"It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves."

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 464:

After a really full racing season, a few set backs, detours and Life in General, it is time to get back to a schedule. I plateaued a little bit in the last few months, because my schedule was all crazy and I was trying to do too many things... so, I recognize, it's time to get back to basics.
1) I'm tracking my food intake again (GROAN). This time, I'm attempting to use My Fitness Pal, to take a better look at the calories. I've cleaned out my diet to a mostly-paleo state, but now it's time to work on EXACTLY what is going into my face. I've got about 30 more pounds to go and I'm on a mission, BlogLand.
2) Back to a strict training schedule. Crossfit at least 2x a week, Climbing at least 1x a week, and (as soon as my leg is good to go!) running again. 5-6 days a week of concerted movement. This is the goal.

In light of that, Thursday was my first day back to the CrossFit routine. I was a little worried about how this stupid shin splint was going to respond, but I figured I'd be careful and take it easy, as needed. I couldn't stand just sitting around and waiting for it to fix itself any more (who thought I'd ever say THAT!?).

My Beast-in-Training buddy, Stacey came to pick me up at the crack of dawn (just before 6am) so we could make it to the 6:15am class. BlogLand, my soul was crying at this time of day, but thankfully, my brain wasn't awake enough to know what was going on, so in the car I went.

After a few creaking minutes of foam rolling, filled with the snap-crackle-popping of not-awake joints, we moved onto our warm up:
inchworms, bear crawls, high knees, butt kicks, high skips - all down the length of the gym and back (which results in like 10 inch worms, for reference). I felt nicely warmed up, shin wasn't hurting, though I was aware it was there, and on we moved into the strength piece of the WOD:

• Back Squats: 4 rounds of 5 reps to get to about 70% of your 1 rep maximum.

It's been a while since I've been squatting, and the doc told me to take it easy on squats with the leg all angry, so I started low and kept it easy. My progression looked like this: 45#, 65#, 85# and 100#. At 100# I was annoyed; back squats are a strong lift for me (YAY Clydesdale legs!), but the tiny-gnomes stabbing knives into my shins had started again. My ration side kicked in and informed me that we didn't want to make this injury worse, so I stopped at 100# and continued onto the main part of the WOD for the day. 

Today's WOD was short and sweet, taking me exactly 5 minutes to complete. 

• 3 rounds, for time, of:
• 5 Back squats (55# for me)
• 10 burpees

That doesn't seem so bad, does it? It's not.... but let me tell you what IS really exciting. After hitting the deck for your first burpee - a move that you are practically a professional at - you feel an uncomfortable twinge in your shin. Down for the second burpee and it becomes all too clear that using your right leg for burpees is not going to be a do-able plan. However, I didn't feel like NOT completing this WOD was a doable plan either.

Well. One-legged burpees it was. Stand on both feet, down and kick out and land only on one (touching down the right toe only for a little balance), one footed jump back to center, gentle two-footed hop up. You know, because burpees didn't suck enough to begin with.

Having to modify my burpees like this definitely slowed me down and by the end, even doing the back squats with that 55# was painful on the leg. My frustration level was running high as I headed home to ice it and get my compression sleeve on to continue the day.

After a day of rest, where my leg decided it felt okay again, I found myself at a fun rock gym in Worcester, MA with the CG. After taking care of his actual business there, we got to sneak in some climbing. I was stoked - these walls were twice the height (some more than that!) of the ones I've been practicing on. Leg taped and feeling good, I harnessed up and away we went.

I'm not afraid of heights, but I won't lie, the first time I got halfway up the wall, I had a bit of nervous moment. I had to take a second to remind myself that I was securely harnessed in and it was just the same as I was used to.

Here's yet another instance where part of this life transformation thing, where I'm trying new activities and stretching my limits, is actually more mental than physical. Stacey gave me a great quote the other day that is perfect here:

"It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves."

Just after I'd quickly rallied and pushed on another couple of moves, I had to bail and get lowered down. The leg made itself known, again. I came down, stretched out some more, rested and resolved to try again.

After a couple more attempts (resulting in one, long, steeper than usual, successful climb), I had to quit. By the end of the last climb I was gritting my teeth to finish, because the knife-stabs in my shin had taken over, every time I put any pressure on my right leg. ARGH! I also discovered that walking on soft surfaces (like the padded floor of a climbing gym) are decidedly not awesome once the shin splint gets angry. *sigh* Total climbing for the day? Maybe about 20 minutes, versus the usual 2+ hours.

I can't explain to you the tantrum my inner 5 year old had/is having over this injury. I'm doing all the right things to get it to heal, but the waiting is killing me. I can't run. I can't squat, I can't climb... what's left? Just weeks and weeks of pull ups?? (For the love of God, NOOOOO!!)

My T-Rex arms are quaking in fear and wishing my leg a really speedy recovery.

It is hard not to feel discouraged at a time like this, BlogLand. I'm back to being limited in the things I can do - something I haven't really felt since I was 284# and struggling to walk up the stairs. I've had some minor delays along the way, but nothing like this stupid Shin Splint. This one has me down for the count and really wracking my brain to try to find ways to keep up the training without making it worse.

However, my GT is keeping me in line and reminding me of the things to focus on. Maybe this is a REALLY excellent time to refine my nutrition. My CG has been reminding me that there are other things to work on - like my t-rex arms - in the interim.

All is not lost. Yes, I had to pull out of the half marathon... but there's always next year. Yes, Fenway is in a little over 2 weeks... but 2 weeks is a long time. One day at a time, and I'm going to get better.

SO. Chin up, BlogLand... whatever your stumbling block right now - money, a plateau, an injury, whatever - there's a way around if you think hard enough.

Now... I'm off to do some more stretching and foam rolling before bed.....

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.” ― Seth Grahame-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 459:

You may have noticed, Blogland, how quiet I've been over here... Here's the thing: SHIN SPLINT. Holy Pain in the Leg, Batman. Long story short, I wore a crappy pair of old sneakers one day and BAM. Set of an inflammation that every runner dreads - shin splints. I'm pretty sure there was/is a tiny gnome stabbing a knife into my shin every time I try to flex my foot, run, squat or otherwise engage the front of my leg (you'd be suprised at how often you do this). Admittedly, I had quite an internal temper-tantrum about being "benched" again and not able to run for (possibly) WEEKS. Thanks to this injury, I've had to back out of the half marathon I was schedule to run in a week or so, and I'm just crossing my fingers that I'm going to be okay to run by the time the Fenway Spartan comes up. Ugh. BUT, I'm following doctor's orders and treatments and I've got my head back in line so I'll be doing what I CAN do, not focusing on all the things I can't.

SO, per the Doc's clearance and the fact that the pain in my leg had receded, I decided to try a local Zombie 5K with my long-time (and upcoming Spartan!) friend, Tim in honor of his birthday. Because really, who doesn't want to get chases by Zombies on their birthday?

My inital impression of this run was that it was definitely the first-time attempt at organizing and event like this. Having experienced many of the more established organizations that put on mud runs and races, the Zombie Run group has a little ways left to go; BUT, as I said, I hear it was their first year, so I'm happy to cut them some slack on the little things (like getting your t-shirt prior the the race, not having a bag check, and having to go find the waiver table, when you are automatically directed to registration FIRST, but can't register without a waiver....).

We were funneled into our 11:30 wave and provided our belts and flags. Our flags were our "lives" and the goal was not to lose them to the Zombie hordes (seems easy enough, right?). Our group was given a briefing at this time at the rules (No. Please do not punch the Zombie if he pops out and scares you...) and then corralled to await our start time.

When it was time to go, we were walked as a group by all the Spectators, which felt a little bit like Gladiators parading to the arena. We were here to do battle with Zombies, who knows if we'd come out alive. Releasing us to the race, we ran through some empty pathways on the Champlain Valley Fairgrounds (which, Zombie Run made a good point, is a little creepy when it's not filled with people and rides, etc.).

Before we saw any Zombies, we did see a crab-apple tree, that many people were picking up apples from. You see, we were told that an Apple was the "secret botanical" that could bring us across the finish line "Alive" even if we had lost all our flags. However, I'm pretty sure that this incidental crab-apple tree was not exactly what the organizers had intended (we later learned that there was actual big pretty apples to be had later on...). I did grab my crab apple and off Tim and I went, with our tiny apple safety nets tucked away in our spandex - just in case.

At this point, I have to admit, I was feeling the fact that I hadn't been able to run for 2 weeks prior to this. I had gotten over this god awful respiratory cold and what not, and I still wasn't feeling 100% on the running, but I was keeping up with the masses and all seemed to be well.

Our course took us on a cool detour through a big empty building, where the Zombie make up was being applied. Incidentally, Zombie Run, you get a HUGE A+, gold star on the presentation of the Zombies. Nightmare VT (who did the make up), did an exceptional job, in my opinion.

Warm up over... it was down to business, all of a sudden. We were funneled through a flat field, littered with zombies and big barrels to further obstruct our path. Further, the only way out was through a reallllllllyyyy small opening, gaurded by not one, but TWO zombies.

It is worth noting, as we dived into the fray, that there are actually two kinds of Zombies to be encountered.... slow zombies, who are basically stationary, or slow shuffling, reaching obstacles and Fast Zombies (think Zombie Land!), who are running you down.

Losing my first flag in the bottleneck gate, I encountered my first Fast Moving Zombie (FMZ), who seemed to come out of no where and set his undead gaze on me, only. And FMZ lived up to his name and was a SPEEDY mo' fo. We Zigged, we Zagged and I ran my little tail off, trying to not only out run and out maneuver him, but to avoid the Slow Moving Zombies (SMZ) that swayed and reached like seaweed in an ocean current.

