion, nose blowing and achiness did not follow. I’ve just felt sort of melancholy for no particular reason. The holiday’s, while in the past haven’t been spectacular, have actually been pretty decent so far.  I’ve just had this sense of “now what” running through my head. Even though I’ve been training for the FFAT I’ve still had this feeling that I lack direction. Then it hit me as I was driving home from my unsuccessful FFAT…I have spent the last year training for a huge event that is now over with.

                Initially, my training started as a way to get prepared for the FBI physical and fitness test but when that was put on hold due to budget cuts I on a whim signed up for the MCM. From January until October my life was focused on what foods I needed to eat, what body part was injured, my training schedule and finding socks that didn’t give me blisters and helped cut down on the post run stink. Now that the marathon is done and my body is feeling pretty decent and I have found the perfect sock, I am feeling lost.  

                I honestly didn’t realize until the last few weeks how much of my being was shaped by the experience of becoming a runner. My whole life has changed from my sleep pattern to my food to my need to plan my life around my workout and running schedule.

                A recent article in Runners World said that one needs to set new goals, which I have done to a degree. I have already signed up for my next set of races: two half marathons, a 5k and am waiting patiently for January to roll around so that I can sign up for the Marine Corps Irish Sprint. But when I think about a half marathon it seems so small compared to what I did. Then I feel like a pompous dork for thinking that a half marathon is small when I’ve only ever run one marathon in my entire life.

                It’s not that I don’t look forward to my race schedule that will also include a Spartan Race (or two) and a Warrior Dash, but I feel like I want to do something more. As President Bartlet on The West Wing would say “what’s next,” I wonder what’s next. I’ve accomplished a marathon (which I would like to do again) but now I want more but I don’t know what “more” looks like.

                Until I figure out what my “now what” looks like I’ll keep push upping until I pass my FFAT  and I’ll keep running and hopes that along the way I find a direction and purpose. 

Push-upping

                Today was a jumble of emotions. I started the day in the dark, traversing my way down 270 and 495 in morning rush hour to take my Functional Fitness Assessment Test (FFAT). I was a mix of excitement, nervousness and nausea. I also felt calm and centered. I had practiced the fitness test. I had visualized myself passing the test. Completing with flying colors and making my way across the state of Maryland to MSP Headquarters for my written exam. Slight hitch in the plan though. I didn’t make it past the pushups.

This morning’s FFAT was as follows:

Minimum of 18 pushups in 1 minute

Minimum of 27 sit-ups in 1 minute

16.25” sit and reach

10 trigger pulls in each hand

1.5 mile run in 15:20

                I received my letter inviting me to the FFAT two weeks ago. In the last two weeks I have been push-upping until my arms hurt in places I didn’t realize existed. I was concerned because I couldn’t get past 5 without feeling like my arms were going to collapse. And then low and behold Saturday morning I woke up and did 18 pushups. They were beautiful and left me with 15 seconds to spare. I was thrilled when I was able to repeat this feat several times over the next 48 hours, even increasing my total up to 22.

                However, it would seem that my efforts were for naught, at least in regards to the FFAT. I wasn’t getting far enough down in my pushups. I have to go all the way down to the instructor’s fist, so essentially 3” off the floor. I was getting about 4” away. 1 darn inch. I did 15 pushups at the test without a single one counting. When I became frustrated, I uttered shit and was told that I needed to maintain my composure, I realized that I wasn’t as prepared as I thought so I held a plank for the remaining 30 seconds of the exercise. I may not have been able to complete the pushups but I wasn’t about to take a knee before time.

                I was embarrassed and defeated. I had failed. Thankfully my instructor took a few minutes to demonstrate form and explain to me how I needed to improve. That 2 minute conversation did wonders for my spirits, though the sting of embarrassment was still there.

                I took an hour to wallow, bummed that I had failed. But then I realized in two weeks I had managed to go from not being able to push up to being able to do 22, even if they weren’t MSP regulation. I realize that the true failure would have been not trying.

