Uncategorized, World's Toughest Mudder

World’s Toughest Mudder 2013: and it won’t change a thing?

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World’s Toughest Mudder registration went live two weeks ago, and judging from the Facebook and social media reaction, you would have thought TMHQ had punched a baby.

“NO qualification process?!?” seemed to be the resounding outcry. Hundreds (read, in reality: dozens) of
affronted people, worried that the race wouldn’t be “elite” enough, or that the out-of-shape masses would crowd Raceway Park in New Jersey, leaving the finishers to step over frozen bodies littered around the course after 24 hours. I skimmed the new changes, and the only thing that came to mind was “meh”.

Continue reading World’s Toughest Mudder 2013: and it won’t change a thing? →

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Spartan, Uncategorized

The Trouble with Chicking

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As I passed a group of guys at the sandbag carry during the Indiana Spartan Sprint this past weekend, I heard “Are you kidding? She’s passing us. A girl. Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

Yay me, right? Woo women! Go chicks! How empowering and badass and wonderful!

So why did it feel so horrible? And why did it bother me throughout the race, and still bothers me, almost a week later?

Because “chicking” shouldn’t be a big deal.

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I don’t know the origin of the term “chicked,” but if you are in any type of runners circle, the term gets thrown around. It’s the idea of a woman passing a man, beating a man. It was created, I believe, as a term of empowerment, and I think serves that purpose well – you can see this in groups like the ever-expanding “Spartan Chicked,” which is an incredible forum for female obstacle racers to provide advice, tips, encouragement, and support for each other.

In the eyes of men, however, the term turns ugly. It’s a blow to the ego to get “chicked,” and it’s used by men in a derogatory manner. I get it, doods, that it hurts your ego that you got “beat by a girl,” but get over it. Your chest hair isn’t going to fall out, your biceps have not atrophied, and the size of…things…are still the same (I think).

The Elite heats at Spartan Races lead to a particularly interesting phenomenon surrounding chicking. The male heat goes off at 8am, and the females 15 minutes later. Since this has been the case, the top females have started catching up with the back of the male pack, sometimes a matter of miles into the race. In Indiana this past weekend, I caught up with the first guy on the barbed wire crawl, which was less than a mile in.

As a result, I passed close to 100 guys during the race. In Vegas, it was likely more due to the sheer number of runners (and the top two females passed even more). This requires a breathless “excuse me,” or “can I get through” or “on your left!” every few minutes.

For the most part, the guys were supportive and courteous. There were shouts of “you go girl!” or “killing it!” and those that would step aside to make way for you. But a smaller number were NOT so happy, failing to get out of the way on a single track portion, or murmuring less-than-kind things. (I suppose this is further exacerbated because they realized they got a 15 minute headstart, and the women were catching up to them).
It brings me back to my World Toughest Mudder experience this past year, when people realized I was mere minutes behind Junyong Pak. TMHQ was flabbergasted, people were besides themselves trying to understand: HOW did a female manage to get within minutes of Pak?? That’s impossible!

And the entire time, while people were running along side me to run faster, to catch up to him, I thought to myself “what’s the big deal? And more importantly, WHY are we making a big deal out of this?”

I guess it’s a reverse feminism-type of thing: while it’s empowering for a woman to beat, or be on par with, a man, the more attention we draw to it by declaring it “unreal” or “amazing,” the more we reinforce the stereotype that females aren’t, and can’t be, equal to males.

[Yikes. That’s the most feminist thing I’ve ever said. And that’s a lot of phrases in a sentence. I’ll stop now.]

Don’t get me wrong – I’m beyond proud of my finish at WTM, and at races like Indiana. But, in a way, it saddens me to think that people still believe that it’s “abnormal” when a woman can beat the vast majority of the men at an event like this. And it’s frustrating that men are affronted by the fact that a woman could possibly best them.

So let’s change the conversation. While running with the “lead” girls at the Kids Race, I noticed that none of the little boys were saying similar things as the girls flew by. So here’s to hoping we can take the negative out of “chicking,” and just realize that some girls kick ass.

[stumbling down off my soapbox]

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Meels on Wheels

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During P.E. class in fifth grade, we timed our 100m dash in the parking lot of good ol’ Palisades School.

I finished last in my class of 30.

Dead last.

Which I couldn’t understand. I was an athletic kid. I played club level traveling soccer and ASA softball. I ran the hell out of the soccer field for 90 minutes at a time; I was the all-star pitcher on our champion little league team.

But for the life of me, I could not sprint. I was sloooooooow.*

And it continued. My high school softball coach nicknamed me “Meels on Wheels” simply because it took me SO. DAMN. LONG. to get around the bases. [note: “Meels” is not misspelled. “Amelia” doesn’t lend itself to pretty nicknames] I would manage to reach full speed between third and home. My inability to sprint the bases led to incredible headfirst sliding abilities, which was the only thing that saved my ass half the time, but frightened my parents and my coaches that were depending on me to be standing to pitch.