Finally out running FMZ, suddenly thankful for all that Sprint work that the GT had assigned me, I walked in the empty grassy area and attempted to catch my breath. It seems that I had VASTLY underestimated the psychological response to being concertedly chased. Not only do you run faster than you thought, motivated by crazy adrenaline and a desire to save yourself, but you go completely tunnel vision on moving forward and getting away. I may have forgotten about my team-mate, Tim, in the craziness and spun around to make sure he'd come out the other side. Tim jogged over, smiling and energized and hopped up on adrenaline and on we trotted.

Right about here... maybe 1/2 mile into the roughly 5K race, the pain in my leg started to make itself known as a bit of a dull ache. Nothing I couldn't power through. Slow jog and on the lookout for the undead, we pressed on.

While this wasn't billed as an "obstacle" race per se, we did encounter a couple along our way. There was a series of three hay bale pyramids to get up and over, each time a little higher and with many zombies waiting to snatch your precious flags on the other side. Thankfully the majority of them were SMZ. I made it out of these alive (thanks to my Spartan perspective on attacking obstacles)... but lost my second flag to a FMZ masquerading as a SMZ until my unsuspecting self passed a little to close. It was interesting, the hay bales were not a hard obstacle, but the anticipation of the Zombie chase on either side of them definitely provided an additional level of heart-pumping action to keep them interesting.

Here's the point that I had a few complaints with Zombie Run... this first stage of the race was pretty good: more challenging than I'd expected and packed together at good distances (close enough to stay engaged, but far enough apart to be able to catch your breath). Once we got by that initial segment, though, things got a little thin. We had some long stretches (flat, thankfully), where there was nothing - no obstacle, no zombie - that were then followed by areas that funneled you into a TON of zombies that were impossible to get out of alive. Much to our dismay, Tim and I were out of flags by about the halfway point of the race.

At this point, I was frustrated at my body. The leg was really painful and I was speed-walking with a pronounced limp. After what - a mile and a half?! ARGH. We hit a out and back on a paved road, where we were promised water at the end of it. As I attempted to trot along it, I brought up short in my tracks, as the hard surface really exaggerated the shooting pain in my leg. No jogging. Just walking. Noted, Body. I would like to note, this was a decent distance out and back on this paved road that literally had zero point (no obstacles, no zombies), other than to add distance to the race. Where this was an untimed race, I'm not sure what the point of this was, Zombie Run? (again, you're forgiven, as this is your first organized race. A minor infraction.)

Power-Limping (I'll be damned if I would have a DNF on a tiny, flat 3K course!) on, we got to a cool point in the race - a station where you could earn a life back! All you had to do was take that paintball gun there and nail one of those zombies taunting you over there. With my three shots I racked up three epic misses, but Tim (an experienced paintballer) tagged one of those zombies right in the forehead, to win himself another flag.

As we went on, now with renewed purpose (the zombies TRY to get you if you have a flag... without a flag, you're not of much interest to them...), we hatched a game plan. I would run interference and we would do whatever possible to keep Tim "alive" with his flag. I ran at zombies, ducking and weaving and using my body as a block, trying to give Tim (who proved to be speedy and nimble!) any possible opening to get out of the groups unscathed. Having said that, it became clear to me that in these Zombie races, the bigger your team, the better. With me as the only blocker, it was near impossible to be everywhere that was needed to protect the flag-carrier. Next year, we need to roll into this race with an entourage at least 4-5 deep.

Meeting with some success, we were funneled into a corral, where we met the only other actual "obstacles" of the day: a large circle of downed farm gates, in various configurations, that required you to low-crawl through the mud to get through them. Here's my critique... I wasn't sure of the point. Basically, you came off the path, crawled (or rolled! Thank you Spartan Race for teaching me that!) under at least 15 of these things in a big circle, then went on your merry way. Without any officials to moderate this, we saw many racers just skip the extra effort and continue on the path. Not one to skip an obstacle, Tim and I did every single one and braved the Zombie again to push back out onto the course.

With our one precious flag still remaining, we hit the biggest challenge of the day: the Barn. Picture this: a U-shaped barn that you had to go through, infested with SMZ that wanted your flag. Bad. Here's where the big-team would've come in handy. Tim and I turned into our Ninja Alter-Ego's, and ducked and weaved and spun, but their numbers were just too many. In a valiant display of effort, we were ultimately thwarted - the LAST (!!!) Zombie managed to snag Tim's flag on the way out.

As we Limp-walk/trotted the rest of the uneventful course, we were comforted by the fact that we did still at least have our secret saviors: apples tucked away in our spandex! We'd be bringing ourselves home muddy and limping, but ALIVE!

Finish line in sight, I rallied and we ran over a tiny little Fire Jump, where I chose the Spartan Route - jumping over and landing square into the puddle on the side. SADLY, it appears the camera man was not there to capture that moment, as I'm thinking it would've made a cool picture. (As a side note - again, a product of it being their inaugural year - there definitely weren't enough photographers. The pictures that were taken seem to be very limited, compounded by a very expensive price tag. Eh.... C- on this part, Zombie Run.)

As we finished and pulled out our apples triumphantly, we were greeted with water and a pretty cool finish medal. To me, as a complete bling-'ho, I LOVE it when I get another medal to add to my collection. A muddy number and a T-shirt are nice... but a medal, that's some hardware (even if it's not of the highest quality). A+ in this area, Zombie Run... many other races of this level would've just stuck to the T-shirts. Good choice.

Tackling the last obstacle of every mud run, Tim and I laughed and joked while enduring the cold hose-off (which feels much colder at the end of October! Whoa!).

At the end of the day, there were WAY worse ways to spend a Saturday morning than having a fun little challenge with your BFF and earning a t-shirt and some race bling.

My official review of the race? Well, I'm going to give them another chance, and probably try it again next year, but there are definitely some areas that need improvement. Long stretches with nothing to do are not all that fun, when you're running a "Zombie Run". Conversely, having the Zombies grouped SO heavily at other areas that there is no WAY you can come out alive, also not so fun. Next year, I think spreading them out a little, and having more random areas for them to surprise attack, etc. might be a better strategy. Also, having a few more areas where you could earn/win back a flag would be cool, as the race turns into just a plain 5K pretty quickly when the Zombies are no longer interested in a runner without a flag! The pricing was a little steep for this years product.... but there was major potential here - a great location, AWESOME zombies, they got the t-shirts and medals right - so I think a similar price next year, with some adjustments to the strategy, would be reasonable for this kind of event. I think maybe I'd give this Zombie Run an overall grade of like a B-.

Personally, I had a pretty damn good time and am glad I checked it out. Ultimately, I must admit, I'm glad it turned out a bit easier than expected, as my leg was NOT at ALL happy with my efforts and I was in a whole lot of pain by the time we got in the car to head out.

But Zombies beware... Tim and I took notes this year, and will be tackling the next one with a strategy!

"You're running on guts. On fumes. Your muscles twitch. You throw up. You're delirious. But you keep running because there's no way out of this hell you're in, because there's no way you're not crossing the finish line. It's a misery that non-runners don't understand." -Martine Costello

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 446:

Another check mark in my Bucket List of new, awesome, active things to do... I finished a Half Marathon.

13.1 miles.

Yeah.

A lovely Columbus Day Long weekend brought the Leaf Peepers Half Marathon to my race schedule. It was supposed to be a great race - 70% not on pavement - and right at peak foliage. The weather was brisk and overcast, just the way I like it to run. Low 50's had me comfortable in a long sleeve running top and a fall breeze promised that I wouldn't be too hot.

I would, however, be a snotty mess.

A couple days leading up to the race, I wasn't feeling so hot. Allergies, I tried to assure myself... but then, it became inevitable: I had a cold. As the simple head cold morphed into a monster of a coughing, sneezing mess, I sat on Saturday night before the race in great conflict. I really wanted to do this race - it was a "big" race, I had a lot of people coming to spectate, a lot of support of other people I knew running, the course was good.... but I felt awful. I wanted to cry in frustration. I didn't know what to do, what the smart decision was, and on top of that I was, in no small part, worried about my ability to actually run 13.1 miles.

I've trained for this, I've done longer, more brutal Spartan Races... but that's not a 13.1 mile road race. In a road race, it's you, the road and your body... there's no obstacles to break it up, no varying challenge. The challenge stays constantly between you and your brain and your body. And I'd never tested this particular limit before. I also didn't really want to test it out the first time while sporting a doozy of a head cold. Argh. What to do.

Like many of my generation, I threw my frustration to FaceBook, where my Spartan's answered and gave me the kick in the ass that I needed; so what if I needed to walk, theoretically, I've done much harder things (I finished the grueling VT Spartan Beast, which had a finish rate of like 38%!), and so what if I'd be a snotty, spitting mess. Get it done... "With my shield, or on it." as one reminded me.

So, with a new determination, I ate some handcrafted, goodness filled chicken soup that my CG made me, drank inordinate amounts of tea and honey, continued hydrating and dosed up on some NyQuil for a solid night's sleep.

I woke up feeling... less bad. Took my DayQuil (figured I'd need all the help I could get to keep this cold at bay), ate a good breakfast, drank a small Dunkin' Donuts coffee (om nom nom!), and wriggled into my CW-X (if ever bionic legs were going to be needed...).