                So for the next month, I will be push-upping and sit-upping during TV commercial breaks. I will take what I learned from the instructor and practice and in a month I will try again and this time, I will conquer those pushups. And instead of a mere 18 I’m going to push for more. I will show the MSP that I am the best suited candidate for the job.  

I showed you how great I am....I am a marathoner

Disclaimer: This post was actually written a few days after my October 30th Marine Corps Marathon, however procrastination and my incessant need for perfection has resulted in edits and rewrites. Plus, a strange fear of sharing my thoughts about the race has kept this blog on the task bar of my computer. 

                I did it. I ran a marathon. I ran 26.2 miles. 26.2 fucking miles.  Four statements I keep repeating to myself while looking at the medal that I received upon crossing the finish line. The medal that honestly has not left my line of vision since Sunday. I know that running and achieving goals that seem impossible is about the intrinsic reward but sometimes the medals and shirt are just really nice reminders of the blood, sweat and near tears of the day.

                I’ve been asked several times, what was it like? How was the course? Are you nuts?

My short answers: Indescribable. I have no idea. Probably. My pithy answers are usually not enough detail for the questioner so I try to dig down and come up with more expansive responses. But the truth is, 72 hours later, I still can’t properly formulate what it was like.

                There is the glee and sheer joy of accomplishing the seemingly impossible; a feeling tempered by sheer exhaustion and the agony of the pain in my foot. To be honest, there Is much about the day I don’t remember as my focus turned from looking at the scenery to focusing on the ground in front of me and trying to gauge if the pain bad enough that I need to stop.

                The not remembering really leads me into the next query about the course. Even after studying the map for days prior to the race in order to visualize and prepare myself for the day, in all honesty the preparation really went out the window once I got going. The pain was bearable until about mile 11 when I had to adjust my brace. By mile 17 the pain was shear agony and was of a level that I had never quite experienced before. What had already become a slow run at mile 11 became a walk at mile 17. My running companion in search of her own personal goals proceeded ahead. I attempted to run another mile, until the run was more than I could bear and my body screamed, probably many variations of four and five letter words until I gave up running and focused on walking.

The Monument that I somehow didn't see

                I look at the marathon photos of myself and for the life of my I can’t remember seeing any of the monuments or sights. I mean, how can one not “see” the Washington monument but for some reason I don’t remember actually seeing it….but there I am in pictures where my too big pants running right by the worlds second largest phallic. I remember snippets but I lack any true sense of time or location. Even with mile markers proudly proclaiming my accomplishment as I progressed through the course I have no true sense of where I was. Some miles seemed to go by so quickly I thought for sure I was doing a 4 minute mile while others seemed to drag on for hours.

Calling Regina while running

                I called my girlfriend Jesi and my friend and trainer Regina for much needed support at mile 20. Regina talked me through my fears with her usual no non-sense attitude and good cheer. Jesi just kept me company with news and details of her day (which I hate to admit I don’t remember, sorry babe). Their voices helped calm me fears and provided me with support and much needed reminders that I had come further than I had left to go.

                During those last two hours of walking my mind warred with my body, specifically with my left foot. I fought to keep moving forward. Probably the biggest fight was my mind battling with itself. Dueling with whether I could complete what I had started. Questioning whether I was truly ready for the task when the longest distance I had run was 16 miles. The last time I had run any significant distance was nearly three weeks prior with my friend, Jason, during his Double Ironman.

                I fought with myself to keep going. To push thru the pain, both physical and mental. I realized how strong the battle was, when I began debating with myself about shedding my pants. The temperatures were now warm enough that I didn’t need the outer layer I had put on to keep me warm, but at the same time they were a comfort, they held my candy corn and were soft and comfortable. I’m sure they lacked aerodynamics but by that point I could care less about that….besides I was worried if I stopped to take them off I would somehow be unable to move again. It was in these hours that I learned that a marathon is as much about ones mental fortitude as it is about the size of one’s quads. I remember Jason saying a similar statement as I ran beside him a few short weeks prior.

