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The water below me was brown.
Dirt brown.
You couldn’t wade through it. A wall reached two inches below its surface. There was only one way, and that was complete submersion.
At this point, I looked forward to a cold refresher for my sweat drenched body. Thoughts of bacteria and infection passed through my mind. Well, countless people before me did it, so it can’t be that bad. “All or nothing.” I said as I took a deep breath and plunged head first into the muddy water.
I was more than halfway through my first Spartan Race. For nearly 8 years, completing one was at the top of my bucket list. Hearing several of my older friends talk about it during my high school years fueled my imagination of grit, hard-work, and success.
Slipping in mud, muscles bulging underneath sandbags and sphere-shaped atlas stones.
A Spartan Race consists of a series of obstacles spaced across a span of 5k, 10k, or 20k that challenge your strength and agility. From swinging monkey bars, to sand-filled 5-gallon buckets and 8-foot vertical walls, this obstacle course was built to imitate challenges Spartan warriors would have endured thousands of years ago.
A young man’s dream.
But I was hesitant. I didn’t want to taste failure on my first try. And since I never competed in any race before, I wanted to make sure I was prepared to finish in a top percentile.
But first, I had to run.
I tried to enjoy it. I attempted listening to my favorite music, keeping my distances short, or running at a slower pace. But I always petered out one week after my first jog.
The second challenge included all the upper body activities. This meant finding a workout schedule. My office had a small gym accessible of key card. I had meant to visit those barbells since I first started working there, but always managed to come up with an excuse for the next 18 months.
Now, with only two months until the race, I needed to start.
And starting is the hardest part for me.
Three times a week, I focused on building my strength. Soon it became addicting.
First up was lower body. My legs screamed with each step next day in office. I walked like a man with a gait. At one point, my boss stopped between patients and asked me if I was okay.
Next was arms. The following morning, Kaelin noticed me winching as I put on a collard-shirt. “I’m fine!” I said, cracking a smile. I wasn’t kidding.
It was great. Every morning after I pounded lead, I felt rejuvenated, ready to take on all those hopes and dreams I never thought would come true.
But the running…
Even though I ran more than I ever have my whole life, I eventually began to use my gym routines as an excuse not to run.
And I paid the price for that.
The first few stints were exceptional for my standards. I found my pace, set my music to Led Zepplin, and hit the dirt path. One day I got caught in the rain. Hair gel dripping down my face and stinging my eyes, shoes smashing down in dirt puddles. Adrenaline junkie, I thought. A bit exaggerated, but I rolled with it.
Anything it takes to keep me going, right?
My apartment is only a half-mile away from a major bike trail. Right before the trail is a rather steep hill, only about 200 feet long. It’s downhill on the way there, and uphill on the way back. I try to run different paths each time to keep me entertained. But at the end of all of them, there is the Hill.
My mind says it’s good terrain practice. It reasons that since I run up it last time, then failing to do so this time around means I am not improving.
You know where this leads to. I trap myself into a routine I want to be rid of. Soon I will stop running all together. I know eliminating the part of running I don’t enjoy will be a step back in the short term but a good progression forward for the long term.
The reasoning is convicting enough for me. But even still, the bottom line is that I have difficulty running.
Sunlight poking through trees. Laughter of children echoing above our heads. At four months pregnant, Kaelin was able to take a short walk with me around our campsite. Just no heavy bushwacking for geocaches in similar fashion to our honeymoon six months prior.
The four hour drive left us tight-jointed and cramped. We finished setting up the tent and stove for dinner with time to spare for a quick look around. The path was well trodden, and in some cases freshly paved. It wound through the trees and along the small hills and valleys of the forest floor.
“Should I take a short run before dark?” was one of the many phrases I babbled that night. I began to get that feeling of nervousness before I do anything “uncomfortable.” It has been several months since I last ran, and I knew it.
I had to keep my emotions in check. Shakey nerves can result in a foot slipping, or a grip lost.
“Jonathan, running the night before you race is not a good idea.” The grounded response of my calm wife. Kaelin was well accustomed to my spontaneous behavior and ideas, and knew how to quickly respond to the baseless sentences I sprouted.
She reached for my hand as we walked past a campsite perched at the end of a small hill. A group of young families united their camper vans and gear in a weekend vacation. Small bicycles littered alongside the trail. Several children persuaded their dads to stack four hammocks above each other. Those lucky few sat on their thrones with pride.
I thought about being a father myself.
A small tribe of my own. Children I could share my adventures with. Showing them the wonder and imagination found in dark corners of the woods or beside a campfire.
Tackling this terrain race seemed like a step towards that direction. More than just a sign of strength and endurance, completing this race was symbolic for me as accepting a challenge and persevering to the end, no matter how hard it gets.
Life is one big race. If you look at it as a whole, it definitely seems like an impossible task. Instead, focus on the challenge before you. Don’t think about the sand-bag deadlift at the end, focus on the monkey bars in front of you. Pace yourself. Don’t rush it.
