Last year, I attended a training event with the GORUCK cadre. They constantly reminded us to look after our fellow trainees and look after the group above looking out for ourselves. The most common mistake on this was at meal times, going back for seconds before everyone had gone through the first time. 

This offense was met with a cadre yelling across the dining tent, “BUDDY F**KER!!!! HOLD UP YOUR SAMMICH!!!” and having to hold your food high over your head until everyone had been through the line.

I have been seeing a few things at recent races that remind me of this.

When I was doing my volunteer time in Quebec, a young man approached me for help, having injured himself on the Hercules Hoist. The rope had slipped and ripped a good portion of the skin off of his hands. I couldn’t quite visualize how this had gone wrong, until I came to the same obstacle at Utah. The first ten feet of rope were coated and infused with mud. Everything at a Spartan race gets muddy, but this was mud so ground in that it was almost as if the rope had been greased. It took all I had to keep a grip and get it off the ground, and to keep it from rope burning my hands when I got back to the greased section of rope.

I couldn’t figure out what was causing this, until I saw one of my fellow racers lowering the weight by standing on the rope, grinding all the mud from her shoes onto and into the rope. I admit that this caused me to say a few things out loud that politeness would tell me to keep inside my head.

Racing is an individual sport, but think of the people on the course with you. We all find the methods that work best to get us through, but also think of what you are doing to the racer behind you. Don’t screw over your buddy for your own advantage.

This shows most in the little details. Do you step out of the way when you hear a faster runner coming behind you? Do you continue standing at the water table, or grab your drink and step out of the way? 

Do you encourage your fellow athletes to be their best, or just encourage them to think that YOU are awesome?

There is another disturbing trend that I have seen increasing of late, and it does no one any good. There are always different schools of thought for any endeavor, but lately it has descended into tribal warfare.

Anyone who does not work out as hard as you is a wimp. If they work out harder than you, they’re a meathead. Marathoners are elitist snobs. Obstacle racers are half-assed weekend warriors just doing it for the beer. Bodybuilders only want their muscles for decoration. MMA fighters are brutish neanderthals. People who encourage their comrades on with jeers of, “Don’t be a pussy!” are sexist jerks. Those who are offended by such jeers are, well, pussies.

We are each on our own path. If the person next to you is on the path that helps them be the best that they can be, encourage that. Even if it does not coincide with your path. Because their path may not be right for you, and yours may not be right for them. If they are doing good work, acknowledge that it is good work.

There is a particular instance of this that I need to give further attention.

“If you have not trained for it (as much as the speaker has) then you shouldn’t be there.”

“If you don’t have what it takes, don’t bother showing up.”

“If your marathon time is over 5 hours, you didn’t REALLY run it.”

If you have never, ever shown up for an event under-trained, your goals are too easy. Yes, you should pick a goal and train for it with all you have. But life gets in the way. We have to take time off for injuries. We don’t improve as quickly as we had hoped.

If you’ve paid for an event, gotten the time off work, trained as well as you could, and you’re not sure you can do it…Don’t you at least want to see it? See what you can and can’t do? See first hand what you are up against, so you can better plan to kick its ass next time?

If you stumble through and barely finish, hold your head high. A finish is a finish, and the ones you barely complete are the ones you learn the most from.

If you try and fail, that’s fine. Get up, dust yourself off, adjust your training, and go after it again. 

And if you finish well, good for you. I’ll raise my glass to your accomplishment. But don’t you dare belittle those behind you, those that are still in the field as you finish your victory beer. Anyone who has the nerve to step up and give all they’ve got is worthy of your respect. We’re all in this together.

I jumped on this event the moment I learned of it. A GORUCK challenge on Omaha Beach, on the 70th anniversary of the landings. There was no way I could not do this.

We started at the Omaha Beach D Day monument, and were quickly shuffled out onto the beach to get us organized.

We had the usual starting procedures, roll call, gear check, etc. It went a little long with there being so many of us.

The one point of procedure that was not done at previous events: At the end of each set of PT, in honor of the Rangers that had given so much on this beach, we were to call out, “One for the Airborne Ranger in the sky!” and do one last rep. We were immediately given a set of pushups to start out with.

Every challenge, I have that one little point where my confidence is not quite where it should be. This time it was everyone talking about how cold the water was likely to be. Figuring for June weather, I had left my cold weather gear at home. As if on cue, at the end of that first set of pushups we were told to form one line at water’s edge and link arms.

Duck unders, followed by what I can only describe as burpees in 4 feet of water. The waves breaking over us also made this interesting. Cadre called out that some people were not fully submerging and that we would keep doing it until everyone got it right. I didn’t think I was the problem, but to be certain I did the next two chest-to-ground under the water.

