Event review: Spartan Sprint - Burnet, TX

I had no words to describe the race I'd just completed, immediately after finishing the South Texas Spartan Sprint. No words...because talking, or even thinking, hurt too much. This race was hands-down the hardest thing I've ever done. And I've spent 18.5 hours birthing a child without medication. If I had known what was waiting for me at this thing, I would have not signed up. It would have been an absolute "no way, I am not capable of completing a race like that." So it's definitely a good thing I didn't know what awaited me in Burnet, because even though I've never been this sore, I've also never felt this accomplished.

Just to give an illustration of how very much this race kicked my butt, it took me three and a half hours to get through this course. When I did the supposedly comparable Warrior Dash last fall, in arguably worse shape than I'm in now, I completed that course in an hour and nine minutes. I've seen some debates online about the comparative toughness of different mud runs and obstacle races, and now that I've done the Spartan, I'll venture to say any Spartan race is far, far harder than any other race of a similar distance. I think this was primarily because any obstacles you couldn't do required burpees, but the obstacles themselves were also much harder, and the race itself was longer than promised and over worse terrain as well.

I learned three important lessons yesterday, so hopefully the degree of having my butt kicked by a race will decrease in the future:
1)  Wear good shoes. No matter how muddy they will get. Never, under any circumstances, wear shoes you plan to throw away because they don't support your feet as well as your expensive shoes.
2)  NEVER EVER EVER race in the afternoon. Morning only, or not at all.
3)  Don't start a race fatigued, hungry, or thirsty.

So with that in mind...here is a recap of the day:

The kids and I arrived in Burnet at 8:30. By the time we'd parked, gotten shuttled to the race site, filled out waivers, checked bags, etc., it was nearly 9:30. We walked around a bit and then headed over to the finish line area to wait for a friend of mine, who was running in the 9 am heat. The kids spent a good amount of time taunting the gladiators at the finish line, daring them to hit harder, and informing them that when I came through later they had better hit me HARD. I reminded them I am the provider of birthday and Christmas presents, and I have a memory like an elephant.

My friend finished in about an hour and 45 minutes, and I knew at that point this race was going to be super hard. The top women's finisher did the race in about the same time I did Warrior Dash last year, so I knew I'd take longer than anticipated to complete the race. I guessed it would take me over two hours, so my plans of leaving the kids with my friend to go do my own race before the kids' races went out the window at that point--it was nearly 11 am and their races started at 12. I gave them all water and snacks and we just hung out awhile before heading over to the kids' area.

Brian's race was first, as he was going to do the full mile. That group was supposed to start at 12:10, but the kids heard all the hoopla going on at the grownups' noon heat and, not facing that direction, thought it was directed at themselves--so when the announcer said to go, off the kids went. The organizers tried to tell the kids not to run yet, but since the entire front group had stampeded out, they shrugged and moved aside and just let the race start early. The kids ran out a ways, and then completed some junior versions of obstacles from the adult race--scrambling over mud hills and into mud pits, climbing wooden walls, crawling or rolling under rope, and more. Brian emerged at the finish line muddy but victorious--it looked like he'd had a great time.

I got him to the shower area (multiple hoses dangling from an overhead grid) just in time to collect Chris and Erin for their race. They ran a half mile course, though I heard they ran through it twice to make a full mile, but Brian disputes that. (His words: "Chris says he did it twice and was FINE after, but there's no way, because I did the full mile and I was exhausted afterwards because it was really hard! There's no way he could have done that much and been fine if I wasn't!) Again, happy muddiness ensued, and the kids emerged filthy but grinning.

I spent all my remaining money on food and drink tokens for the kids, and realized too late that I hadn't eaten anything but a Cliff bar and would be racing on a much-too-empty stomach. With no time to fix that, I headed over to where the next heat was about to be sent off...and realized that I was already turning pink from the sun I didn't expect to still be out in. Some SPF 100 lotion was sprayed on me, and, satisfied that would at least hold off more sunburn till I found myself neck-deep in mud, I joined the assembled racers. There was hype, and smoke, and shouts of "I AM SPARTAN!"...and then off we went.