The crew from my work,
(l-r), Me, Kim and PJ

Registering for this race was interesting. We got our nice long-sleeve t-shirts and pasta sauce. Yep. Pasta sauce. Now, I've gotten medals from races, energy bars, t-shirts, pint glasses... but never pasta sauce (as it turns out, one of the sponsors was a local Italian restaurant that makes their own).

Then, I began the nervous process. I definitely was not feeling anywhere close to 100%. My muscles felt okay, which was the only thing keeping me at that starting line. I was just praying that my breathing would be cooperative.

In no time, the gun was going off and my race-pace buddy April and I trotted off. The plan was to start easy, as we did have 13+ miles, and then we'd separate as our abilities diverged. I was seriously not sure how this was going to go and I knew that April was strong over this distance, despite this being her first Half.

The first 3-4 miles were no problem at all. Our easy pace allowed my body to warm up, all my sinus' to open (the cold air helped too!), and after a ridiculous amount of spitting out the nastiness (I'm sorry fellow runners! I stayed to the side and spit in the grass!), I was feeling pretty good. 4-5 miles is a comfortable distance for me these days and the dirt road that we had hit was not too bad on the joints. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Leaf Peepers had great organization and wonderfully positive volunteers at each water stop, at every 2 miles. I resolved that would be the way I'd run the race - from water stop to water stop, without thinking too far ahead. April and I reached the halfway (6 mile) water stop in pretty good shape, having not walked for more than 15-20 seconds at each previous water stop just to be able to swallow our water. We allowed ourselves a 30-45 second walk to chew down some energy chews (I'm loving the Clif Blox, Margarita flavor, with extra salt!) and were right back at it. All was looking pretty promising. I was still holding a steady, even pace, despite it not being breakneck, I estimated we were holding a solid 11 min/mi. I would be happy finishing that way.

Here's where I should mention that this course was not flat. It wasn't a Spartan Race by any means and I hadn't been struggling with the frequent short rolling hills, to this point. In fact, they had been strong point for me, often passing people on hills, as I was able to keep a steady pace, while they fell back. There were a few shining moments I was proud of, in that respect. Clydesdale Legs, for the win.

However, at the quick 15-20 second walk break at mile 8, April and I both remarked that it was becoming more of an effort to start back up. I noted I was struggling more than usual and my legs weren't feeling quite as burly as I'm used to... but we were way more than half way. Finish was the option.

Mile 9ish, or 9.5 saw the first time that I really had to admit that I wasn't running at 100%. We were facing a decent hill and I didn't have the breath or oomph in my legs to run it. Telling April I needed to walk, I gave her the green light to go on with out me, as I  didn't want to slow her down. As I walked up the hill, I noticed that my breathing, where it had previously been pretty full and steady, had become more labored and I'd developed a wheeze. Either the cold meds had worn off, or the cold was catching up with me and reminding me that I was, in fact, human.

At the top of the hill, maybe 20-30 seconds later, I picked back up into a trot and pushed on until the mile 11 marker.

Then, my race got ugly. Real Ugly.

The whole time April was with me, I'd had a buddy to chatter on with, and keep my mind off my body. Also, someone to push me on and encourage in the moments when things are sucking (when you're running that distance, things sucking is inevitable). Now I was alone and very aware of my compromised state. My breathing was not doing well at all, and I was starting to feel some stiffness really set in my hips - not a problem I'd run across before. There was a dull ache in my ankles from the concussion of tired footfalls back on the pavement and I was running alone; which meant the war was just me and my brain, now.

Miles 11-13 were some of the longest of my life. I fought. I knew I was at the back of the pack of finishing, but I was determined not to be last. Around mile 12, as I pushed myself into a trot ("just until that sign"), I wanted to cry, at the discomfort that surged through my legs and the amount of argument my body threw back at me.

I trotted just past the sign. I feel back into a brisk walk, hoping to stretch out whatever the hell my hip was doing. I pushed back into a slow, labored trot for another sign, or telephone pole or two, and screamed inside with a feeling of defeat every time my body dragged me back down to a brisk walk. It was quitting on me.

That was something I'd never felt before. I've trekked 14+ miles of black diamond ski trails of over 5000 ft elevation gains and 35+ obstacles that challenged every part of my body, and I've never felt this feeling.

I wondered if my body COULD run to the finish. Apparently, sickness had taken more out of me than I'd allowed myself to feel. I wheezed. I felt my shoulders slump and my head hang a little lower, as my walk "breaks" became more like Walks, with run breaks.

I wanted to be done. I wanted it to be over. I was no longer having fun. But I had passed mile 12, which meant I was ALMOST there, and my head rallied around the fact that DAMNIT, I would earn the right to say I completed the half marathon this day, to the best of my ability.

There was a guy in a light blue shirt in front of me. Coughing and struggling, I hauled my legs into a slow, shuffling trot, that I intended to keep up - no matter how I felt - until I passed him. I got 10 feet by him, and back down to a walk. He was struggling and walking. But I was past him. I felt him creeping up on me. I closed my eyes, winced at the pain in my hip and demanded my muscles trot a little more. Just to the end of the bridge. Back to a walk.

Somewhere around this point, maybe just over a half mile from the end, my Stepmom and step sister came across me walking and wheezing. They gave me some much needed company and distraction from my body, as well as a few sips of cool water, as I power walked a bit more.

I saw the traffic lights that signaled the turn to the quarter mile-ish home stretch. With resolute determination I decided that, no matter what, I'd run from those lights across the finish line - regardless of the pain, or how slow I had to run.

I hit the corner and started trotting. It certainly wasn't pretty. My body was in full rebellion.

With not too much left to go, Light Blue Shirt Guy suddenly comes running out of nowhere, I glance to see him immediately on my left and coming in strong.

Running to the finish,
Chicking the Guy In Blue!

Oh. Hell. No.

I'd worked to beat him - if no one else - and he wasn't going to take it from me in the last 30 seconds.

My body got in gear, shoving the pain and discomfort into some deep dark well in my brain for later, and powered forward. I wouldn't say it was a sprint, but it was the fastest I'd moved for many miles, and it was at least a strong, brisk run.

My legs carried me at that pace across the finish line, allowing me to finish in 2:47.

Rear View of my finish, coming up
on my throng of amazing supporters!

I felt so many things, as I shuffled to a stop after my chip stopped the timer: Immediate relief that I was now "allowed" to just stop. Raging disappointment in my body and the time that it had forced me to settle with. Pride that I'd finished. Grateful for the mass of people that was gathering around me, after cheering me over the line, now passing me bananas and recovery shakes and congratulations.

Post-Race Banana BLISS!

2:47. 13.1 miles. The goal in my head had been under 2:30. I was nowhere NEAR that. But, I'd gotten to the start line, despite being under the weather, and I'd crossed the finish line, despite wanting to cry, rip my legs off, and just quit. Yeah, I'd pondered flagging down the bike medic and letting him take me off course.

My disappointment was pushed aside as I was brought back to reality as my legs screamed at me. I had done exactly what you should not do at the end of something like this - I'd crossed the line, and stopped moving. I'd stood still for a decent amount of time, talking to my friends, chewing down a banana and part of a bagel and generally not moving. My legs were seizing. I was coughing. Now I was getting cold.This was only getting uglier.

It was time to hobble back to the car and I refused to let the CG bring it closer to get me, as I knew - in some rational, sensible part of my brain - that I needed to walk this out a bit. I hobbled a really slow 3/4 of a mile back to the car, in the most searing pain I've ever been in, after or during a run/race. My hips were crying. Every time I tried to bend my knee or lift it over a curb, tiny invisible daggers shot into my leg. Ahh yes, my leg muscles had seized, after the exertion.

Tears welled into my eyes, but I made it back to the car and sat down for the first time in over 3 hours. I can't tell you how much I appreciated the following 20 minute car ride, just then. Just to not have to move of my own power.

Before we went out to a recovery-meal (I look forward to those. Never does food taste quite this good.), I stood in a blazing hot shower for a solid 20 minutes, coughing out all the cold air, breathing in the steam and trying to soothe and stretch my legs.

That hot shower finally allowed me to feel a little more human (and I think the Ibuprofen may have started kicking in), and let me evaluate what had happened, with a clearer thought process.

It hadn't gone well. Particularly the last two miles. However, I truly believe that was not for lack of training, or preparation, or fueling... simply that my body was already stressed fighting a sickness that was more serious than I thought.... and to run 13.1 miles, you're pushing your body to your limits (at least I am).

My time was horrid. But I did finish. I fought the urge to quit, I still ran over the finish line, and I didn't give up - even when I had every good reason to.

I need to pay more attention at the end of these hard races - don't. stop. moving. I know better than that. I was in raging pain, partially because I'd over taxed a body that was not at 100%, and partially because I'd stopped moving and dismissed warming down my muscles, in favor of what felt good at the moment: stopping.

I declared at the end of this Half Marathon that I hated it and didn't think I ever needed to do this again, now that I'd crossed it off my bucket list.

That assessment may have been a little severe and colored by the pain I was in at the time.

Granted, I am very sure, particularly after this race, that I am not in love with road races. Nor am I particularly in love with distance running. My strength is short bursts - 5-10K runs, sprints, lifting heavy weights... but not sustained endurance runs like this. That does not, however, mean I'm not going to do them. In fact, that may be why I continue to put them on my schedule - at least once a year. One must always push to improve their weaknesses.

This, too, was probably not the best way to evaluate my feeling about half marathons, because I'm thinking that being sick made this one a lot more grueling than it might have been under other circumstances. I know my body can usually handle much, much more than that.