We next stormed the beaches…

And split into four platoons. I ended up with first platoon. We then went through a quick training drill with each of the Cadre, covering individual movement, team movement, reaction to contact, and assaulting a bunker. One of my favorite memories from this:

Cadre: Get on line and put fire on the enemy!

Female teammate: PEW PEW PEW!!!!!

Cadre: What? There is no “pew pew” here! It is “bang bang”!

Me: BUDDAH BUDDAH BUDDAH!!!

Cadre: *facepalm*

We then moved out in formation, leaned the difference between rank and column formation, learned how to move in wedge formation, and checked out one of the remaining bunkers built into the side of a hill. Back to the beach, moving in wedge formation in the dark, responding to contact from various directions, usually doing it wrong, but getting better each time.

We moved down the beach to the memorials at two of the massive artillery bunkers.

We passed what remains of the American Mulberry Harbor.

And ran into this gentleman who gave us some additional history of what had happened here.

Moving toward Pointe Du Hoc, we came to a locked privacy fence that we were immediately ordered to go over. A local man with the combination happened by and opened it for us.

We then rucked a long way through narrow trails in wheat fields, through a reasonably intense storm with some of the brightest lightning I have ever seen.

Just as dawn broke, we reached Pointe Du Hoc, and then went down to the next protruding cliff to get a better view of exactly what scaling those cliffs required.

70 years later, the terrain still bears the marks of what happened here. We walked past numerous shell craters that you could fit a small house into.

We then moved back to a monument just inland and were given 10 minutes to tend to our feet. Then back in formation, feet up on the retaining wall, and crank out 25 pushups.

Down. 24. Down. 25. One for the boys at Pointe Du Hoc! One for the boys at Pointe Du Hoc! Down! One!

Moving back towards the beach using surface roads, moving to the side when cars approached. We covered part of the distance walking in the ditches where there was not a lot of room at roadside. It seemed appropriate, as these same ditches were likely used for cover as our forces moved inland.

We then cam to a historical camp/vehicle area at Omaha Beach, Dog Green Sector, where the phrase “Rangers lead the way” was born. Cadre pulled out a Willie’s Jeep, turned it off, and told us that we were pushing it around the camp.

25 rucktard power is an impressive amount of force. We got it up to speed, well ahead of our time hack, and Cadre hit the brakes, stopping it in the middle of a big mud puddle. Those in front pushing the jeep, those behind pushing those in front, back up to speed.

We moved in formation back to our start point, and were given one last challenge: Before 2nd platoon arrives, someone in this group must be able to name all the rest. Julie volunteers, we spend a few minutes running through roll call, and she absolutely nails it. Cadre then points at me and tells me to do the same.

Merde.

My hit rate was on the order of 25%, but the effort was accepted, and we were finished.

But there is one final task that I needed to complete. 70 years ago, my great uncle, Joe Ryan, assaulted Omaha Beach and was killed some time later in the hedgerows. And a little bit of this event needed to be brought back to him.

We’d had challenge coins made for the occasion, that I carried with me though the Challenge before distributing them to the team. I found Joe’s tombstone, wiped off a touch of dirt from the base, and put down the coin.

A wave of emotion hit me, and I was tearing up as I stood and gave a quick salute.

Rest in peace, Joe. We remember.

I usually confine my write-ups to the event, and the notes of getting there are for me only. The trip to Normandy was fun enough that I felt the need to share.

I flew into Paris, was able to speak just enough French to get directions, and found the rental car place where I was to meet the rest of the team. We learned that foreign car rentals are a point where you really and truly must do your homework, as we hit a snag regarding what documents we had with us, who was covered under the insurance that had been paid for, etc. A few hours later we got that sorted out and headed to the parking garage to find the van.

It had been listed as 7 passengers, 5 large suitcases. We soon realized that this was a typo. It should have said 7 passengers OR 5 large suitcases, not both.

One of the team went back in to inquire about adding a second vehicle to take 2 people and create room in the van. She returned shortly and curtly said, “Everybody get your sh*t in the van. 500 euros for a Smartcar.”

We played human tetris and managed to pack everyone in.

‘Merica!!

Off through the streets of Paris!

We stopped as needed to get out and stretch, usually at gas stations. In one section where we couldn’t find a place to stop, we found signs indicating a picnic table and a tree…

And that was about all that was there. But it was a place we could park, and trees provided needed cover and concealment.

As we got loaded up, someone called for a clown car selfie:

The discomfort was made a little better by the countryside we were driving past, many points of which I want to explore on a future trip.