I started off at a nice, slow jog, since my friend had told me the course felt much longer than the supposed 3 miles it had been advertised as. Even that proved to be too much about a mile in. The heat of the sun beating down on me soon had me hot and parched, and I knew if I was going to get through the obstacles, I'd better conserve my strength and not get myself heatstroke on the way there. I found myself walking uphill along a narrow trail lined by wildflowers, then scrambling across large, flat boulders, then wading through a creek with dirty water up to my waist. Seriously--the race trail went straight through a creek, over and over again. Not crossing a creek, not following alongside a creek...the trail WAS the creek. And every time the trail allowed me to emerge onto dry ground, my shoes were filled with little pebbles that had been on the creek bottom and decided instead to lodge themselves in my shoes. Dumping them out made no difference, though, because the entire area was a barren, rocky wasteland with small rocks all over the trail...and my shoes let me feel each and every one.

I felt like I'd already had an adventure by the time I got to the first obstacle--a series of chest-high wooden walls to go over. I made it over those alone by hoisting myself up and over, but the next obstacles--effectively the same but taller--I couldn't do alone. A few other girls there with me came to the same conclusion, and we boosted each other over and used the A-frame holding up the wall to assist ourselves in getting over, went under, then over again, under, and through. Burpees avoided. Off we went. I soon found myself alone again.

The next set of obstacles (I think...my memory of which ones were where along the course is fuzzy now) involved yet more walls (boosts and assists required), then monkey bars, then a balancing act...and then a water station, which I desperately needed at this point. It felt like I hadn't had a drink in weeks. I was boosted over the walls, then attempted the monkey bars and fell off. "It's amazing how easy those are when you're 8...and how hard they are when you're not!" I remarked to the obstacle volunteer as I began my first-ever set of burpees.

This was the next surprise thrown at me--not only was the race longer than I'd expected, but instead of 20 burpees if you couldn't do an obstacle, it was 30. THIRTY. It took me 7 to realize that never having done one in my life would not be an asset here. I'd figured they couldn't be that big a deal, as you pretty much only have to get down in planking position and then stand back up again with a little hop...but after 15 I was ready to never do one again in my life. Unfortunately I still had 15 more to go. I knocked them out in sets of 5 and 10, and, exhausted and still parched, headed in the direction of the water...only to be faced with the next obstacle: a series of wooden posts about one to two feet high and four inches or so in diameter. The idea was to walk across them without falling off. Falling, of course, meant burpees.

I could have cried. All I wanted was to drink some water and lie down, and instead I had to somehow take my exhausted body and make it walk/jump across wooden posts without falling. I knew I wouldn't make it and knew I had no strength for burpees...so I waited. After resting about 5 minutes I figured I could probably make it through some burpees again, so I put my foot on the first post and stepped off towards the second...and didn't fall. And kept going. The trick seemed to be to just stay in motion, as the posts weren't wide enough to stand on with two feet and I knew I'd lose my balance if I tried standing on just one leg. So I just kept on moving, and was surprised when I found myself safely across. No burpees this time--just an incredible sense of accomplishment for having completed what I'd thought was impossible. With my ego boosted and my thirst quenched by at least 5 cups of water from the aid station, I continued on my way.

By this point in time I had decided the Spartan Sprint was actually a Spartan Slow Trek Through A Hot, Barren Wasteland, and accepted that I was going to be passed by later heats. The 2 pm heat had caught up to me by the monkey bars, and it wasn't long before I heard a few 2:30 runners going through as well. But all this lapping meant I was constantly having strong guys coming my way, which paid off at each obstacle, since nearly all of them left me needing boosts. There was a small lake we had to do an over-under-over through...over a row of floating cargo cases, then under a row of them, then over a row of even larger ones. I did the first over by myself, made myself submerge my head in the brown water to go under the next set, and then needed a boost to get over the last one. There was also a series of what looked like hitching posts to get over. Some guys succeeded in running up to them and then vaulting over. I used some guy's hand as a step...but hey, anything that leaves me over the obstacle and avoiding burpees is a success in my book.

