Spartan Race 2010 - Amersbury MA: What Do You Get When You Mix Mud, Sweat, and Hot Chicks?

Do I really have to answer this? Really?

Fine.

The answer is a great flipping day.

In August of 2010 I entered my first ever running race and it was of the obstacle variety. You have to understand that at this time in my life I hated running. No, hate is not the correct word, not enough venom in it to describe how I felt about running. Loathe. Let's use loathe. At this time in my life I loathed running. I use to cringe at the thought of running. "Hey, you want to go for a run? " you would ask and I would joyfully reply, "Go **** yourself." Running was more an activity of necessity, not a labor of love. Kind of like family holidays. You know you have to do it, wonder how long it will be until the pain sets in, and finish knowing time could have been better spent taking a hammer to the groin. Who knew that this race would change my entire outlook on running? Outlook on family holidays remains unchanged.

The event was the Spartan Race in Amesbury, MA. It was a 5k trail run obstacle course. More importantly, though, was that the race was only part of the event. The atmosphere was the real event. The race was the reason to get there, but it's the crowd that makes the event.

OK, so it's not so much all the people in the crowd but rather the athletic, taut, tanned, oiled, sports bra and spandex-booty short wearing women in the crowd that I find endearing. I found them so endearing, in fact, that my two boys had to repeatedly hit me to remind me that I was there to run a race, not make an ass of myself. Being a multi-tasker, I was able to do both.

(Before any women complain I will add that there were just as many hard-bodied men -- my wife will attest to this -- wandering around in various stages of undress, with their... Christ, I count them from here... 8-packs, and their... good God, did they outlaw body fat on his planet?... lithe, toned bodies. Unfortunately for the ladies, they were also all gay.)

Might as well get to the race. I could spend the next few minutes describing the scenery but how many ways can you comment on heaving bosoms and tight buttocks before it moves from mildly amusing to downright lecherous and creepy? On to the race.

They had multiple stages going throughout the day, letting about 150 racers leave every half hour. After giving a rousing speech about honor (AROO!) and glory (AROO!), the MC fired the starting cannon and off we went.

It started off on a steep, wet, grassy climb and I spent that time weaving in and out of the crowd as I made my way to the top (heavy breathing already - geez, I'm already winded). At the top of the hill we had to jump over some burning brush (the website makes it sound like a raging inferno but in reality it was a 16 inch low burning pile of hay; which I jumped across with all the bravado of someone who will tell stories later that it was a raging inferno) before entering the downhill single-track. At this point in the race it was still rather crowded and the confinement of the trail made it worse still; but thankfully I had strategically placed myself behind a curvy brunette wearing a matching sports bra and shorts. It would be rude to pass her so I resigned myself to simply follow closely behind, you know, in case she fell backward. I was there to protect her. Chivalrous, I know.

The single track finally opened up into a forest mud run with the first real obstacle, a small cargo net which we needed to flip over rather then climb up. The net lead directly into a mud pit and, judging by how far we sank, it was at least 18 inches deep. Many people lost their shoes that day and we were barely a mile into the race. Thankfully I was not one of those because I run in Vibrams. Just another reason why I love my feet.

The mud pits were followed by a very steep hill crawl. I say crawl because at times my hands and feet were touching the trail at the same time but I was still standing. That steep. The top of the trail opened into a grassy field and more obstacles. We had 4 foot walls to jump over (think Parkour but with far less grace and skill and more tripping), an 8 foot wall to climb (yeah, big 6 foot tall muscle head that reminds me of a Greek statue... that's right, I just passed you because you can't climb, bitch... yes, this is what I was saying... in my head) , a mud pit to crawl through (while I dove into it with reckless joy I did notice that many of the men, not the women, were quite hesitant on getting themselves muddy... geez, it's only mud... mixed with the blood and sweat of those before you), and a wall to climb across.

When we completed the wall it was a short run through the field, into the final mud pit, back down the hill we climbed at the beginning (javelin throw added into the middle of the hill because, hey, it's not a real race without throwing a pointy weapon), over one more slippery wall, and across the finish line where groups of spartan-costumed ladies with short skirts and an impressive decolletages were handing out medals.

I began the race clean and pristine but by the end there wasn't an inch of me that wasn't covered with mud, dirt, and grime. Throw in a few scrapes and bloody knees for good measure and we can call it a day! I had done it. I completed my first race ever and thoroughly enjoyed it! In the end what made the experience real for me wasn't the course. It was the camaraderie. Perfect strangers from all walks of life high-fiving, patting you on your back, giving out hugs (yes, even from the sweaty, muddy hot chicks), and congratulating you on a job well done. No bravado. No posturing. No bragging. Just good ole' fashion true sportsmanship welcoming you into a community of insane, muddy, adrenaline junky, crackpots. AROO!

(coming next: “Addicted much?”)

And so it begins...

I have been meaning to write something about my ongoing adventures for awhile but stuff always seemed to get in my way: laziness, adolescent attention span, something shiny, girls, etc.

My latest endeavors (read: distraction from terminal adultness)... obstacle course races. Time to play a little catch up.

In the summer of 2010 a friend told me about a new event coming into the area called the Spartan Race. For those unfamiliar with these new races, like the Spartan Race, Warrior Dash, Ruckus, Tough Mudder, et al, it is a run/obstacle course of varying length over various terrain filled with various obstacles which, if the race creators have their way, hurt... um, challenge you in various ways.

I had become jaded with my current activities, which mainly consisted of cycling, running, swimming, and gym time. A casual observing might infer that I was a triathlete in training or some other such nonsense but the keen voyeur would correctly assess that all activities have no real goal except that I get to wear spandex.

I had always played around with the idea of entering a cycling or running race just to see how I would fare against those type-A athletes who live, eat, breathe, and poop their sport of choice, but never got around (read: never found the time to click Register Here) to put myself out there with the masses to test my mettle. It was time I did!

… and so I entered my first race ever... the Spartan Race.

(coming next: “What Do You Get When You Mix Mud, Sweat, and Hot Chicks?”)

Welcome

I am a modern day couch warrior. I work my 40+. I raise my kids. I love my wife. I fix what breaks, mow my lawn, and wash the dog. Somewhere in there I try to find time to run, ride, lift, and swim. Well, at least, sometimes I do. Most of the time I think about it, hurt myself, and fake the rest. If asked I will tell you I do it all to stay fit, but to be honest it's more than that. It's the vanity, yes. It's the distraction from responsibility, sure. Most of all, though, it's the never-ending battle with my life long nemesis... aging. People are told to age gracefully which is the mature and sensible to do. To them I say, "Bah!" I will do it kicking and screaming. If you are like me, then you know what I mean. To you I say: "Age aggressively, my friend. Age aggressively!"