When we reached the team house, while we were a little crushed by the lack of wifi, we were overall impressed by the house. The main structure had been standing since sometime in the 1600s and was furnished to give a very rustic but still comfortable feel. It was nice.

The details of the Challenge and the visit to Omaha Beach will be covered in the next blog post. Skipping ahead to the laundry situation created by a house full of 16 rucktards after a challenge:

The insane clown car posse that I had ridden out with were happy that I was to leave a day early and create a little more room in the car. I and one of my teammates were able to find a train from the small town we were near to Caen and then on to Paris.

The original plan had been to walk it to the Eiffel Tower and the Arch of Triumph from the train station. At this point I was tired, feet in terrible shape, and walking like a penguin due to chafing. I threw away the steel plates that I had used for weight for the challenge, and we decided to just say screw it and find the hotel.

We took the trains to the airport and found a cab. Paris cabbies do not deserve the grumpy reputation. Of all the places I have been, I have never had a cabbie offer me donuts before this.

A few hours sleep, catch the hotel shuttle back to the airport, and wish my teammate farewell as we split up to find our flights. First flight was a short hop to Dublin. I love Dublin’s airport. Free unlimited wifi, this place:

to plug in your electronics and keep you connected with home, and a truly awesome little breakfast place.

The down side is the redundant security checkpoints, as the EU, the rest of the EU, and the Americans can’t agree on standards. French security, on the plane, off the plane, Irish Security, walk 5 feet, American Security and Customs. A bright spot at Customs. I mentioned that the purpose of the trip had been for a D Day anniversary event. My customs official was former military and understood the significance of it. He looked at my declaration form and said wistfully, “Oh, you picked up some patches…”

I had them strapped to my hip along with my passport, so I got them out to share.

He smiled and simply said, “Treasure those!”

The long flight back to Chicago. Part of the El train was shut down for repairs, so from the airport I took a train that dropped me at a bus, which took me to another train, which took me to the bus station to get back home.

My apartment only has on-street parking, so I had made arrangements to park my car at my gym while I was out of country. Being dropped off at the Greyhound station at 4 AM, carry 40 pounds of gear the half mile back to my apartment, then a 4 mile penguin shuffle to go get the car. I was actually impressed that I was able to keep steady 16 minute miles in that condition.

I have fought for years to not have a bucket list. I see them all the time, places where people send their dreams to die. Write it down to do, then never get to it.

But two events have caused me to change this.

I recently failed in my quest to run 1000 miles in one year, and had to restart. Poor organisation from the start, not keeping up with it and letting it get away from me. I restarted with better organisation and am already significantly ahead of schedule.

A long-term goal presented itself, something audacious and awesome enough that I really have no choice but to go after it. I learned of the Spartathlon, the annual race tracing the route of Phidippides from Athens to Sparta, 250 km, 155 miles, ending at the big statue of King Leonidas. In 6 years, it will be the 2500th anniversary of Leonidas’ death. If I was looking for a date to do it, I’ve found my date.

A goal this big, with qualifying races, requires a plan to keep on track, to not let the time get away from you.

This list will doubtless require additions and rework as time passes (so this post will be edited a lot), but here it goes:

2014:

In addition to all the things already on my docket, complete a 50M race and qualify for a GR Heavy.

2015:

Complete a 100M.

2016:

Complete a GR Heavy

Complete a 100K at Spartathlon-limit pace.

Complete all four DWD ultras.

Snow Drop 55 hour.

2017:

Complete a 200K

100th anniversary of US entry into WWI. Do Tough Guy in WWI gear.

2018: Complete a 200K at pace

2019: Complete 280K in under 48 hours

2020: SPARTA!!!!!

Ambitious? Audacious? Definately.

Silly to even consider based on where I am at now? Perhaps.

But no one grows by staying comfortable. We need goals that we can’t achieve. They force us to grow into someone who can.

Post script: Bucket list items that I have not yet assigned a date:

Complete the SISU 1000 and SISU Wow challenge- May do during my race-free time late this year.

Learn to ride a horse.

Complete a Civilian-Military-Combine event.

Complete the Ultimate Suck.

Earn the Goruck 1000/1250 club patches.

Achieve and maintain 220 AQT score.

I planned to put a couple 50K trail runs into my race schedule as I work up to the Spartan Ultra Beast. Gnaw Bone was reputed to have the roughest trails in all of Indiana, which was just what I was hoping for. As it turned out, it would over-deliver in terms of a Spartan training run.

Note: I didn’t get any photos at this event. All photos stolen from the event Facebook page.

Arrived at 0MG early, found the bag drops, chatted with the other racers, and followed the crowd when we were all directed toward the starting line. Quick announcements and well wishes, and we were off.