Therefore, in about a month, I'll be keeping my registration to run the All Women and One Lucky Guy half marathon in Newburyport, MA, with two of my favorites - Peyton and Stacey. Peyton's a veteran, but it will be Stacey's first half, and I'd like to think, my first real solid effort at a half - I don't want this Leaf Peeper finish to count.

After that, I'll make a better evaluation about distance running. As of right now, I'm a firm believer that every distance over 5K should have a big mud puddle, something heavy to move and something to climb.

With that, BlogLand, I'll leave you to ponder this quote which encompasses the feelings I'm trying to solidify about my performance in this race:

"You also need to look back, not just at the people who are running behind you but especially at those who don't run and never will... those who run but don't race...those who started training for a race but didn't carry through...those who got to the starting line but didn't in the finish line...those who once raced better than you but no longer run at all. You're still here. Take pride in wherever you finish. Look at all the people you've outlasted."

"There are only two options regarding commitment: you're either in or you're out. There's no such thing as life in between."

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 431:

On Thursday, July 21st, 2011, I did the hardest thing I've ever done in my life: I decided to change it. Completely, utterly, and dramatically. I got off the couch.

On Saturday, September 22nd, 2012, as darkness shrouded Killington Mountain, a cold early-autumn breeze cutting through my ever-damp and muddy clothes, I did the second most difficult thing I've ever done in my life: I crossed the finish line of the Spartan Beast.

The Beast was the race that started it all for me, as I stood filling up cups at the water station, on a whim, as volunteer. Now, it would serve as the shining capstone of accomplishment, in a year of physical and mental transformation.

In an awesome turn of events, I had been adopted by the MA/New England Spahtens and ended up running the race with the very first Spartan Chick I ever met in person, Jessica. Jess and I buddied up as the mountain gradually separated racers into their "comfortable" paces (Are you ever really "comfortable" when trekking a mountain like this?).

The next 8-9 hours were a blur, BlogLand. I can't describe to you the obstacles, the sights, the sounds... a week later and my brain can't even process the events of the day. In fact, I have written this post four times, this week, scrapping each attempt with disdain,  not feeling like I've done justice to the epic scope of the event.

With a little editorial help, a thought was given to me: I can't write it, because I'm afraid the result is not good enough. Fear. Fear was preventing me from writing about The Beast. With further reflection on this sudden profound thought, it occurred to me that that is what Spartan Race means when they tell you that You'll Know at the Finish Line. They can't tell you what you will have learned about your self, but they can tell you that you will cross that line a new person.

Why?

Because you spent the entire race - be it sprint, super, beast or ultra - fighting your demons, eluding your insecurities and looking your Fear right in the face.

As I stood at the base of Killington Mountain, goose-bumps rising in early fall breeze (or was that nerves and terror?), standing shoulder to shoulder with the 300 Spartans that I would begin my journey with, I worried. Had I packed enough fuel? Was my recently-injured ankle going to hold up? Had I trained enough? Skipped too many runs? How stupid did I look in my spandex, next to all these Beast-worthy Spartans?

Like the starting line of every Spartan Race, we were facing the mountain, knowing our first task would be to run up it. The purpose, I'm convinced, is so that as your adrenaline starts to surge through your body, you're left to ponder - with concern - that which lies ahead. At the very least, you start acknowledging the difficulty of what you are about to do. I stood staring up at Killington Mountain in quiet panic. THIS was a race for fit people. This was an event for real athletes. I knew, as much as anyone can know from scouring the rumors and FaceBook posts, how hard this was going to be - all part of the plan, Spartan Race?

And yet. I was standing there. Obstacle One, Get Off Couch, Get to Starting Line: Complete.

Jess and I had 8 hours of adventures that followed that first "Aroo!" and jog through the smoke and columns. With every minute the fears and challenges pressed in around us. Sometimes, they were external, as Spartan Race asked us to asses our fear of heights and swing from ropes suspended over frigid water; other times, they were internal, as your mind tried to convince your body it couldn't go on because the woods were too deep, the ascent too high, the wall too tall.

Initially, your little battles lead to easy victories... The race gets you over some short walls, a mud pit or two, a jog through the sun. Minor challenges, easily surmountable when your brain is focused and your body is fresh.

Then, you are tested. What will you do when your calves are shooting acid as you press up the hill? How will you answer when that Atlas Stone carry seems just a little too heavy? Will you step up when your bravado wears thin and your weaknesses start to show? As you cross the monkey bars with grit in your eye, rocks in your shoe and an internal assurance that your shoulders are pulling out of their sockets, do you reach forward again, or bow your head in deference to the obstacle that's beaten you? (Yes, every time I do a penalty-burpee, I internally curse the obstacle that is forcing me to bow before it.)

Here, where your fear is laid out neatly in front of you and your comfort thrown to the wind, Spartan Race - and it's participant - separates itself from every other race of it's kind: it dares you to go further.

Can you stand your mental monologue while climbing up, sometimes on your hands and knees, a goat path through the woods, where there is no end in sight... just more UP? When you get to mile 8 or 9, after working for hours, will you heft that sandbag and pull that sled on muscles long burned out of their reserves... will you drop into another cold bath to conquer the rope traverse with your already chilled to the core body? When you crest the last hill, only to find a 10 foot wall at the top, and all part(s) of your body screaming at you (some louder than others), do you eye it with resolve to get up an over some way some how, or defeat, because you fear your body has nothing left?

The Beast growled a greater challenge still to the Spartans that continued forth; it laid you bare to the bones of yourself.

In a constant state of wet, gritty and muddy, your body already pushed, bruised, strained and pulled to every extreme, your knees and ankles aching from the extreme ups and downs, hunger sets in, and for me, so did the darkness. Still on the mountain, as the sun set and the light mist started to sputter from the solid-dark sky, we were handed our most primal fear - darkness. Could you press forth, hearing the skittering animal feet in the leaves to your right? Will you move forward and don your Hobie-Band (a rough obstacle for 13+ miles of mountain worn legs) to finish the obstacle, with just the dim circle of light from your headlamp?

Finally, you hear it... the thumping music of the festival in the distance, signaling safety, sustenance and the right to stop. However, you emerge from the woods, hurting, wincing, sweating, but moving... only to find that The Beast is not done with you yet. You can see by fire light the comforts of The End, the arms of your supporters eager to hug their congratulations, the elusive green medals clinking in the distance, the thought of a warm sweatshirt at the forefront of your thoughts.

A Valiant Attempt...

.... and yet... you are sent down to your belly to crawl again, to fight past the throbbing in your knees and elbows as you roll them over rocks for the third time that day. You stand in front of the masses and hurl your spear with the desperation of a huntsman that hasn't brought down a catch in months, agonizingly burpeeing out the penalty of failure.

The last set of penalty burpees...
(Hey! Is that a bicep?!)

Rallying your muscles to throw yourself into one last feat, you drag yourself to the top of the slippery wall, momentarily sitting on top of your plywood mountain to survey the homestretch.

This is it.

This is the moment that the Spartan in you awakens. So far beyond the tolerances you thought you had, the pain threshold you thought you knew, the steps your legs could take, the fear you thought you had, you find yourself eyeing the final two obstacles.

At every Spartan Race, the last two obstacles are symbolic and integral to your Finish Line Realization.

In the darkness, with a sputter of energy I didn't know I had, I ran - because every racer runs, regardless of their state at the time - into the horseshoe of fire. Spurred on by the race, the mountain, the misconceptions, the doubts, the obstacles that I was leaving behind and now surrounded by fire, you leap - flinging your arms into the air in triumph. Why is every racer's fire-jump picture so inspirational? Because it is here that they are reforged - literally in the fire - and emerge on the other side.

Landing your jump, you have one last task before your Spartan realization is solidified: The Gladiator Pit. You - exhausted and depleted mentally and physically - are facing a gauntlet of formidable, armed opponents, focused only on delaying your crossing to the Finish Line.

You Run (they always run.), headlong, into the fray. Here, with every gladiator's jostle, every tap of the padded pugil stick, every evasive duck, you prevail against the forces that could've prevented you from finishing. A pugil stick for that seizing IT band, a dodge to the left for the thought process that told you you couldn't see the end, a shoulder check back to the gladiator for the moment a frustrated tear had welled up in your eye at mile 11.

No Spartan Left Behind. Chicks Starting together,
Conquering together, Finishing together.

Bolstered by your victory, you bound - injured, cold, hungry and tired alike - across the finish line, skidding to a muddy stop to receive your prize. A medal. A medal placed around your neck, symbolizing all you've been through, all the monsters you faced, the fears you looked square in the eye. A medal, representing things singular to you and that finish line, capturing the old version of yourself that you gave to the mountain, and reminding your new Spartan Self from whence it came.

You'll Know at the Finish Line, is the truth. What will you know? It depends on you, the day, the race, the mountain. Tilting my head to receive my blazing green Beast medal, I knew that my friends and fellow Spartans were more important than my finish time, this *was* the body of an athlete in the making (even if it didn't look like it, especially in muddy spandex...), that I was tougher and more determined than any fear, doubt or insecurity I had, if I decided to be, and that I have no limits - because I can redefine them at will.

With that, BlogLand, I will leave you with a quote to ponder:

"Nothing is impossible; there are ways that lead to everything, and if we had sufficient will we should always have sufficient means. It is often merely for an excuse that we say things are impossible." - Francois de La Rochefoucauld

My Dad came to see his First Spartan
Race, and my 8th - and most monumental
Spartan Finish.