Pushing through to the finish line

                When I finally saw the red arch with the large FINISH I found myself moving faster that I had in hours  and within a few seconds I was running….my sore ankle and foot along with my too big pants be damned…I ran like I had never run before, pushing myself across the finish line. As I pushed myself those last 100 feet I heard the vocals from the YouTube video “I’m going to show you how great I am” playing in my mind. The cheers of strangers propelling me forward.

                And in a seeming instant, after the high-fives from the Marines and the medal placed around my neck, it was over. I had my medal, my finisher picture taken, the boxed food (that I didn’t eat) and then it was done. I had done it. I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, it certainly wasn’t as pretty as I had hoped (flappy pants aside)…but I did it. I had done the seemingly impossible. I had done what so many thought I couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t do.

                In regards to the final question regarding my mental stability….no I am not nuts. The truth is, those that continually ask me that question are the ones that can’t fathom: waking up early, going to bed late, pushing through indescribable pain, ignoring the nay-sayers and the inner voices. They can’t fathom achieving something so great and life altering because for them it’s easier to be safe in their existence. All of that is ok, for them. I’m not nuts…I’m hard working and driven and I’m a marathoner.

In front of the Iwo Jima Memorial post race

Wearing Two Shoes

Today was my first day without crutches AND getting to wear two shoes, more accurately two matching shoes. For the last seven days whenever I venture out (albeit against doctors orders) my feet have been adorned with one running shoe (right foot) and one Adidas slide (left foot). I have felt slightly self-conscious going out with mismatched shoes, I mean it's obvious that my ensemble is justified....especially when seen whizzing speedily down the main aisle of Target in the electric chair cart with crutches in the front shopping basket and my Mother yelling my full name to slow down. In my defense I only took out one poorly placed fixture. I mean seriously, who puts a shipper THERE....sheesh.

But I digress.....

Today I woke up, exactly one week from when the doctor said I had to remain off my foot and attempted with some minor grunting and much lace loosening to get my left foot into my shoe and off I went to class (yes I did wear more than my two shoes). My first workout went well. My trainer, Regina, came up with modifications....while my classmates were running I was pedaling along on the stationary. Our usual Monday arm day exercises were a tad more challenging only because I've spent the last seven days walking on my arm pits while swinging my body through two aluminum sticks while praying I didn't swing myself too violently and fall. (this has happened before) There were seated kettle bell swings, standing kettle bell swings, power max 360, rope battles, bicep curls, hanging crunches and push ups....lots and lots of push ups. I felt confident after class that I had successfully made it through with a minimum bump in my pain level.....down to a 4 from a 9.

Feeling confident with my new found magically shoes I headed to the post office where I must admit after having to stand in lane for 10 minutes I looked like a flamingo, standing one legged until I had something to lean against....and missing my crutches as I realized how fatigued my left foot was. However I focused on the positive...the nearly perfect form I had and the stellar work out my right quad was receiving.

Today showed me that I'm recovering, slowly but recovering. I helped the recovery process along with a 10 minute ice bath tonight. Yes, if you heard a loud intake of air and a series of curses in a somewhat high pitched voice, that would have been me getting into the ice water bath to soak my legs, hips and knees all of which are sore. But hey, it was all worth it because I got to wear my shoes...and as most of you know I love my shoes. Tomorrow.....I take a couple miles on the bike.

A Much Needed Well Placed Life Lesson

                I have been remiss in my blogging duties, as of late there has been little to report. I have been running and working out and training for the Marine Corps Marathon. It honestly seemed quite bland to bore my readers with my daily workouts and miles logged. Suffice to say that I have topped over 200 miles since July and countless hours with weights and workouts. However, this past weekend I got the opportunity to witness something so amazing that I’m still struggling to put into words exactly what it was.

                The basic bones of the day were a 3:00am wake up to drive two hours to Lake Anna State Park to cheer on my friend Jason as he completed a Double Iron, yes that says double. For those unclear on what that means….Jason set out to swim 4.8 miles followed by a 224 mile bike ride topped off with a 52.4 mile run. I arrived around 6:00am, after traversing the winding road back to the parking lot. It wasn’t until the sun came up that I saw the sign cautioning drivers about runners and bikers….all I saw were bouncing headlamps and flashing red lights, if I hadn’t know what I was looking at I would have thought E.T. and his posy had descended on Virginia.

