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.  

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.