A little over a year ago, sitting on my couch, I'd grown complacent with letting life happen to me and thought the possibility of becoming anything other than what I was was never going to happen. Running was impossible. Losing 80+ Pounds were impossible. Obstacles were impossible. Fitness was impossible.

Now, I've completed the Spartan Beast (and with it, the cherished Trifecta) - 14 miles of the most difficult physical hell of my life, outlasted 70% of the racers that started, was still walking upright the next day, and began entertaining the thought of facing the Ultra Beast next year.

Nothing is impossible; I know The Beast uttered a snarl of approval, as I learned that at the Finish Line.

After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. - Nelson Mandela

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 427:

There's only one thing on my mind right now, BlogLand: The Beast. That's it. I try and focus on other things, but my thoughts just keep circling back around to what I'm going to be tackling in four more days. A 13+ mile obstacle race, up and down (and up and down, and up and down and up and down....) Killington Mountain ("The Beast of the East").

I'm nervous. I've talked a really good game all year (haven't I? no? hehe), but now I'm all in to the Grand Finale of the season and this is a place I've never been before. I have no idea what to expect from my body, this course, the obstacles, my time... I am second guessing all my choices in fueling, hydration, clothing options, travel plans... the works. I am a barely contained ball of Crazy right now. This is similar to what I felt before my first Spartan Race, way back in May... only I've got lots more experience under my belt now. I have a rough idea as to just how difficult this is going to be.

Having said that... I'm excited. I keep trying to imagine what it's going to feel like to cross that finish line, receive a green medal, inhale a banana and a ridiculous amount of rehydrating liquid, while going to find my Trifecta Medal. I can't even picture it. I can in a vague sense, but my brain is having a hard time really wrapping itself around this idea.

The 2011 Beast is what really started it all for me. I had sort of started to tip toe into my fitness journey, but on a weird whim, the GT and I volunteered at the 2011 Beast, passing out water and spotting the vertical wall on top of the mountain... which happened to be at mile 2 (water) and mile 8 (wall, and water). I remember squeezing into the unisex Large volunteer shirt (I was nervous, because they didn't have any XL left) and getting trucked to the top of the mountain. All day long I passed out water to wet, smiling, sweaty, muddy racers who, although tired, mostly looked like they were having the time of their lives. I remember looking at them in envy, because I "could never" do something like that. I'd never be able to be in good enough shape to do that. I'd never run in my life, never really lifted weights, never been sporty... Spartan Race was not ever going to be in my realm of possibility. It was for those "other" people. You know. The "fit" people.

Then something happened. The community effected me. The enthusiasm and drive crawled under my skin. The "Aroo!'s" of the masses echoed in my head.... and the next thing I knew, the GT and I were sitting down and making a plan. Simply to get me through a Spartan Sprint (3-5 miles) a year in the distance.

Instead... I find myself here. Single-Digit days away from toeing the start line of the very race that I'd classified for "extreme" people, but had inspired my steps towards self improvement. Holy Shit.

Spartan Race has proven it's motto true... At the end of each race, I really do "know at the finish line." With each race it's something a little different. In Amesbury, I learned that sometimes you have to make the tough call and DNF for your health... and that maybe sometimes that happens for a reason. In Montreal, finishing the Super I ran quite unprepared and impromptu, I found that my body was capable of much more than I ever believed, and I hadn't yet reached its limits. Recently, in New Jersey, I saw what fruits the determination of consistent training can bring you - conquering the monkey bars for the first time was HUGE for a T-Rex like myself.
I can't WAIT to see what revelations run through my head as I case down that green medal.

It's also going to be a really interesting race for me, because it will be the first time that I'm going to have quite a few people there for me as spectators, waiting for me to finish. My indestructible Running Buddy, Stacey, will be volunteering on-course and promises to cheer me on; my wonderful CG will be waiting at the finish (bearing cold recovery drinks and tasty noms!). Even more awesome, my DAD and step mom will be coming to check out their first Spartan. My Dad saw me race in my first 5K many moons ago and has followed, but not quite believed, or understood my Spartan path. Sure, he's seen the pictures, but it's just not quite the same as seeing you're only daughter actually roll under the barbed wire, heave a sandbag, or jump the flames (Hmm. I'm thinking I'm going to have to get the Paternal Unit to do a guest blog for Whatabeautifulwreck, post-Beast). I think he is still in some sort of state of blissful disbelief... I'm glad that he will get to experience Spartan Nation at it's finest, first hand. Maybe then, he'll understand the pull of long road trips, steep mountains, muddy sneakers, and the camaraderie of the Spartan family.

 Speaking of Spartan Family, here's a picture that I'm using for inspiration this week. This one was taken moments from the finish at the 11.2 mile NJ Super a couple weeks ago.

This is my favorite race picture to date, because I look empowered, muddy, capable and like I'm having a damn good time.

Stacey (pictured), sent me this today:
"My school laptop background cycles through Spartan photos, in a little slide show. Today in math, I minimized the screen that I had up on the projector, and the kids saw our epic tornado picture. The following happened:
"Is that your running friend?" 
("yep, that's us at the last race.")
"whoa. She looks strong!"
(trying to get back on track...) 
"do you always run in mud?""

This totally cracked me up, but I took it as an epic compliment. 5th graders don't lie. At 30 years old, I'll take the "she looks strong!" compliment any day.

So, I'm thinking, if I look strong... I've been feeling good... I've done well at all the previous races.... I'm ready. As much as any one person CAN be ready for The Beast. I'm in.

I've done my last long run for the week, I've been hydrating and stretching, I'm foam rolling, eating right and hydrating some more. I've got one more easy 5K to run this week, then my only job is to rest up.

I've signed up. I'm showing up, and I don't intend to give up. STFU.
AROO!

"Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it."

~ Bill Cosby

Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other. -Abraham Lincoln

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 417:

Sleepy-faced, after a 6 hour drive the night before and a too-late bedtime, I stood in a warm shower, trying to convince my brain to wake up. Today, I'd be toeing the start line of the Tri-State Super Spartan in Vernon, NJ. I'd been nervous leading up to the race, thanks to the rumors of the course (and it's difficulty) that were tearing up FaceBook, but Race Morning had brought an experienced calm. This part, at least, I know how to do; wake up in the shower, wiggle into the familiar pink and black spandex, tie up the Inov-8's, chomp down banana. It's what lay beyond that starting line that had me a bit keyed up, but for now, I could get lost in the routine of race morning.

A 40 minute drive into the wilds of New Jersey (the hotel manager told us we were driving out to "The Sticks" by NJ standards...), brought us to Mountain Creek ski area. Almost without thinking, I was in the Spartan groove... find number, sign waiver, hit up registration, secure timing chip, sharpie on numbers. My traveling entourage of Stacey and Emily was lessened by one, as Emily parted from us to join her team for the day (shout out to Team Limitless!). Stacey and I wandered into the festival grounds, and within minutes, I felt right at home again, with no time for nerves. I ran into some of my favorite Spartan Chicks, Jess and Shaina, from the NE Spahtens (they're from Mass...), and swapped rumors of the course with Lavonah. Now, it was just a countdown until our 10am start time....

The "I am a Spartan!" Aroo's completed, and our wave (with Spartan Icon, Chris Davis in attendance!) took off up the hill. I say "took off".... but, even for the crazy in shape people leading the pack, it was a short-lived burst of enthusiasm. A steady trot led Stacey and I part way up the hill, where we then dropped to a walk to begin one of countless steep hikes that day. That first hill was just under 1 mile of steep incline, where most of the time, we couldn't see the end. This was how you become a Spartan, I reminded myself - you push forth with vigor, despite the challenges that may lay before you.

(After this point, Race Brain sets in, so my apologies if I'm slightly challenged on the order of things... but here's a few highlights as they came to me. )

I must start the recount of this race by saying that I was overwhelmed with the various forms of teamwork that were on display throughout the course, between Spartans that had never met. People swapped short words of encouragement as they passed others on the course, extra fuel and water was shared as needed, helping hands were always volunteered (and never needed to be asked for) at every obstacle, and the Spartan Nation was representing it's unity more than I've ever seen at any other race. Maybe it was the difficulty level of this course (ultimately 11.2 miles and a 3000 ft elevation gain over three mountains) that brought Sparta to its tight-knit roots... but whatever it was, it was amazing to watch and an honor to be a part of.

Stacey and I "warmed up" our legs in the first part of the course, which I remember as just a lot of hills. It was a blur of steep inclines, slightly less inclines that then turned corners to lead to more inclines, followed by .... oh yeah, another big mother effin' uphill trek. Nonetheless, our resolve was solid, our bodies still relatively fresh and our sights set on finding that finish line.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain (The First Time?), we came across one of my favorite obstacles for the day - a swim. The task was simple: get in pond, swim under two sets of canoes, climb out the floating dock on the other side. Let me tell you, BlogLand, full body submersion in cool water, after a grueling uphill battle causing you to be drenched in sweat, was perfectly timed and extremely welcome. I got to the dock and noted the unfortunate height of it, for someone with lacking upper body strength like me... but like many other times that day, as I found myself flopping around like a beached whale trying to squirm myself onto the dock, Sparta answered and helping hands pushed me up and out of the water.