We started out on gravel, crossed a paved road into the state park, and then the trails got awesome. Steep hills that seemed to go on forever, fallen trees across the path, more stream crossings than anyone can keep track of (mostly rock-to-rock jumping type of streams).

About mile 6 a thunderstorm blew through. Windy, pouring rain, reduced visibility and was soaked to the skin with water sloshing in my shoes within 5 minutes.

Keep going, walk when you have to and run when you can. I started counting off paces to make sure that I was running/shuffling at least a little more than I was walking.

I particularly enjoyed some of the structures in the park that they ran us over, log bridges and paths made out of split wood.

Less pleasant were the stairways near the end that seemed to go on forever.

When I hit the aide station just before Mile 18, I was off of my goal pace but still on track for a PR, and was informed that the bag drop where I could change into dry shoes was only 2 miles away.

Left the aide station at a good pace, covered a mile or more of trails, and was surprised to meet a group of racers walking in the opposite direction.

“We’re lost. Trail ends half a mile ahead.”

Well darn.

We went back the way we had come, found the turn that we had all missed, and continued on our way. Perhaps it was only 2 miles to the next station, but it was 2 miles of nearly straight up. I passed a racer from FLorida who mentioned that she had no way to describe this terrain to friends back home.

Just before the checkpoint, I met the last-place marathoner and was able to encourage her on her way (she did finish). Refill my camelback, check the condition of my feet (not good but okay) and get fresh footwear.

It was after this station that the terrain truly got Spartan-worthy. One steep slope they sent us up was so steep and slick that I was literally bear-crawling and grabbing at trees to make my way up it.

My feet and my fighting spirit went downhill badly in that last ten miles. Blisters got worse and I had trouble even pushing myself to even a slow run. What really surprised me was when they put us in the water. I didn’t know non-OCR races did that.

The memory that had an impact on me from this race came at the very end. Somehow the path to the 50K finish lead me through a staging area for the 10Kers about to take off. At this point I was feeling pretty down and embarrassed, more than an hour past my previous time, noticeably limping. All I could see in myself was how far short of my goal I had fallen today.

The 10K racers looked at me and all they saw was, given the pain I was in, I was still moving forward. They didn’t just encourage me along, they put up a cheer that could have been heard a mile away.

I came over a small rise and saw the finish line, and did the best I could to sprint the rest of the way.

This was without a doubt the ugliest piece of running I have ever done. Right and left strides uneven, posture lopsided, it felt like my left foot was hitting sideways. The cheers from the finish line hit me like and electric shock and I pushed through even faster.

Medal, banana, some very good free beer.

My girlfriend had asked me to check in when I was done. My terse message sums up how I was feeling at that point:

“Vitamin I. Waffles.”

And yes, I wore my finisher’s medal to Waffle House.

No matter how I did on time and pace this course, I learned a lot that will help with future races.

Carrying nutritional shakes to keep your energy up worked out perfectly. While my blister-prevention protocol has improved drastically since the HUFF, it still needs work. And I still need to spend less time on the pavement and more in the mud.

This was one of a very few events that I have signed up for recently that truly frightened me. I remember staring blankly at the computer screen for a few minutes after I registered, thinking, “What did I just do? I think I just went full rucktard. NEVER go full rucktard…”

The day arrived and I brought the 130 pounds of required gear to the staging area. Joe and Nicole Decker, two of the most motivating and badass individuals that you are ever likely to meet, explained the event to us and checked all of our gear.

We stood at attention for the national anthem, then started our warm up with a jog along the trails that we would become good friends with later in the night. We reached a campsite near a bridge and were given the rest of the warmup: Go through the stream:

Up the far bank, across the road, through the stream on the other side of the bridge:

Then go back to your assigned table, do 50 pushups with your feet up, 50 situps, and 50 dips.

Then go through the stream again and do 40 of each, then 30, 20, 10, through the stream one more time and back to base camp.

By the end of this I was solidly in last place. I knew I was going to be one of the weaker athletes but didn’t think it would be that blatant. I put it out of my mind and shuffled back toward camp. Along the way was a series of logs that had to be lifted before you could move on.

Back to base camp, load up the ruck with 50 pound sandbag, sledge hammer, and a car tire, and off to do a lap around the lake and back to camp.

I would later find out that the car tire was included in the packing list for one reason and one reason only: It is ridiculously clumsy to carry. Add to that that the terrain around the lake was your choice of sucking mud or nearly impassible brambles, and it soon got dark enough that I couldn’t see well enough to tell how bad the brambles were.

Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that this is an overnight operation, for no other reason than to make a grueling event that much harder. The lack of visibility messes with your head, with your ability to gauge time and distance. You will be given a new task to complete as soon as you finish the task before it. Everyone works at their own pace, so the leader may well have completed twice the number of challenges as the last finisher. There is a minimum number to get through to be considered a successful finisher, but no one will tell you what that is. You can’t slack off knowing you have enough, you just have to push like hell and hope it is enough.

After slogging around the lake and finding out what it is like to fall on your face in deep mud with 80 pounds holding you down (twice), I made it back to base camp. OK, drop your ruck, go that way, you will see the volunteers and they will explain your next task.

I can’t tell from the dark what the distance was, but I figured out from the racers ahead of me what the next task would be: Cover the entire distance back by burpee frog hops. 

Grunted that out, back to camp, and was given the strongman circuit. 25 each: Sandbag squats:

Tire flips

Log flips

And kettlebell swings

Then I was sent on the longest farmer carry I have ever seen, heard, or thought about. Buckets unevenly weighted and one of them full of water, so I had to be careful not to spill it.

It is an individual, not team event, but there is still the camaraderie and encouragement as racers pass each other. That helped a lot through the night.

Drop off buckets, go back to do the strongman circuit again and bring my ruck back. At this point the volunteer informed me that I needed to step it up if I wanted to stay in it. I have no idea how to step it up with 80 pounds of gear over rough terrain, but I did my best.

Was then given 3 exercises with the sandbag, to do 50 reps of each. Joe and Nicole were manning this checkpoint, so I inquired how narrowly I was still in the game.

I have to confess here: I am not as mentally strong as I am often thought to be. The shorter version of the Suck, called the Gut Check Challenge, was scheduled for the next morning but had been absorbed into the 12-hour event. The one runner still in it simply got done before the rest of us and got the 4 hour medal instead of the 12 hour challenge coin. I honestly considered asking them to drop be down to the 4 hour challenge, try to go home and not have to take the DNF.

But Joe and Nicole encouraged me on, told me if I knocked out the sandbag exercises well that I could continue, so I went after them for all I was worth.

More insane carrying distances in the dark. Memories get fuzzy, all sense of time and distance goes away. Just keep moving forward.

When I reached what I was told was my last checkpoint, I was told to help another racer get his gear loaded up, then to haul ass and get myself and all my gear back to base camp.

The other racer was in rough shape, having major back problems and just generally worn out. I figured that I was risking my shot at finishing, but if he fell forward with all his gear on, I doubted if he could get back up on his own. I stayed with him, encouraged him on, at one point prayed with him. The tire on his pack was the main thing causing him trouble, so I talked him into letting me take that until we got back to my ruck (at this point, due to having completed different challenges during the night, he had all his gear and I only had my bucket with sandbag).

We got back to my ruck, loaded everything up, and quickly found that there was no good way to do this. All the gear was too heavy, too clumsy, and we were too worn out. The best solution we could come up with was we each had our pack, one would hand carry both tires, and the other would hand carry both buckets. When the guy carrying the buckets couldn’t go anymore, we switch out or take a rest.

Another, more experienced, racer stopped and encouraged us on. Some of the things he said along the way will stick with me.

Some are here to race, and some are here to push themselves. You’re running a different race, and that’s okay.

It doesn’t need to be fun to be fun.

Dude, this is hard. You don’t have to be embarrassed about how you are doing. This is a tough race.

We were met by the wife of one of the racers about a mile from base camp. She also encouraged us on, and told us not to stop the buckets in the last stretch where we could be seen. The other racer took both buckets as far as he could, I did the quickest tire hand off of the night and took them the rest of the way.

We were then told drop your gear, one challenge left, follow me, don’t think about it. About 5 minutes later we were covering 100 yards by burpee leaps.

And yes, they gave us a pretty pink finish line ribbon.

Crossing the finish as a group, knowing we had made it. Lots of hugs, glow of accomplishment, and beer and bagels around the campfire, and the challenge coin ceremony.

This was without a doubt the toughest event I have ever done. And most certainly I will be doing it again.

ALWAYS go full Rucktard.

This race each year will always be my benchmark. I have been an athlete for two years now.

I grabbed breakfast at the hotel with some of my fellow Hurricane Heaters from the night before, picked up my team T shirt for the race, found a new carrier for the traveling jersey, and found the man I had agreed to battle-buddy through the course.

We assembled in the starting corral, were given a rousing sendoff by the MC and the heads of Corn Fed Spartans, and we were off.

The first little bit was fun but not particularly notable, hilly trails, the typical over-under-through and medium-height wall obstacles, all cleared without a problem. The first item of note was the bog that we had done the Braveheart charge across the night before.