                It was a foggy cool morning, that made me quickly realize I hadn’t worn sufficient clothing for the nearly 10 degree temperature difference from my house to the race but I put the thoughts of cold out of my mind and made my way up to the lighted tents in hopes of figuring out where Margaret and Jason were….well I knew Jason was out running but I wasn’t sure if Margaret was running also or had perhaps passed out from sheer exhaustion somewhere. I found the tent fairly easily once I realized they each tent had the competitors name on it. I stood patiently outside the tent until a blur of warm clothing and a pink hat came by….it was Margaret (who I hadn’t met and had only exchanged an email or two with the previous night) who was stirring soup and keeping an eye out for Jason. We exchanged greetings and handshakes and I was completely surprised at the amount of energy that Margaret had after being up for about 300 hours, okay I think at that point it was about 48ish but 300 seemed a better number when one considers that during that time she was running, feeding, cheering and helping out not only Jason but also Andy (one of the founders of the Spartan Race) along with anyone else who might need a hand, or two.

                When I looked up I spotted Jason….I was honestly giddy and probably a little shy. I had been following Jason since prior to his snow shoe race last winter. We had not actually met before now our friendship had been emails, Facebook posts and letters and care packages….meeting Jason was to me like meeting the most famous person you ever wanted to meet….and then get to spend time with. I was super excited and shy and nervous all rolled into one. So excited and nervous in fact that when given the task of running Jason his soup, I spilled quite a bit on me and then managed to get lost as I didn’t realize the runners turned off about ½ to ¾ of a mile from the start point….I ended up about 2 miles past where I should have been…thankfully the race director rescued me and Jason’s now lukewarm soup and deposited me with Jason.  For the rest of the day Steve, the director, reminded me to turn right….I was considering changing my Mud Mafia name to Turn Right.

                Jason and I ran together for awhile. We talked. It felt like we were old friends, we just chatted about everything and nothing. Jason shared a lot of his knowledge about running; the psychology of racing and the need to appear cool and collected when you pass someone so they don’t try and blow you out of the water; our habit of dropping F-bombs while running; and most importantly we discussed the best candy (Swedish fish of course the awesomest but I explained the greatness of Mike and Ike’s). All while running a consistent pace, that actually has been my best pace so far.  

Jason and Margaret

                This was my first time at an event like this as a spectator much less as someone there to help. I was confused about what to do and how to do it. I was unsure of Jason’s routine so I tried not to yammer too much…I think perhaps in my nervousness I did. But after some time, Margaret who had taken some much needed time to stretch out and hopefully catch a nap or a few winks of sleep took back over and finished running the race with Jason. I will be honest, I was grateful when Jason said he wanted Margaret to take over….the race was getting hard and I realized that Jason was struggling in ways I didn’t understand.  I had come to help in whatever way possible and I was concerned that I wasn’t going to be able to uphold my promise.

Thoughtfully Chaotic HQ Tent

                I happily and with gusto took over as HQ person…after a quick orientation from Margaret “this is heed,” “this one has two scoops of this and one scoop and a little of this and a goats tail” (ok no goats tail) and “this is plain water” she took off to pace/run/keep Jason going. For a while I was lost. And chilly and sore. My sprained (what I thought at the time was sprained) ankle was not thrilled with the miles I had just logged so I found an ice bag, submerged my foot and waited. Not exactly sure for what….but I waited none the less. At first I had missed that I hadn’t brought a book but then realized I might miss something. After about an hour and a couple loops with Jason running and Margaret giving me a heads up about what to get, I began to get a hang of the routine. Everyone cheered and clapped for everyone. Yes it was a competition but it seemed to be more of a personal competition rather than a competition amongst each other. Even on the loops I did with Jason each time a runner passed they shouted out words of encouragement or a thumbs up to those they passed by. If those were too physically demanding a smile or head nod. Perhaps these competitors seemed to go by some unwritten rule that it’s not always about beating everyone, but just doing your best. I don’t know if that’s an unwritten rule but more the adage that I have always gone by and I found it reflected in these athletes, there’s always going to be someone better than you so the only thing you can do is your best. As the Mud Mafia mission statement says "take care of other runners on the course because you’re traversing the same battlefield," I definitely saw that in action on Sunday.