That push out of the water was where Stacey and I met Awesome Spartan #1 (who's name I never caught! Ack!), who was running the race with his 51 year old mother, Christine. Christine, if you're reading this, you're my hero and you better say hello. The one thing I love about these races is that you really have time to meet people on the course, while you're sharing some mud and sweat; Christine and her son (maybe... 28?) were running their FIRST Spartan Race, here in NJ (what a way to start! Yikes!), but trekking through it like pros. We had the privilege of seeing a lot of Christine and her son throughout our race, sharing encouraging words and tips as we went, and were psyched that we could be a part of introducing them to Spartan Nation. I'll be looking for you both at future races!

As the race gave way to some single-track trail running, Stacey and I had the opportunity to meet the largest team of the day (77 strong!), team Braveheart. Stacey and I were trotting along through the woods when from in front of us - off in the distant woods some where - we heart a whistle and a call of "BRAVE!"... suddenly, from behind us, the rhythmic footfalls of a tiny army started coming up, with answers of "HEART!"... "Brave!" "Heart!" echoed through the forest, as red and black painted Spartans ran by. BlogLand, I had to take this time to nod to team Braveheart, as I was really impressed with their teamwork. This was a wonderful bunch of Spartans, passing my slower moving legs with pats on the back, "great job!" and "keep going, Ladies!" This happened not once... but EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. the chants of team Braveheart could be heard echoing around us. An enthusiastic Aroo! to all of you.... even if it was occasionally a little creepy to hear your chants off in the distance. hehe

At about this point in the race, the exuberance had worn off and Stacey and I were working. Our minds had settled into keeping our feet moving in a left-right-left-right jog/trot whenever the incline wasn't bad, and a steady one foot in front of the other when the mountain was ferocious. We had started coming to the "real" obstacles... the over-under-through walls, crawl under nets, and all the rest we had zoomed through to this point must've just been the idea of a Spartan warm-up, because things had started to get serious. Oh, and did I mention, we went up and down a BIG MOUNTAIN many, many times?

Turning a corner, we hit a momentarily demoralizing moment. The track of Spartans going down hill on the right... and like a line of working ants, struggling back up the hill on the left. From the top of the hill, where we began, you couldn't see what might await you at the bottom, or how far down you might have to go.... to clearly, just have to come back up again. It is moments like this, after approximately 5 ish miles of this crusade, that you feel the difficulty of the race mentally, more than anything else. Why was I doing this? My legs were tired, WHY did I need to push on? It was hot! I don't wanna!... but thankfully, my faithful buddy for the day, Stacey, had pushed through a similar mental hiccup earlier, and was back to trudging forward with determination - and a childlike anticipation of the Cliff Jump that we were rumored to have to do. The entire race, she was looking forward to it. "It must be down this hill!" she turned to me, all smiles. The people trudging up the hill next to us DID look pretty clean.... my curiosity got the better of me, and fueled by a deep breath and a renewed mindset, down the hill I went.

I have to say, BlogLand, Spartan Race is probably the only time ever that downhills are almost as difficult as the uphills. After 5+ miles of treacherous uphills and wall climbing and whatever else, your legs are a little tired. So, when you go downhill, particularly later in the race, and especially as the hills get steeper, your quads get a little angry when you ask them to help out your knees. What happens? You start looking a little bit like a bow-legged crab as you sit back a bit, taking the pressure off your knees and using more of your leg muscles to navigate down the (often rocky!) slopes.

At the bottom of the hill, I heard Stacey squeal with joy a bit, as we were diverted onto a flat, paved (!!!) path into the water park that seemed to pop up out of no where. Wading through a knee-high pool of cool water was a welcome relief for our fatigued legs as we assessed what lay before us: The Cliff Jump. We had conquered about half of the course at this point, landing us around mile 5-6 when we happened upon this surprise. What many people viewed as the one downside - the long line bottleneck at this obstacle - Stacey and I took as a nice 15-20 minute forced recovery break. Making sure to keep our legs moving, so as to avoid stiffening from standing, we inched forward in the line, discussing with the other Spartans technique, how to overcome fear of heights, what to do with your gear and how great this course was so far (little did we know.).

Suddenly, it was our turn. Just as planned, and like a ninja, Stacey didn't hesitate and stepped off the ledge. In seconds, I saw her crazy smiling face pop up from the water below. She looked like she had had so much fun. I chucked our hydration packs to her and, following her lead, stepped off the ledge without a pause. Here's where it got interesting for me, BlogLand... you see, it didn't seem that far down when I threw our packs down. So, I stepped off without thinking. Then I was falling (wee!)... and falling (wee...?)... and suddenly my brain realized I was STILL FALLING (AHH!!!!).  I am probably the only Spartan who started screaming mid-way down the fall. Yeah. I'm cool like that.

That plunge into the brisk mountain water was MORE than welcome on my body, and my buddy and I trucked out of that water with renewed vigor and post-jump adrenaline surging through our body. We stopped shortly to fuel up on some Clif Blox and Honey Stingers (and water!!), before pushing on to the obstacle-laden second half of the course.

The first one we came across was new to me, and attributed to Spartan Race Phenom, Hobie Call. We were instructed to put the "Hobie Band" around our ankles and navigate this short over/under, but (of course) uphill course. The Hobie Band, friends, is a big heavy elastic band. Ever tried to walk with your ankles banded together? Further, please try and do it without laughing like crazy at the ridiculousness of the sight of 25 other burly spartans doing it. Oh my. My quads and hamstrings screamed at Hobie, hoping somewhere, his were aching too.

All the usual other friends were in attendance - the tall walls, the tallER walls (seriously, when did this happen?), the cargo net in the woods, Hercules Hoist, the pet rock drag.... familiar faces at a Spartan Race, which we met head on with little difficulty.

... but then I saw my arch nemesis, looming in the distance, just ahead beyond those trees..... The Monkey Bars.

BlogLand, if you've been following my progress, you know that my T-Rex arms are a sore spot for me, and in my 7 Spartan Finish Lines, never ONCE have I conquered the Monkey Bars. Each time, I find myself face down in the mud next to them, burpeeing out expletives and growling at them, each time I jump up.

This time was going to be different. I had decided it at the start line. If I was to conquer NOTHING else on this course, I would at least get the monkey bars. Standing on the rung, prepping myself to start, I wrung my hands back and forth on the first one, psyching myself up. I could do this. I'd been practicing. Climbing. Working on grip strength. These monkey bars were dry, we hadn't done a lot of upper body stuff yet (even though it was mile 8ish)... if I was ever going to do it... it was now. I took a few false starts (you know where you swing out and think you're going to let go and move... but you don't...), thanks to the nerves, but managed to take that leap of faith and get swinging. The first half went smoothly, much to my happiness, then I lost some momentum, my swinging was off. I didn't think I'd make the reach with the swing I had... I was hesitating. I gritted my teeth and let out a primal growl (they help. I swear.), and Stacey and the Volunteer started shouting encouragement to me. Just 4 more rungs! I would not go down like this. I found myself matching my hands on one rung, then regaining momentum to get my hand forward to the next one, then matching again...while it wasn't the preferable, most graceful way to accomplish the task, before I knew it, I was putting my feet on the bar at the other side. A crazy rush of accomplishment poured over me, as I heard the applause from everyone around. I admit. I jumped up and down like a triumphant 6 year old. I screamed, YESS!!! in triumph. I'd done it.

That, BlogLand, is a major reason that I do these races. I defeated another personal challenge that day. 7 finish lines and I'd never been able to do it. But I've been training. Getting better. Working on it. Gaining skills.... and today... today, I defeated The Monkey Bars. Watch out, Rope Climb.... You're next.

The next biggest highlight of the day was running into one of my absolute favorite Spartans, while coming down the hill to the sandbag carry. I'd spotted Sam on course earlier (hard to miss in bright yellow!) while in line for the cliff jump, but only was able to wave. I felt a big smile hit my face as Stacey and I were trudging down the hill to tackle our next obstacle, and I heard Sam shout my name and come happily bounding up the hill to say hello. He encouraged me on as I finished up my sandbag carry, and passed out some Gatorade from the aid station to Stacey and I upon the completion of our subsequent tire flips. We were probably around 2/3 of the way into the crazy mountainous course and Sam was *still* sporting his signature big grin, contagious enthusiasm and positive outlook on whatever might lay ahead. I admit, while we didn't continue racing side-by-side with Sam, Stacey and I referred to him the rest of the race as the Little Ray of Sunshine. The skies were grey with impending rain, at this point, and every once and a while - seemingly when things were getting steep, or the hills rocky - Sam (in his yellow shirt!) would pop up over a rise and his amazing Spartan Spirit would propel you on from a distance; much like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

I also had the overwhelming privilege to meet Sam's friend, Jen. Jen doesn't know it, but she almost made me cry on course; practically one of the first things she said to me was "I read your blog." WOW. It is a humbling experience to meet a (former!) stranger, and have them tell you that they follow your experiences, as you pour them out to a little blog. (Hi Jen!) Like I said, BlogLand, Spartan Nation and it's community was in full-force in New Jersey.

After the tiny break for water and a few sport beans, Stacey and I pressed on, setting our sights on yet another seemingly never-ending hill. It was at this point that I have to echo Stacey's sentiments on this: A well-fueled Spartan is a happy Spartan. Around this time in the course, I saw many, many racers dropping to crippling quad spasms or excruciating calf cramps. I shared some extra fuel and water with one on top of the hill, as a matter of fact. But, seriously, readers... these races are no joke. On what planet did it seem like a Good Plan to take on an 11 mile race up and down a ski area, with a huge number of additional obstacles, carrying nothing but your running shorts and sneakers!?!!? No hydration other than an indeterminate number of water stations? No Fuel at all? Geesh. While I do have sympathy for evil cramp sufferers (I've been there!), I don't have a whole lot of sympathy if you came in totally unprepared. This isn't your average backyard "Mud Run" folks... this is, in fact, a physical test... One you're definitely not going to pass if you aren't prepared.