At some point we came to a long tunnel to crawl through. I think we had just rolled under ropes or barbed wire or something before that, but I don't remember for sure. I just remember coming out of one thing to see a long concrete tunnel looming in front of me, with a few claustrophobic girls straight-up opting for burpees instead. I was fine with the enclosed space, mostly, but seriously lacked the strength to get through the tunnel. I sat, contemplating, but remembered I'd told myself to at least attempt everything...so into the tunnel I crawled. It was slightly too small for hands and knees, so I tried a low crawl...and quickly discovered I can low crawl in increments of about half an inch. I flipped to my back and tried pushing myself through that way, but the sand inside the tunnel scraped my sunburned back and I flipped back over to low crawl...only to realize again that I was barely moving. I kept flipping like that, trying to find a way to move faster and failing...and kept proclaiming how sorry I was to be going so slowly to all the people in the tunnel behind me, most of whom were kind, but one of whom was a clearly impatient girl who did not want to "die stuck in that tunnel" and wanted me to hurry the heck up. It was pretty obvious her shouts of "encouragement" were really shouts to hurry up and get the eff out of her way.

After what seemed like forever, I made it out of the 100 yards or so of tunnel and had to climb up a cliff, or so the trail seemed. Then more trail walking. I'd heard we didn't have too much longer to go--that first aid station had been the halfway point and there was another water station coming up soon. I felt like I was going to puke, but I kept going, made it to the water, and rehydrated.

More obstacles after this point included a cargo net to climb, a tire to flip, lumps of concrete to carry or drag a set distance, and more walls to climb over--these ones easily 10 or 12 feet tall. I was determined to just go do the burpees, but a few guys behind me wouldn't let me. "It's just like Tough Mudder!" they exclaimed, promising me that I could for-sure get over if they just gave me a boost. They didn't know how exhausted I was and how little upper body strength I still had in me, I thought, but allowed them to try boosting me over. I made it over the first wall only to encounter the second, higher one, but with one guy's hand and one guy's shoulder to stand on, I made it to the top...and was then stuck 12 feet off the ground. They came over and gave me an assist back down, too. I was grateful, because burpees suck.

My happiness at avoiding burpees lasted approximately two minutes, because while I gave the next obstacle--a wooden wall to cross horizontally with the use of wooden foot and hand holds--a valiant effort, I fell off a little more than halfway across. That was farther than a lot of people made it, actually, but not enough to get to the bell at the end...so more burpees it was. This made sixty, and I was by no means done.

A series of mud pits followed--over a hill of dirt, into waist-deep mud, over the next hill of dirt, back into waist-deep mud, etc. There'd be four or five of these pits, and then more trail, then another series of mud pits--I don't remember how many times I had to do this, just that it was a lot, and every time I went into a pit of mud, my foot started cramping and I couldn't walk. That made it take far too long to get through what would have otherwise been a welcome, relatively easy obstacle. I had to limp awhile after that and contemplated asking to be removed to a first aid tent. I gave it a good try, I thought, but was clearly too hurt and tired to continue. I mentally swore off future events, even running at all. I knew my upcoming goruck challenge was going to be too much. I questioned my sanity in signing up for it, decided I was done with anything athletic, and pondered collapsing to die along the trail. I kept going.

I was lapped by guys from the 3 pm heat. I tried at that point to jog a little but it was too much. I walked on and came to a hill where we had to lug a heavy sandbag up the hill, around a tree, and back down. "Men and Spartan women over here," a volunteer shouted while pointing to larger, heavier sandbags..."little girls on this side," he continued, pointing at a pile of smaller, less-heavy-but-by-no-means-light sandbags. Every other person in the area opted for the heavier bag. I shamelessly proclaimed myself a little girl and grabbed the lighter one. I felt puke-ish again and didn't know how I'd get myself, let alone the bag, up the hill and back down again, but set one foot in front of the other and just stared at my feet as I plodded along, not wanting to look at the distance.