Life is a very special kind of race; you only get to run it once.
“Who am I?”
“I am Spartan!”
“WHO AM I?”
“I AM SPARTAN!”
Raising my voice alongside 200 others, I geared forward across the starting line, keeping pace with the first runners of the pack. My body was itching to go, to run far far ahead away from bumping shoulders or waiting in lines at obstacles. But I knew the initial adrenaline rush will fade away, and leave me breathless in a matter of minutes. So I lagged behind the four leaders and kept pace.
The first obstacle was hurdling a 6 foot wall. Easy enough, I kept the four leaders in my sight, just to make sure I wasn’t slacking. The second obstacle was a 8 foot wall. Not too bad, but the running distance between them caused me to lose sight of the guy at the front. By his pace and agility, he had to be a regular. No competition here, so I didn’t worry too much about him.
The initial sandy ground gave way to well trodden grass and mud. The terrain picked up from twists and turns to hills and valleys. After three-quarters of a mile and a handful of obstacles, I already knew my lack of running was catching up. And the fear of failing an obstacle made me overly cautious.
In a Spartan race, if you fail at an obstacle, say you swing from monkey bars and fall, the penalty is 30 full body burpees. Officially, this involves push-up position to jumping-jack. I practiced a few at home just to get an idea of how they work, and simply doing 5 quickly told me that 6 times that amount would not be good for my track time.
20 reps of anything is not fun, let alone 30.
With this in mind, knowing that if I run past my breaking point, throw up, or fail an obstacle, it would mean disaster. Even though this was my first time I ever competed in a race and obstacle course, I knew my limits and what I was capable of.
Have I set the bar for myself too high?
The thought recycled itself over and over as I reached mile marker one. I had to stop running. My frequent “rest walking” periods became longer. Where is the next obstacle? Why so far apart? Am I going too slow?
Long ago was I in the top 5 of my time slot.
But I was okay with that.
No record setting. I thought. That was not why I came out here.
I hauled 5-gallon buckets of rocks, climbed over a-frames and pulled sleds laden with sandbags.
It was challenging, but not impossible. I felt pretty good.
Then came spear throwing.
There is no way to train for such an event, except to practice throwing a spear in your backyard. No amount of deadlifting, squats or sit-ups can prepare you for this obstacle. I knew this could mean the deadly penalty I could not avoid.
The target was a large foam block (with most of its substance already stabbed away by spear throwers) attached to a 10ft two-by-six, a giant scarecrow if you will. I decided to throw just above the block, to over compensate for the distance.
Recalling the videos I have seen on YouTube, I held the spear at eye level, stuck out my throwing arms elbow, reached forward with my left hand to aim, took three steps forward and pitched the stick as hard as I could.
With a mocking THWACK, the spear struck the two-by-six just above the top of the foam block…and dropped to the ground.
The thirty-burpee penalty left me breathless the rest of the race. Before each obstacle, I would have to stop for a few quick breaths before continuing. While I completed every obstacle except for spear throwing, I was unprepared for the potential of failure. Like the majority of first-timers, I came with unrealistic expectations. I expected that I would have some trouble, just not THIS bad.
But I only have myself to blame.
Right here, as I tackle the next obstacle, I may not have the ability to imbue myself with energy, but I can change my mentality. I had to focus on finishing what I started. Failure aside, I still had a mile remaining.
When there were only two obstacles remaining, I hit a burst of energy, and began sprinting towards them.
It was my final energy reserves, my body telling me it would be over soon.
I finished the race by jumping over the “ceremonial fire,” A campfire set up lengthwise for multiple runners to breach. Despite the penalty setback, I was ecstatic.
After grabbing my medal of completion, they took my picture and gave me a t-shirt, two energy drinks and a banana. My arms full of free supplies, I found Kaelin with my change of clothes and towel.
My body was covered in a sweat-and-mud-mixture of stickiness and heat. I headed over to the hoses and left the water pour down my body, soaking my clothes and shoes with clean, cool water.
Running a Spartan was more than just a bucket list. It taught me about perseverance in challenging situations, learning to adapt and adjust to difficulty, and setting realistic goals.
In essence, learning to live.
Life is chaotic and unpredictable. Nothing is certain. Comfort Zones are temporary and implode easily. I spend too much of my time building my “life cushion,” when in reality, I’m just moving a couch across a windy desert. I must accept the hardship. It happens for a reason.
I often think of parenting (for obvious reasons) when it comes to endurance. Every day comes with its share of “obstacles,” whether it’s putting my daughter to sleep, keeping her happy, or trying to get stuff done while she is fussy.
Whatever your situation may be, whatever race you are currently running, be that job hunting, parenting, building your career, etc. I wish you all the best in achieving your goal.
Ditch the couch. Take a water bottle instead. It’s a big desert.
Molon Labe