A foot of water over 3 feet of slop, nearly impossible to walk through. I found it easier to drop to all fours and half crawl half swim my way through it. We slowed to a walk for a bit after that, but as the mud dried we were able to increase to a shuffle along the trails.

The barbed wire crawl on this course was a mess. Slick clay mud, uphill, sloppy beyond anything I can describe. On one particularly difficult slope, we ended up with a system of 5 people to get the job done: the person moving up the slope has one person pushing from below and one person pulling from above. Each of these people has another to anchor them from sliding back down the hill. 

My battle buddy and I got through the worst of it and each stayed a few minutes helping those behind us before moving on.

Next big obstacle was the inverse wall, my favorite. I did not do quite as epic a job on helping others on this as I did in Vegas, but we helped a few over before clearing it ourselves.

We then had to climb the ladders to the structure above the rope climb, walk across open slats to the other side, and climb down. This is my zone, I am very comfortable with things like this, so I stopped to help steady a young lady who was stopped in fear of the height. “Easy. Walk normally. These slats aren’t really wide enough to fall through.”

Got her to the far side, then down and waded across a pond. The bank where we had to get out was too sheer to climb, but the racers ahead of us offered a hand and got us out. We then turned around to help those behind us, and a friend passing (a big guy referred to as the Bling King) made a joke of trying to pull me back in. It was all in fun, he kept me from falling, I helped him out, and we moved on to the cargo net, which we cleared without issue.

Memories of order get a little fuzzy in mid-course. Typical obstacles, tractor pull, sandbag carry.

At the monkey bars, we both wanted to have a go at seeing how far we could get before needing assistance, but doubted whether we would have time to get a spotter in place before losing grip, so we just said screw it and assisted each other across.

More steep trails, mud pits, helping one racer retrieve her shoe from the mud, and came to the final volley of obstacles.

The Hercules hoist was much heavier this time, 115 pounds. I had to revert to dropping my body weight to get it up, but I got it done.

We went on to the rope climb. I had spent all my grip strength on the hoist, so I made it about 5 feet up the rope. 3×10 burpees and on to the traverse wall. I explained to my battle how to spot me across, made it, then went back and spotted him.

People in front of us were having a rough time of the slick wall. I made it up and over, and spent probably 10 minutes helping those behind me. And I was lucky enough to have it caught on camera, in the upper left corner.

I told the last man I helped over to help the man behind him so I could go and climbed down. I made eye contact with my battle, yelled, “Talley ho!” and we charged across the fire and the finish line.

As always, a great time and a good challenge. Can’t wait to see what they have in store for me next year.

The Indiana Spartan race will always be my #1 race of the year. It is where I started, and where I make it a point to come back to. This year I signed up to do the Hurricane Heat the night before the race. The packing list included a raw egg, so I assumed that we would be punished for breaking it. This is why you will note an egg carrier as part of my gear.

The HH (largest to date with 130 participants) started as many of them do, with many, many burpees. We were lined up in two rows facing each other. One side was facing down the slope of a hill, which made burpees much more difficult. The biggest problem was getting all 130 of us, of all different fitness levels, working on the same cadence.

We then moved down to the edge of a pond and enjoyed the cold water while memorizing the Warrior Ethos. I was very thankful for my Under Armors, stayed at least a little warm through this.

We continued on, bear crawls, planks, pushups. When one team member had a cramp and couldn’t continue, it was taken as an opportunity to practice wounded warrior carries.

When our eggs were checked, four were found to be broken, resulting in 40 burpees needing done, with all of us moving as one.

One guy was having considerable trouble keeping up. We all cheered him along, and those next to him helped him to his feet.

The next point of note was the sandbag carry, where we went through once with the sandbags and once more with the crates they were packed in.

Just as the sun was setting, we were sent through the nastiest, slimiest mud pit that you can imagine. Maybe a foot of water over three feet of slop, nearly impossible to walk through without losing your balance.

As I was approaching the far end, I heard the HH leader’s order, “As soon as the last one is through, I want you to charge back through to this side. Impress me! I want Braveheart, I want the charge of the Light Brigade!” And of course I would be near the front of the charge.

I dove in, struggled to walk two steps, then dropped to all fours and crawled through as fast as I could.

The next challenge was at the barbed wire. One member of each team must pass through without touching the ground. We arranged ourselves in two ranks so that the lightest member of the team could crawl on top of us.

Through the now dark trails to the spear throw. Eggs set up that needed to be hit to avoid burpees. I don’t think any of us managed to break one.

At the rope climb, we were able to use outside-the box thinking. They gave us no instructions beyond 10 people of each team need to ring the bell. Some did the traditional rope climb, some climbed the ladder to the structure above and reached down to get the bell, some flicked the rope to hit the bell and ring it.