At some point, I can't remember whether it was before the sandbags or after, there was an obstacle where you pull a rope and lift a concrete block up to the top. I found it surprisingly easy--guys were advising me to just sit down and use my whole body weight, but my block was already at the top, so I got to drop it instead. Moments where I found myself completing obstacles quickly and unaided were few and far between, so I relished my small victory here.

Soon I was back nearing the ending area of the race. There was more dirt hill-mud pit stuff to get through, and then a rope climb. Merely grabbing the rope and trying to get my feet on the bottom of it let me know there was absolutely no way I'd get to the top, so I saved my strength and headed for Burpee Row. This made 90. I was ready, again, to just collapse and die on the spot, but heard my kids shouting "6600!" (my race number) "Go 6600, you can do it!" Somehow, that cheering (and a carton of coconut water given to me by a volunteer) allowed me to finish the burpees and move on.

Next was the fire jump. I was worried that I was too tired to jump, but it's amazing how high even fatigued legs will go when something like fire is below them. After that, a walk across a log without falling into water--also successful in spite of how fatigued I was. I had been out there for three hours at this point. Next the javelin throw. I tried hard and did hit the hay bale with my spear, but it didn't stick, and bouncing off is the same as missing. More burpees. I completed them in sets of five, my legs barely moving backwards three inches each time, but I got them done and moved on. I had hoped nothing else hard was in my way...I just wanted to roll under all the barbed wire and finish--but there was one more wall to get over. After wading through neck-deep water.

This wall was sloped, and had a rope for assistance, but since everyone was coming out of muddy water it was wet and slippery. I grabbed the rope and hauled myself up, using my feet to brace myself but doing all the climbing work with my hands, and made it pretty easily up to the top. This felt good, considering all the strong guys around me were slipping and falling back into the water...but I needed both hands on the rope to keep myself there and couldn't let go to grab the top of the wall and hoist myself over to the ladder on the other side. I wound up rappelling back down into the water. The race volunteer moved himself over to my area...and grabbed a bottle of dish soap. I about died. "What are you going to do with that?" I called up to him. "Exactly what it looks like," he said. "To the guy behind me, right?" I asked. "I'll wait for you," he said, then offered me a hand. After ensuring he was going to actually help me and not let go at the last minute, I started back up the rope, grabbed his hand, and was pulled over the top. I thanked him profusely for the help...and for not pouring dish soap in my path.

Finally, after over three hours in scorching heat, I was at the end. I just had to crawl or roll under barbed wire and I'd be done. I opted to roll, as I could cover MUCH more ground that way, but soon was in excruciating pain because my sunburned back felt like it was being scratched and stuck with knives as I rolled over the rocks and sticks that were in the mud. It took forever, but lots of people were cheering and shouting encouraging things at all of us and I could see my kids and friend there cheering me on as well. I ignored the pain, telling myself to hurt later and just get the eff out of the barbed wire. On I rolled. Finally I was at the end, crawling out from under the wire. I had finished! Well--there was still the matter of those gladiators, but I was willing to be hit to get to that finish line. I held up my hands in a "go ahead and do what you must" motion. One guy whacked me lightly. The next got me pretty hard in the stomach, did a double-take, and said "Hey, I remember you!" I agreed that I was the one with the wonderful children, mentally resolved to dock them at least one birthday gift apiece, held my hands up, and crossed the finish line where I received my medal and t-shirt.

My official time was 3:32:05. I was sure I was dead last--not in my heat, that much was obvious, but altogether...but it turns out there were 24 other people who finished after me. A few even took an entire hour longer to finish than I did, so I wasn't quite as entirely out of my element as I thought.

I was sunburned, scraped, bruised, and exhuasted...but I finished. I completed a Spartan Sprint, and only missed four obstacles. Completing 120 burpees was pretty much horrific, but I did them. And did countless other obstacles successfully, with or without help. I absolutely will not sign up for another Spartan race in my current condition--which I had thought was decent but CLEARLY is not the kind of shape I need to be in for one of these--but I am so friggin' proud of myself for sticking with it and having the sheer determination, if not the strength or even the endurance, to pull this thing off. I told the race to bring it, and "bring it" it did...but I did it. I DID IT. And that's enough.