Rounding the top of what we naively assumed must be the 'last' hill,  we came to a flat spot... from which we could gaze on our next challenge. You guessed it, a Hill. But not just any hill... a Spartan Hill. THIS hill was made entirely of loose rocks and boulders, slightly secured with some sort of netting, at something like a 45 degree incline, that forced you to bear crawl to the top... The top that you could not even see from the bottom.

Oh my. 9+ miles into the course, and this felt like hitting a brick wall, face first. Stacey and I STFU however, and started climbing the tiers of rock, one at a time. That's the way to tackle challenges, and races like this: 1 foot at a time. Just keep moving forward, no matter how slowly, and sooner or later, you'll find the finish line. Just. Keep. Moving.

Sweat poured off my brow onto the rocks that shifted under my hands, while my feet searched for footholds in the rock that wouldn't result in a re-twist of my ankle. The course designers were testing our resolve here, for sure. We were exhausted, hitting this point in the course, and this was a long, long obstacle. You'd pass another two tiers (usually adorned with at least 2-3 racers panting on a "break", or massaging a seizing muscle with a pain grimace on their face) and look up, hoping to see the end... but you would see nothing except more incline and more rocks to crawl over. Press on. Mind over matter. It couldn't go on forever. (... could it?!)

Finally finding the end of the rock climb in one last spurt of energy, I turned around to see our conquest. It was beautiful (who knew NJ had views like that?!). This tiny victory was sweet. Perhaps it was the heat and exhaustion getting to me, but it seemed like an apt metaphor for Life in general at that time. Sometimes, you just need to keep pressing forward, no matter how arduous the climb, because you never know when you'll get to see that great view at the top.

Our bodies still moving, we trotted on, through a few more obstacles and arrived at the second most memorable obstacle of the day: The Tyrolean Traverse. Again, stuck at a bottle neck of racers waiting to take this one, Stacey and I were grateful for the break. While taking a moment to breathe and assess the situation, we listed to Spartan Staffer, "Tweak" (yep. That's how he introduced himself. For reals.), tell us how he build this obstacle and a few tips for getting through it. His perky smiles and easy going demeanor had me feeling pretty confident; Tweak seemed to think this would be no big deal, so why should I? It's all about attitude here.

... and then I got closer to the obstacle. The Tyrolean Traverse, for those that are unaware, is basically a rope strung between two supports, spanning a distance... in this case, a body of icky water. The idea was to clamor on the rope (either on top of it, Commando Crawl style, or dangling from it, Monkey style) out to the bell, ring it, then drop in the water. Otherwise, 30 burpees. I had resolved early in this course that I would at least ATTEMPT any unfamiliar obstacles and it was now time to put my money where my mouth was. Again, I was astonished at the effortless way that Spartan Nation became an unspoken team, 6 or so at a time holding down the rope so that the next Spartan could more easily climb on, and rotating through efficiently as they went (interestingly, a similar unspoken rotation was found at the vertical cargo in the woods, where Spartans that had finished just dropped into place to anchor the bottom of the net for the next climber).

When it came to my turn, I was too tired to really get anxious. I didn't know how to do this, but worse case scenario, I'd fall into the water.... which I would ultimately need to do anyway. I grabbed thr rope and hooked a leg over. BlogLand, I did manage to move myself out that rope a little ways, but alas, my T-rex arms/grip strength bit me in the ass, again. At mile 10, my hands and arms just didn't have a lot of grip left... resulting in my early drop into the swamp water - and the resolution to go home and figure out (for next time...) how to scurry across the top of the rope like a ninja, using less upper body.

After a real muddy single-track trail following the traverse, Stacey and I knew we were in the home stretch, as our path opened out into a grassy down hill packed with obstacles. Down the epic slip 'n slide (when will I learn to close my mouth at the bottom?!), up and over the slippery wall, through a little more mud, and we were trotting with exuberance down the hill. We could hear the din of the festival crowd and muffled words of the emcee in the distance. We were close now.

We hobbled ( I say hobbled, because that's accurate... Stacey's IT band was bugging her and my ankle was feeling fatigued, though not painful) down the last hill into the main spectator viewing area. I caught a smile and a greeting from Storm Chaser Kym, from the sidelines, just before I missed my spear throw. Enthused to see flat ground, I happily walked over to the penalty area to bust out all my 30 burpees. At the same time, I was joined by a marine, who also needed to do 30 burpees.

Let me tell you, BlogLand, you know how I love a good competition. I was tired, energy fading and I needed something to get me through 30 burpees... I decided that keeping pace with this marine would be the way to do it. This marine and I did a fast set of 15, with no stopping, to start. I think he realized partway through thatI was pacing him, and he picked up the pace. Not to be outdone, I panted and threw myself down into the ground and hurdled my body up to complete the burpees in time with him, on sheer will alone. 15 burpees at that pace drained me and I definitely had to stop to breathe... he nodded a bit of recognition at me and then went down to finish his second 15 in one more, efficient, push up including, set. I, on the other hand, did my second set of 15 in tiny sets of 3, panting and swearing. LOL.

The traverse wall came up next and I was ready. I've been rock climbing, surely I could do this now, too! Sadly, I think fatigue had gotten to my brain a bit and somehow I managed to maneuver myself into a position - 2/3 of the way through - where I couldn't figure out where to reach my hand next and still balance. NuVision, thankfully, was on site and managed to get a few pictures of my valiant attempt (come on, badass wall-traverse picture!!). Another 30 burpees and I was on to the rope climb.

Stacey and I ran into another Chick in the mud at the rope climb; we took turns holding the rope and trying to get up it... but sadly, the stars didn't align and none of us managed to get up it. 30 more burpees.

Lastly, we hurdled ourselves into the rocky barbed wire crawl. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had noticed that the wind had picked up a bit, and I thought I felt a drop of rain, but I'd quickly dismissed that and focused on not getting barbed wire in my eye. I quickly switched to a more efficient rolling technique, to lesson the pain that was growing in my knees and elbows. I think I was having traumatic flashbacks to the Tuxedo, NY Sprint's gravel crawl that STILL has scars on my elbows! I rolled, knowing the end was near, and starting taking more notice of the weather growing around me.

Flipping on to my back to negotiate another section, I suddenly saw Stacey standing outside the wire, yelling to me that they were about to close the obstacle because of the looming storm. "About to" is what I heard and a weird switch clicked over in my brain. I was almost to the end. I rolled for what I was worth and crawled when I had to at break neck speed, ignoring the tearing pain in my elbows. I was forced to abandon ship on the barbed wire, but with (literally) about 10 feet until the end. A lingering NuVision photographer snapped a few quick pics of Stacey and I with the black storm cloud and leaves being whipped by the wind in the background, and we were off to chase down that finish line before it was too late.

We sprinted over the fire jump and headed, unblinking, for the Gladiators. This, I'm happy to report, was the first time that they actually took some shots at me (thank you!), as the sky suddenly opened up and rain began pouring down.

As we ducked our heads into our medals, tents were being popped down, and announcements were echoing around the festival area that everyone - spectators, vendors, everyone - was being moved into the lobby of the main lodge to wait out the imminent thunderstorm (apparently, there was a serious tornado watch and reports of hail, not too far away!).

Stacey and I walked proudly and unphased through the downpour (we were already wet...), smug with our conquering of a race we were both a bit nervous about. As spectators ran by us for cover, we hosed off the mud and rinsed out our shoes. What's a thunderstorm, when you've just beaten a mountain, your inner fears, doubts, all of your physical limits and the odds?

Although, thank you, Nature, for the most Epic, Dramatic Finish line I've chased down yet.

The Aftermath:

After downing a few of the free BodyArmor recovery drinks (YUM. Gotta find these!), we were ready to go find some food. A foot long philly steak and cheese from subway, complete with a salty bag of chips - though not my usual diet - was the most amazing thing I'd ever eaten leading up to that moment. I was SO. HANGRY. (yes. Hangry. Hungry + Angry. I was getting to the point where I might start taking bites out of my car-mates!)

While I was walking a little stiffly that afternoon, particularly after sitting in the car for our 6 hour drive home, I find myself relatively unscathed. My bruises are minimal and my muscles are okay (with the exception of some slightly sore upper body ones). WIN. I apparently was better prepared than I thought.

This race was just EPIC, BlogLand, in a way that I can't even capture in words. The course design was stellar, if difficult, the Spartans were strong and helpful, and the majority of the racers were still smiling and having the time of their lives - even though they were sweating, hurting and still climbing uphill.

For many of us, myself included, now is the time to set my focus on The Beast in 12 (short!) days. I must admit, finishing this Super, and still feeling good, was a huge relief with The Beast not too far out. This super was lovingly labeled a mini-beast and came pretty close to the Beast in length, though maybe not obstacle density. Regardless, I feel prepared. (or as prepared as I'm going to be!).

This Tri-State NJ super pushed me to find new limits to my capabilities, as well as challenged my mental resolve. Somewhere, amid the hot, uphill climb, I was tired and sore and I wanted to stop. Looking around, I found myself in the company of hundreds more that were tired, sore and wanting to stop...... but still putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward.