And despite years of speedwork, of agility drills, and of sprints, I’m still going to lose every time when it comes to sheer sprints. And even 400ms, 1600ms, hell – even 5ks. My legs do not want to turn over that fast, and my body and my mind hate the maximal effort and quick bursts. I’d rather run a 100-miler than do 400m or 800m repeats. Watching me sprint is comical, or so I’ve been told.

Of course, I tried to blame it on genetics: “all slow twitch, no fast twitch” muscles. I’d curse my distance-running Dad and my awkwardly long legs that took a long time to get going.

You see it in my strengths in Crossfit. It’s why my “Grace” time is mediocre, but I will smoke everyone in long hero WOD’s. It’s why I’ll never be a real competitor in the Open or Regionals – those WODs are required to be short (well, that, and I can’t move weight like those beasts).

Fitness experts (of which I am not) generally talk about 10 (give or take) components of fitness: Endurance, Stamina, Strength, Flexibility, Power, Speed, Coordination, Agility, Balance, and Accuracy. See, e.g., here

Let’s take these one by one:

Endurance: check. easy one.
Stamina: on that
Strength: improving, though my squats are still miserable
Flexibility: Pretty sure I failed the “sit and reach” test at every school physical.
Power: noooope. Sprinting ability is as much about power as it is about speed. And I have no hops, either. Max broad jump is laughable. Box jumps are treacherous. White girls can’t…
Speed: Once I get there, ok. But the problem is getting there.
Coordination: I split my shin open and had to get stitches doing box jumps the other weekend. Enough said. Surprised that I can make it relatively unscathed through an obstacle race.
Agility: not like a cat. Again, surprising that I made such a good softball player…
Balance: I’ve never fallen off Twinkle Toes? But I trip over myself walking down the street at least once a day.
Accuracy: Still don’t really understand this, but I do have a wicked arm. Except when it comes to the spear throw. Damn you, spear throw. Why can’t you be a softball toss?

So, from all of this, I’ve realized:

I’ll might not outrun you. But I’ll outlast you.
(ok, I’ll try at least)

Nowhere did this become more evident to me than at the Vegas Super Spartan the other weekend. The women’s “elite” heat set out at a blistering 6minute pace – a pace that I can marginally maintain, but one that is incredibly uncomfortable for me. And I died the first few miles. I couldn’t get into a groove, and I simply couldn’t get my legs moving quick enough.

But as the race progressed, I started chipping away at the lead. I was racing 5th-7th for the first 5 or 6 miles, but then slowly started to catch up. I gained time on obstacles involving upper body strength, and as our paced slow, I began to run my race. Besides – chasing is more fun than being chased, no?

Too little, too late for a race that length, but that’s fine. That’s why I gear myself towards the long races, towards the multi-day, towards the incredibly stupid feats of endurance. I’m not going to beat road racers. But I will endure more. And I will ignore the pain. And I will continue when my body says no (unless, of course, it involves cold water submersions. We all know the WDR found my kryptonite).

I’m running the Indiana Sprint next weekend, and I’ve never run a race this short. If I thought the pace of

I did show every what’s up with that
cargo net, though. Roll, baby, roll.
Vegas was uncomfortable, then I anticipate that this is going to be incredibly unpleasant.

But I wouldn’t ask for anything else. I know my strengths; it’s time to work on my weaknesses. It’s time to get out of the comfort zone. It’s time to run like hell.

*Caveat: I imagine the 4 of you that read my blog are like “really? you win races, stop saying that you are slow.” Fair point. But of the fitness components, speed/power are my weak links. By far.

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Walking a Tightrope

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A conversation that happened with a couple in my apartment building the other day:

Man: “Excuse me, but I have to ask, are you a trainer? My wife and I always see you in work out gear, and you are in great shape.”

Me: “ha, no – I’m an attorney.”

Man [unnecessarily flummoxed]: “Really? Oh, we were going to ask you to train us.”

My reaction to this was initially to be flattered, but then I though, HOLD UP – does that mean that I always look like a slob in warm ups and headbands? This thought was then followed by “shit, maybe I missed my calling.”

I mean, the man has a point: I spend 95% of my waking hours at either of two places: work, or the gym. I get a lot of questions about my training schedule, and I always kind of dismiss it. So FINE, I’ll dish:

I’m up M-F by 4:30am, and heading into the Crossfit box and/or regular gym (where I will hike away on the big rotating stepmill or run in the winter). (And yes, you Crossfit fanatics can judge me and preach to me all you want – I simply need the cardio for training, I enjoy the cardio, and I don’t see how anyone just does Crossfit and can stay in any type of shape for endurance events. There, I said it.)

