WE. ARE. SPARTA!
The scorching heat greeted us as we stepped out of the car at the Blue Mountain Ski Resort in Palmerton, Pennsylvania to stretch our legs and rub our necks. The blazing sun took but a moment to hide and we embraced the opportunity to glance up at the goliath looming overhead. We gazed at it in awe before our mouths slowly dropped in disbelief. The face of the mountain looked at us with a sneaky grin and I could almost see it snarl and laugh mercilessly as each of us took a step forward, towards our impending doom. We came to the realization that the minuscule beings crawling at the top were actually members of our own human race. They were participating in the very same run we were about to embark on.
THE FIRST MILE.
…"the Pennsylvania [Spartan] Sprint has long been regarded and argued as being the hardest Sprint on the circuit, something all too evident as many racers new to the Spartan Race series were to discover…"
Gulp. Wasn't that the truth. For me, the hardest part was the very first mile. The clouds covered most of the sky while we prepped for the race, but the sun thought it best to peek its face right when we began. I started to get dizzy as we started up the incline {even though I drank more water than usual and even downed a bottle of gatorade prior to our start time}. Honestly though, I think I was just not ready for that uphill battle; crawling up the rocky surface. Trying to race straight up a mountain - a ski mountain for that matter - and then through steep forest terrain was not a easy feat. There weren't many paved roads on this course. The direct heat added to our dehydration and to my weakening body.
After that initial climb, and consequently inhaling a jug at the water aid station, I was able to find a rhythm. I was determined to keep it. It was hard. There was a lot more mountain to climb {and I'm talking at a 45 degree angle} and then some more WITH a 35+ pound sandbag. Oh yah, that's right, scaling a cliff with added weight. Thanks for that. Oh and wait, "some more" just doesn't quite capture the length of that incline. I remember looking up and gasping, "um guys, I don't see an end to this thing... how far are we supposed to go up?!! Ohgod, we are going to die … no one is going to find us."
I felt like we were being forced to trek on, if we wanted to live, with no end in sight.
Literally.
THERE IS BEAUTY.
But there were a few sweet spots found smack dab in the middle of this suffering too. To take those we-are-gonna-die-right-here-right-now-and-no-one-will-ever-find-us moments, and then turn them around to see the God-created beauty at our fingertips, well it was amazing. I remember throwing my sandbag down halfway up that mountain and muttering "I'm just ...going to ...sit …now."
I did. I turned around and saw all these other spartan racers clawing their way uphill and I cheered them on. I told them they were beasts. I was proud of them. I was proud of us. I was proud of me. This piece of the race was probably the hardest part for me, but it was also where I was able to just sit for about 80 seconds. I just absorbed the breathtaking picture of the sky, the rolling hills and the trees below and thought this is grand-spanking-gorgeous.
. . .
How does that happen? Even in the midst of difficulty, of pain and brokenness, are we wired to still experience beauty, a sweetness of sorts; goodness? Even if it's but for a moment?
. . .
Well, the rest of the climb was still brutal. I remember finally reaching the top {it was a miracle!} and wondering if labor was as difficult as scaling that massive rock.
In that moment, I honestly couldn't remember.
WE FINISHED THE RACE.
After a few more hazardous, upward challenges, we started the trek downhill. It was less tenuous but still extremely steep. I slid a few times. Almost twisted a leg. I got through most of the obstacles, which included {but were not limited to} crawling under barbed wire, swimming in a mud-filled lake, and scaling several walls. Also, I absolutely owe the Spartan Race kings more burpees than I would like to admit.
It's hard to describe the powerful feeling that came over me when I threw my legs over the final 10 foot wall and fell to the earth below. I could see the finish line ahead. It was glorious. I felt warm all over {or perhaps that was from the pounding sun and the mud baking into my skin}. The five of us just ran into each other's arms and held on for a good long few moments before we tackled our final obstacle together. We broke out into a full sprint for the last few feet and leapt over the burning rocks. After 4 point some miles of crazie {it felt like 15!} and three hours of moving non-stop; after all of that, it was such a savoring feeling to finish. To conquer.
We were a team and we had completed this mission together, through the sweat and tears and bruises. It was awesome.
MY REASON FOR RACING.
When I first signed up, I had a whole bucket full list of reasons for doing so. A lot of people asked me why I would do something so ridiculous, so extreme. Was I trying to prove something? Perhaps. I mean, not so much for fame and glory. Not in the way I would have once done so.
I had mentioned in a previous post about having re-visited some parts of my past and it has been a long and painful journey. I have wanted to quit at times, but like this race, I am part of a team, and we inspire each other to move forward, to dig deep, to push on.
Getting to the end of such a brutal race was hugely empowering for me. To see how I could set my mind to something, how I could push past the pain when it hurt the most, how I could dig deeper when I didn't have any energy left, and how I could pray when I had no breath. I could continue. I was encouraged to see that through the dirt and the pain, there is hope. There is freedom. It gives me assurance for the here and now, that I will one day stand up and throw my hands in the air and look back at all the mountains, the beatings, the obstacles - the crap - that I had to go through, and shout a victorious roar. I will see the finish line. I will see an end.
It will be epic.
Freedom is real. We can dream big. There is an end even when we can't see it. There is hope to cross the finish line.
I feel stronger today than I did the day before. I certainly don't owe it all to the spartan race, but I am definitely glad I ran it and that I gave it all I got.