Spartans never give up. Maybe that's the greatest lesson I learn over and over from these races. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Try. Attempt. Learn from your misses. Study for next time. Strive to be better. Aim for the best You possible. KNOW that you can get there, if you decide to.

11 miles. 3000 ft elevation gain. 3 mountains. 6 hour drive each way.....

... and the knowledge that today, I did the thing I thought I could not do.

Bring on The Beast!

AROO!

"Go Confidently in the Direction of your Dreams. Live the Life you have imagined." - Thoreau

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 414:

I think I finally figured out... like really internalized, what it means to Spartan the Eff Up (STFU).

Today, I'm at work, whiling away the hours until I am released into the wild and can begin my Spartan Weekend with a road-trip to the Super in NJ. Periodically, throughout the day, I browse FaceBook, blogs and tweets of my fellow racer, etc. Most days, I find this majorly motivating; when I'm feeling lazy, I read about other people's killer WODs and get my ass in gear. When I'm feeling really hyped up, I can spread that around to others that might need a shot of motivation.

Today, however.... I'm nervous. (Thanks, FaceBook.)

The last few days I've been hearing rumors of the difficulty of this upcoming NJ course, which I usually chalk up to hype and rumors to get the crowd going, and am generally unconcerned. But in the last couple of days, thanks to a few site-pictures from Spartan Staffer, Tommy Mac, I find myself......... plauged with nagging worry. For those that know me, I'm generally low-stress, but really embracing Aja 2.0 and understanding my new physical capabilities is still a learning curve for me. When facing the 10 mile course, with a bunch of new obstacles that I have no idea how I'm going to handle, my FCS (Fat Chick Syndrome) flairs up a little bit and I start wondering - ever so slightly - if I can do it. What have I gotten myself in to?

Thanks to some encouragement from the GT and an effort of mental will, I hit a hard restart on my Spartan Self and reminded myself of the motto: "Sign up. Show Up. Never Give Up." So, maybe I'll be confronted with obstacles I've never seen before. It's not that long enough that I'd never seen ANY of it before. So what if it's 10 miles up a mountain? I'll walk. If I can't walk, I'll crawl. If I can't crawl.... well, I'll wait for a burly spartan to come along and buddy carry me! So, maybe I'm not going to know if my body will tackle an obstacle the way I imagine. Well, I can enlist the help of my on-course Spartans (of which there will be many at my time slot, it seems!), or if all else fails, I'll take my 30 burpees and learn for next time. There is always a way, if you get your mind in the right space.

Today, I put that FCS back in it's place.
Today, I reminded myself that "our deepest fear is that we are capable beyond measure."
Today, I decided to face my fears.
Today, I aknowledged that I am nervous, but charging forward anyway.
Today, I know I will cross that finish line, come hell or high water....... and really, both of those things may happen this weekend....

TODAY, I Spartan'd Up.

"Even if you are on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there." - Will Rogers

Spartan Shape-Up, Day 413:

Oh Blogland! I'm BACK. I finally feel BACK. After hitting up CrossFit last week, I was blessed with some multi-day stiff/sore/muscle fatigue, which served as a real re-motivator. I forgot how good it felt to really get down to business. I've been getting in my scheduled runs, following the plan, eating pretty well and am gearing up for my big races of the year.

Speaking of races, this weekend I did something I would've never thought of a year ago. I popped out of bed early on a Saturday morning - voluntarily - to go out and run a local 5K race. Just for fun. No stress. I mean, really, it was called the Flying Pig 5K (in honor of a local bank mascot)... how could you be stressed about that? But the funny thing was, a 5K race has become such a non-issue. I don't prep special for them (5K is a short run for me these days), I'm not stressed that morning, and I have a really good idea what to expect from my body during them. What a complete 180 degree turn around from when I ran my first 5K just about a year ago.

The morning was sunny, I had some of my favorite race buddies warming up with me and toeing the starting line, and the course promised to be flat and fast. I was hoping that this would be the time that I hit my sub 30 minute 5K race time. I was slightly concerned about how my still-healing ankle would react to the all-road race, but I'm feeling good, running regularly and was here to throw it all out there. I mean, really, what else would I be doing on a Saturday morning? SLEEPING?! Sorry people, I had a finish line to chase.

It was really interesting, this was the first road race that I'd actually had time to have an adequate warm-up for. We had time to run a mile and get our legs going, do some stretching, and feel good when the starting mark went off. If ever I was going to run a great race, this had to be it. I was a little disappointed when I realized that this was not a chip-timed race. You see, a gun timed race means everyone gets the same starting time.... whether you start in the front of the pack and actually cross the starting line at that time, or if you're in the back of the pack starting 30 seconds later. I won't lie, I was running this one for time, so I muscled my way up toward the front.... right behind the boys high school cross country team. I may be running for time, but I knew I wouldn't be running the single digit mile times that those young 'uns would be hitting (... not THIS year, anyway... ;-) ).

The race began and I felt strong as our starting stretch lead us up the only real hill of the whole course. I powered up this with Spartan legs, at a regular rhythm, passing a lot of people. Never underestimate the power of practicing hills. Interestingly, I ran along sign my doctor (?!) for a few minutes... Who happens to be 60+ and does Triathlons with her husband. She was geared out in Gaspari Nutrition Spandex, looking really professional.... and then proceeded to steadily pass the masses on that hill. I HOPE I am that awesome at that point in my life. Talk about Chicking!

After that hill, my race buddies and I had drifted to our natural paces to run our own race. If you only ever learn one thing from my ramblings, BlogLand, it is to run your own race. You have to run to your plan, capabilities and capacity - not to try and keep up with the horde, or that damn blond girl slightly in front of you that you just can't seem to pass....

I was trucking along at a good pace, keeping (faster!) April in my eye sight. I was using her as a visual gauge of my speed, as I know she would finish in 29 minutes or so... therefore, all I needed to do was not lose her, come in slightly slower and I'd be right on target. About a third of the way through the race, we turned to the mental challenge of this tiny race: The out and back. A vast majority of this race was this out and back stretch on a road, in the full sun, at about 1130am.

I hate, hate, hate the heat BlogLand. I wanted to walk. Sweat was pouring off of me, my muscles were feeling "tired". I say "tired", because I know that they're not tired 1.5 miles in... they're just wanting me to think they are, so we could stop running in the heat. I ran on. I won't lie, as much as I was running my own race and taking my own advice, there was a lady in a flying pig hat just in front of me that I was determined not to let beat me. Thank god for her, as I'm pretty sure that competitive motivation was all that kept me moving through that sunny stretch of death.

I admit, here, BlogLand... I know where I made a mistake. As I hit the water station, just before the last mile, I dropped out of my run to grab a water, sip it and throw it on myself. While I kept walking at a good clip, this effects your time and was, in reality, unnecessary for a 5K. Nonetheless, it was how I was going to keep my sanity.

I reminded myself that I was almost at the end, rallied my thoughts toward my single-focus of a time goal and tried to get my feet turning over faster. Rounding the last stretch, I saw the crowd of people eagerly awaiting "their" runner, clapping and yelling general  encouragement in the meantime, and I put on the best effort I could for them. This resulted in a neck and neck finish line Chicking, where I busted past this guy at the last minute.... eliciting a sarcastic chuckle and mumble from the dude I passed. He was apparently not impressed. However, WTF? We're running for time, and neither one of us was in contention for top three placing... soo...? What's the big deal. Geesh.

Hitting the finish line, running for all my over heated body was worth, my eyes reflexively darted for the clock... 31 and change. DAMN. My goal had been clear. I wanted to do a 30 minute, or just under, 5K.... today was not the day.

As I came out of the shoot and cracked my water bottle, I let myself have that moment of disappointment. I didn't hit my goal. I came SO CLOSE. I let myself have that moment of replaying the things I could've done better, where I might improve, and what I was going to do next time.

And then, with a conscious effort, I closed that door. Why? Because, BlogLand, there is no reason to let that negativity stay. Yes, I was unhappy with not meeting my goal - that's what keeps driving me to the next one and to be better for the next finish line - but it's not the be all and end all.

The thought I decided to latch on to was that almost one year earlier, I had set my baseline for 5K races at a time of just barely under 35 minutes, after running only a short 100 days in my whole life. Today, I had cruised through a 5K race, a fun, non-stressful Saturday morning activity for me now, on a still-healing ankle, in a time close to 4 minutes faster...... and could've kept running a much longer distance!

uhm. WIN.

I WIN.

THAT is the thought process I intend to let seep into my brain. The one that reminds me that I'm not there YET, but I'm a hell of a lot farther than I was, and every day I get a little bit closer. There are an infinite number of finish lines I will still cross, and PR's to set and beat, but I am proud of myself for having the courage to get up and get to the start line.

After this little weekend mental victory, I did my training runs this week - managed a solid 4.5 mile run without any pain in the ankle. This is a great sign, because this weekend is a monster...

Tomorrow, right after work, I leave for NJ to tackle the Spartan Tri-State Super.... coming in at right around 10 miles of hilly terrain, rumored to include a 25 foot cliff jump, obstacles we've never seen before and a whole lot of mud.

There will be many of my favorite Spartans out on the course with me on Saturday, which I'm really excited about (find me! Pictures!). I'm a little nervous, as this is looking like this is going to be one grueling course.... but I'm not afraid. I'm pretty prepared physically (there's always room for improvement...), I've got a great hydration/fuel plan, intending to KT Tape my ankle just for safety, and what else is there? I'll have an awesome buddy running right by my side (Hey Stace!) and between the two of us, this course doesn't stand a chance.

Bring on the cliff!!!!