                As the hours rolled on the sun came up and burned away the morning fog. The day warmed up but not so much the runners would be uncomfortable, at least from the heat. I iced my foot and waited until I saw Jason and Margaret come around the bend and I would stand up and wait for Jason to round the cone and Margaret to let me know what was needed. In the in between times I would observe the other athletes, some of whom had finished and promptly fell asleep the second they sat down forgoing food or liquid for sleep which they had been deprived off for 30+ hours. (Think about how exhausted you are when you go a normal day without sleep….now consider what it would be like to run either a double or triple Iron and see which you would prefer….food or sleep).

                As for those still racing, I would watch and try and figure out their back stories, I wondered what led them to this event. This moment. What amazed me was that everyone was smiling. Perhaps it was delusion setting in but they were genuine smiles of joy. Yes, joy.  Even at their most exhausted moments not a single person dropped their shoulders in defeat they kept pushing forward. Some rounding the cone marker in some fanciful manner others just running, but all seemed to have this sense of joy. Whether they realized this or not is a different story, but to me that’s what I saw joy and exhaustion.  

                After 30 hours and 35 minutes Jason completed his journey. He carried the American flag across the finish line while the National Anthem played in the background and Margaret by his side. He had done it! His bright blue eyes shining, and there was a smile upon his face. He and Margaret hugged a hug that silently spoke volumes to what they had been through. Margaret had run 40+miles, had helped two athletes cross the finish line in their first triple (Andy) and double (Jason).

Jason and I, post race

                The two collapsed into their chairs under the tent and relaxed and enjoyed a Boca burger and laughed and smiled at each other. Incredulous at what they had completed, giddy from exhaustion, I jokingly said I should have brought some adult beverages along with me….both laughed and said they would probably pass out and die from the alcohol. After some relaxation time it was time to pack up the car. Jason and I sorted through clothes and other stuff and learned that we both have a similar need for organization. The three of us laughed and talked, I’m not sure about what exactly, but I remember Jason teasing me about my perchance for noticing shoes. After some strategic placement of tables, bags and bike wheels….I got to touch Jason’s time trial bike….we all hugged and said our good-byes.

                I spent the two hour trip home listening to Mumford & Sons trying to wrap my brain around what I had seen, heard and felt throughout the day. I remember one thought was a feeling of gratitude for being able to take part in something that was so personal for Jason. I was grateful for the new friend I had made in Margaret. I was grateful for the stupidity that was my ex and her decision to leave me because without that I wouldn’t have had the chance to partake in all that I had for the last 17 hours.  I just felt overwhelmingly grateful.

                Since then I’ve been trying to figure out the other lessons in that day….trying to figure out and explain this feeling that has been with me since watching not only Jason cross the finish line but so many others. I’ve been trying to discern the knowledge that was imparted on me and then roll it into my everyday life. I think like many of the life changing events that have happened, it takes awhile for that message to become clear. For now I’m just enjoying this feeling of euphoria and fogginess that seems to be pervading my thoughts. It’s not often that you can pin point a life changing event, for me the Virginia Double was that, for reasons I’m still trying to fathom.

                I suppose this is a long drawn out blog for something that, for me, only last 17 hours from start to finish, but usually the response to my telling of the events is a head shake and “you people are crazy,” I felt compelled to verbally vomit everything I can remember about that day here where I know judgments will hopefully be limited to a “good grief she’s wordy.”

                I suppose I just wanted to share about the fortitude of a small band of hard working, focused athletes who showed me the resilience of the human spirit and body and a sense of humor about life despite the need for massage amounts of body glide and other creams.