While waiting for the rest of the teams to finish, we were told to keep moving to stay warm, so many of us started dancing. After being reprimanded for twerking, I tried and failed to get a Rockettes kick line going.

The last obstacle before the finish was the slick wall, which we had to get everyone over with four people playing wounded and a few people who were actually injured. I found that if someone ahead of me slipped, I am just barely tall enough to push their foot to where someone from the top can reach them.

We assembled for the “after” picture, and Todd Sedlak gave a short congratulatory speech. What stuck with me from it was “I am always asked why I do these things. It is because suffering is the sovereign domain of the victorious.” Every moment of suffering has value, has something that can be learned from it. Even if it is just how incredibly easy your normal life is.

I was a little hesitant going into this event, as my last full GORUCK Challenge was completed successfully, but I was a drag on the team rather than being an asset. I knew I was stronger going into this one, but I was not sure if I was strong enough.

I found the sculpture that was the landmark for our start point, found my teammates, and chatted waiting for the Cadre to arrive and determine where we went from there.

Our Cadre (going by the highly improbable name of Surfhog) arrived, gave us the usual instructions, and appointed a team leader to make certain we all had our required gear squared away. He told us his background, announced, “It begins!” and lead us off at a pace that many of us struggled to keep up with. Along the way he punished mistakes that we made with designating casualties, meaning the person he pointed to had to be carried by the rest of the team. We reached a park and started the welcome party.

The goal was to get everyone working as a team, all PT movements to be done in unison. The longer it takes you to make it happen, the more PT you end up doing. It took us awhile to get it together, due in part to me. On several of the exercises I couldn’t make things work, having to drop my feet in flutter kicks or drop a knee in pushups. On the up side, I had been wondering for some time if I am strong enough to do a decent buddy carry, and I got my answer.

After much PT, more than a few doubts about coming, and seeing a few of our number drop, we were assembled into a circle and briefed on our mission for the night. A B52 has gone down, carrying three nuclear weapons. We must HALO in, coordinate with local sources, and recover the weapons. If possible, we are to recover the aircraft’s black boxes as well.

The HALO in: we all must lay on our bellies with head, legs and arms elevated off the ground, for two minutes. After costing us in the welcome party, there was no way I was going to be the weak link here. Cadre gave us 3-2-1 GO! and I lifted up and tried to calm my mind and just count out breaths. We hit 60 seconds with no trouble. Around 90 seconds the shouts of encouragement really picked up, and we all made it. Next step was to get to a treeline, stop to observe our surroundings, and then to move out using the treeline as cover.

We reached our objective with only a few complications, and recovered the first nuclear device (played by a duffel bag full of sand weighing somewhere from 300-500 pounds.)

New team lead, new objective, and we carried off the bomb to go locate the other two. 6 people carried the bomb on a litter, and we switched out carriers as they got tired. This is where me thinking too much became a problem. When I know I am one of the weaker of a group, I am always unsure if I should step up for heavier duty, or look after lighter tasks and leave the heavier tasks to those who can do a better job of it. This got worse when we screwed something up (I think we broke formation, but I’m not certain) and Cadre punished us by making us hand-carry our rucks as though the straps had broken.

OK, the previous time when Cadre John took our shoes was tough but amusing. Taking our pack straps is not freaking funny. It took so much of my effort to just keep up and not drop my ruck that I felt absolutely useless to the team.

Memories of exact sequence of events begins to get fuzzy about here, but one of our objectives was to get the team to the doors of a planetarium within a certain time. We missed the time hack, which would have gotten us our ruck straps back.

The challenge that got our straps back came after several attempts to get everyone and all our gear up the stairs in under 20 seconds, and finally changing our methods to get there on time.

We set out on our next movement and missed our time hack. In the resulting PT session, I and a few others were called out for not doing flutter kicks properly. I just couldn’t get my body to sort itself out and keep my feet elevated as required. I gave all that I had, and just barely achieved the minimum that would let us continue.

Next missed time hack, Cadre asked the team leader what exercise we should be penalized with. Without hesitation, the TL chose burpees. The rest of us looked at him like, “What the hell. Really. What the hell.” TL explained that if we could do this well, and as a team, it would show Cadre that we were not intentionally slacking off. We were able to do them together, on cadence, and were able to move on wearing our rucks rather than carrying them. Epic win.

We picked up the second nuke sometime in the wee morning hours, and had to carry both of them up and down every set of El Train stairs we passed. I can’t remember, but I think that we had the black boxes (50 lb. sandbags) at this point as well.

The police stopped in to ask what we were doing. (It should be noted that we were also expected to memorize two songs before we arrived.) Cadre explained what GRC is, and somehow we ended up singing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” to the police.

I couldn’t figure out how to carry anything else while we were hand-carrying our rucks, until the announcement to take off the rucks came while I was helping carry one of the bombs. That left no choice but to do what was needed, so I learned that I could.

We picked up the third nuke right around sunrise. Sun coming up over the lake was beautiful and somehow did make things seem better. We rested for a few minutes, and Cadre announced that we were going to do do flutter kicks in honor of the sunrise. After my failure earlier in the night, I was determined to keep with cadence and make the form absolutely perfect. And, while I am not sure if due to increased determination or being a bit more rested, I was able to knock them out.

All three bombs up, and off we go.

By this time, I was no longer fussing over who was the right person to do the task at hand, and neither was anyone else. Someone carrying the bomb called out for a replacement, we all stepped up. In some cases we could only carry for a few minutes before needing a replacement ourselves, but it gave everyone else time to sort themselves out before going back in. We only had five alternates to pick from with 18 people carrying the bombs, so with that few to work with, any little bit you can help counts. In short, we had stopped being individuals and become a team.

We reached our objective (on time) and disposed of two of the bombs. The last one had to be carried back to the beach. When we got it there, we were told to take off anything that we wanted dry, as we were about to get wet.

We linked arms, went out to belly depth, turned to face the shore, and awaited Cadre’s signal. When he gave us a thumb-down, we all went under. I came back up and say he was signalling to do it again. get the team together, ready, okay, back under. When I came back up Cadre was calling us back to the beach.

Cadre announced our Exfil, and we all moved in formation back to our start point. Much of the time we latched on to the ruck in front of us to make sure we stayed together. We arrived back at the park, received our patches, and the shadows shared beer with us before we all left.

I learned two big things from this event:

1. Practicing the exercises that you are worst at is not enough. You must be able to do them even when you are tired.

2. Don’t worry about if you are the correct person to do what needs done, just step up and do it. If you find you have bitten off more than you can handle, switch out as needed, but fussing about this beforehand leads to no one stepping up when it needs done.

I want everyone who reads this to take a moment and consider WHY you do the activities that you do. Why put in the time, the effort, the money, to pursue your chosen endeavor?

Is it to push you to be the best that you can be, to inspire others to be their best, to see what you are really capable of?

Or is it to look cool, to stoke your ego, to have some reason to think that you are better than others?

I was disturbed when I came across a New York Times article called “Plodders have a place, but is it in the marathon?” (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/23/sports/23marathon.html?pagewanted=all&_r=3&)

It claims that slower runners have “ruined the marathon’s mystique.” The quote from the end of the article summed up the worst possible attitude concisely:

“I always ask those people, ‘What was your time?’ If it’s six hours or more, I say, ‘Oh great, that’s fine, but you didn’t really run it,’ ” said Given, who finished the Baltimore race in 4:05:52. “The mystique of the marathon still exists. It’s the mystique of the fast marathon.”

This remark serves no purpose, other than to make those hearing it think that the speaker is an ass. Wanting to discount the efforts of 6-hour marathoners who can’t match your 4-hour pace? Are you just upset that the 3-hour guys beat you? Do you feel so insecure that you need to invalidate the efforts of others in order to make yourself feel more powerful?

Sorry, buddy. There is a special term for elite marathoners. They are called “the winners.” If you didn’t win (and a 4-hour time is unlikely to grant you a win), then you are one of the mediocre, finisher’s medal athletes right along with the rest of us. Deal with it.

The longer course times allow those at the back of the pack (many of whom are just as hard-core of runners as the fast crowd) to push themselves and try to do something that less than 1% of the population will do. If you don’t want to share the course with the likes of us, qualify for marathons with a shorter time hack. Or try ultras, that should tone down your ego pretty quick.

At the other end of the spectrum, this photo has been making the rounds on social media lately:

Usually the guy is getting called out, but the shadow in the bucket shows that the woman has done the same thing, dumping most of the load required to be carried through the course.

I am pretty forgiving when it comes to getting through a race, AS LONG AS YOU ARE DOING YOUR BEST.

Seriously, you two, is this your best? Is this pushing you to be better, mentally tougher, physically stronger? Or is it just giving you a medal and a facebook photo so you can try to look like more than you are?

My request to all of those who read this: Don’t be “that guy.” Don’t shirk your potential, do every last bit that you are capable of. Success or failure, be honest about what you have accomplished. Hold your head high, knowing that you gave every last bit that you could. And regardless of whether the person you find yourself talking to was the race winner or DNF’d, or anywhere in between, show them the proper respect for signing up, showing up, and giving all they had.