EPILOUGE

                I willingly went to the doctor the next day and learned that the ankle that I thought was sprained, and therefore was ok to run on despite some pretty gnarly pain, was in fact severe tendonitis. I was grumpy Monday, Tuesday and most of Wednesday especially from the amount of teasing I received for being accident prone and various other phrases. This time I seemed to be more easily offended because this time the injury came from doing something I have come to love. It was the result of hard work and passion and a drive to achieve the impossible. Once I got my indignation under control and my grouchiness at the situation seemed to subside, I began to refocus on the MCM and thought about the small band of focused athletes and what they taught me….it’s not about winning it’s about doing your best and giving it your all. With that in mind I am not focusing on the injury but the recovery and the end result. MCM here I come.  

Crisis of Confidence

                This morning I definitely suffered a crisis of confidence. While running this morning it seemed like the task laid out before me seems unreachable. I’m not sure if it was the stifling heat of the gym or the impact that the cast on my right hand has on my gait. Regardless of the issue I started to doubt myself, my training and my overall abilities.

                My run this morning was decent, time wise I won’t be breaking into any record books but I did my run on a 3% incline at a 5.6mph speed. It was challenging beyond any basic without obstacles and mud run that I have attempted thus far.

                The Marine Corps Marathon is now 110 days away and I’m realizing that I’m behind in my distance training. I think part of it is a lack of motivation….some of it could be that once again I’m dealing with an injury. While I’m proud of my mangled hand, and what has turned out to be a torn thumb ligament, I’m finding the cast is messing with my balance and I find it distracting. The other factor in the lack of motivation is not having someone to run with. Intellectually I know that running is a solitary sport, part of what drew me to it as a means of dealing with life, however as I need to run longer and longer distances I find the lack of running companionship to be challenging.

                It was ironic that as I sat down to write this I spotted a link on the Mud Mafia Facebook page from Runner’s World about how to stay motivated. I found a few of the tips helpful, others made me chuckle but perhaps it will help others find their way. (http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297--11733-0,00.html)

                In the end I know that I need to man up and just do it, as the cliché Nike ads all say. No one is going to be able to accomplish this but me. I may have the assistance of my trainer Regina and my fellow troops in SoldierFit along with friends that are also pursing similar goals, but in the end it is I alone that needs to get out of bed and run. I have achieved much harder things but I think part of why I struggle is that those where incidents that were thrust upon me, I had no other choice then to push forward. This time, I have put the pressure on myself; I have made the conscious decision to put myself through these paces.

                One thing I came across last night was the poem “Invitcus” by William Ernest Henley I had jotted it down for some reason or another (prior to the popularity of my dream boy Matt Damon’s movie of the same name) It has provided me with a degree of perspective and focus:

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll. 
I am the master of my fate: 
I am the captain of my soul.

The Spartan Race

                I have struggled to write this blog, not so much because of the emotional aspects swirling in my head but because in addition to losing my Spartan Race bib on Saturday I also lost my thumb nail and fractured my finger. Typing with 9 normal fingers and one the size of a bratwurst is somewhat challenging.

                I will admit I stepped to the start line of the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Race confident in my abilities but nervous about the true impact that a summer bout of the flu and a sore throat had on my training. Also, I was concerned about the 3^rd degree massive sunburn I received the day before on my back. However, immediately upon starting I knew that I was in for something completely different. I will be honest, I don’t remember all 18 obstacles or in their proper order and my sunburn was quickly forgotten. I know that on the first wall I went over I fractured my finger, though at the time I didn’t realize it I just assumed that my torn off nail was the reason for the agonizing pain. But I kept going….over walls, under mesh netting, through tires inserted into walls, over Hagrid size trees, into water and over terrain that left my ankles hesitant while my brain screamed just move.  There was dragging of cinder blocks and water with rocks that was quite chilly despite the humid temperatures. The first cargo net was scaled with surprising ease despite my dislike of heights.

                I remember the 400 feet of barbed wire well. I remember the guy in the kilt and tee-shirt yelling “Mind over matter…if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” Annoyingly distracting but it served its purpose I kept going if only to get away from his barking voice. (It was during this obstacle that I lost my bib…please observe a moment of silence for bib# 13792, it gave its life nobly).

                It was also here that I met Gail. Gail was a first time racer whose team had left her behind. She was gallantly trying to keep going. I realized at this point my time was shot to hell so I slowed my pace and helped Gail finish her first race. Apparently her friends didn’t exactly describe what she was getting into with much accuracy and she had contemplated quitting…something I too had considered in the middle of the barbed wire when the lactic acid was killing my stomach and my muscles.

                Together we finished the remaining obstacles we ran through a mesh tube and got pelted painfully with paintballs from a 50c weapon. Scaled yet even more Hagrid size trees and carried buckets of gravel and made it over 5 walls with out falling. We together overcame our fear of heights and made it over the even larger cargo net, with the help of the nice volunteers on the ground who all cheered us on and high fived us as we hit the ground.

                In addition to obstacles we completed insane amounts of burpees….I didn’t attempt the monkey bars (Gail fell mid-swing), I knew that my shoulders wouldn’t handle the swinging. I fell off the balance beams (big muddy feet are not agile), missed the hay bale by mere inches with the spear(my arms were exhausted and by this point I was contemplating that there was indeed something the matter with my hand), missed the teeny tiny paint ball target (I blame the weapon), the ascending walls were more than Gail and I could manage alone and after a nasty tumble off the soap wall that took all the remaining skin off my elbows and was more than my thumb could bare, I completed burpees 151-180. The remaining 6 came from seeing Gail struggle valiantly to complete her remaining 12. I bargained with the very nice volunteer about splitting Gail’s remaining burpees so that she wouldn’t have to struggle…he considered for a moment and said he was ok with that.

                It was during these last burpees that I spotted my mother nervously standing at the finish line. I had told her that it would take me no longer that an hour to finish the course, while I didn’t know the exact time I knew that I was longer than I had anticipated. So between burpees I waved…it took several times before she waved back. I found out later that according to mom we all look alike regardless of race, gender and any other distinguishing feature so it took her awhile to realize the person waving while completing “some funny little exercise” was in fact her kid. She apparently had witnessed people tumbling off the 8 feet wall in a myriad of manners that didn’t look safe or gentle for any joint. She said she was terrified that I would come flying over the wall and break some body part (she wasn’t aware that I was already broken).

                The jousters were quite nice….they didn’t smack me too hard just enough to knock the wind out of my gut which for their safety was probably a good thing. Mom said she had already planned to smack the jousters if they hit me too hard…something about picking on people their own size was mentioned. I looked behind to see that Gail had made it safely through the nice gentlemen in the skirts and padded q-tips and I sprinted to the finish line with a surprising burst of energy that I felt I had lost for the last little portion of the race.

                I learned a lot from the Spartan Race, some of which I’m still processing. It was the most physically challenging and humbling experience I have chosen to put myself in. Also, Spartan Races are best completed with a team or at the very least with a friend who is significantly taller than you are. While the time wasn’t my best and I honestly could have done better, waiting for Gail and helping ensure she got across the finish line became as important as me getting there. I couldn’t see leaving her behind as her friends had done.

                When asked if I would do another Spartan Race my immediate reaction was “hell no” but as time has passed, I realized how truly awesome my time was in the overall picture (191/683. Time wise this wasn’t my best race but in terms placement, stamina and sheer guts and overall accomplishment it was.  With more training and a strict adherence to the WOD regiment in addition to my other work outs, next year will see me once again taking on the Spartan. Perhaps I will try one of the larger races….with the Death Race not out of the realm of possibilities.

                I have been called many things over the last few days…nuts, crazy, masochist, insane, klutzy but the name I’m proudest to bare is Spartan finisher. My bloody little finger and I will proudly tell all who cringe the story of the epic battle and the awesome friend I made.

                Now it’s on to training for my first marathon…..after a nap of course.