And then I do my attorney stuff all day, where my life plays out something like this

A few times a week I’ll hit a two a day: post-work, grab a run outside or at the office gym, or head to the box to work on skills. And around 10-10:30pm, I’ll crash, and get up and do it over again. Sundays I try to reserve for couch, rest, eating, and football (please come back soon, football – I miss you).

Yes, very little sleep. Yes, very little room for a social life.

And over the past few months as I’ve been laying low, away from racing, one thing has become crystal clear to me: as obstacle races expands and grows as a sport, more and more athletes will emerge that are doing this “professionally,” without the obligations of a day job, and with the luxury of training for several hours at a day, multiple sessions. And, obviously, those are the people that will excel (hell, I hope they would).

Perhaps what has crystallized this for me is participating in the Crossfit Open. I am, at best, a mediocre Crossfitter. While I perform decent enough for my box, compared to athletes around the world, I don’t hold a candle. But at our box, we all are recreational Crossfitters – we have careers, day jobs, other obligations. The Crossfitters that go to the Games (and more and more, even just Regionals), are those that somehow survive doing it for a living. And when there is money at stake, this makes sense.

At the root of it, perhaps I’m jealous. That I’ll never be one of those people. Or that I’ll never be able to fully commit to a race until a few weeks (or, more typically, a few days) before the race date. My standard caveat when I tell people I’m going to a race is “assuming work allows.” I usually can’t leave my phone unattended for more than a few hours, let alone a whole day or two (I’m looking at you, WTM & Death Race). Because my obligations at work have to come first, and when the client/partner needs you on a weekend, the client/partner wins. I knew this going into this career (granted, obstacle racing wasn’t even around at that point)*

The lesson is this: in the grand scheme of life, my balance has to tip more towards the professional. My brain got me through school and my brain makes me money. And for that reason, I can’t commit to as many races as I’d like, and, more often than not, professional obligations have to come before racing (and personal – believe it or not, I do retain a sliver of a functioning personal life). And I’ll keep doing both of them at the race time to the best of my ability, but it’s changing landscape out there. For example, with money on the line in every Spartan Race this year, you can sense a shift in attitude, in priorities, in goals.

But I’ll keep racing regardless of whether there is money on the line, and do it solely for the competition, solely for the sport. For the thrill of being out there on the course, for the people you meet and the memories you make. Because that’s what got me into this, and that should be the only reason I keep doing it.

*To be fair, while they don’t understand why I do it, my work has been incredibly supportive of my exploits

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Death Race, Uncategorized

The First DNF

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Two years ago, the letters “DNF” meant nothing to me. Nor did the letters “DNS.” Despite running some road races, I’d never really heard the terms thrown around. I’d never known the stigma attached to them, or the feelings that come with it.

And I continued to not know, until this weekend.

I recognize that I’ve been extremely fortunate in my racing “career.” I started out finishing at the top of races and I continued that. Two World’s Toughest Mudders, two Death Races, all in the top two spots.

But at some point, we all stumble. We have a bad race. A race finds a weakness. A weakness finds you.

And of any race out there, the Death Race excels at doing this. It’s a game of Russian roulette that we play once or twice (or now three) times a year. It’s unlike any other race: for example, you do Ironmans, you know you are going to be swimming, bking and running. In that order. For a fixed amount of distance. With the Death Race, you never know what may be in store, and sometimes it may not seem like a “race” at all.

And that’s what draws it to us. And that’s how we discover things about ourselves. And that’s why we keep coming back. But that’s also what crushes us.

The WDR started out this year like the others: team exercises, strange PT (1200 air squats, anyone?), a couple hikes up the mountain (one zip-tied together), and some wood sawing and chopping (I’ll ignore the pass the frozen dead beaver game).

There had been whispers of Andy & Joe making us pull a 2000lb steel i beam out of the river, whispers that made me nervous. But given that we were only in the water for a minute last winter (a full submersion in the duck pond), I couldn’t foresee the repeated cold water immersions that would await us this year.

And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s cold water.

Odd, you say, coming from the girl that won World’s Toughest Mudder. So I’ll qualify: cold water immersions where you are NOT running 90 miles to keep your body temperature up. Instead, standing in the river, thigh deep, digging up silt to remove a steel ibeam. Or repeated river crossings. In and out. In and out.

And while my core temperature stayed ok, the fire in my feet did not. The pain did not. The inability to walk or breathe did not. And at some point, in my mind, I decided that risking frostbite and permanent damage to the feet wasn’t worth this game. And I broke down, mentally, emotionally, and physically. And 24 hours in, I DNF’ed. I simply couldn’t move through that river crossing quit gate anymore.

[Side note: let me clarify. I hate the term “med drop.” I think people use it as a crutch, and an excuse. Our resident medic Todd took a look at my feet and told me frostnip and that I could be risking permanent damage if I went on, but as always, it’s my decision. He would fight me if I wanted to continue, but no one was standing in my way. So yes, it was a conscious decision, however frazzled and painful at the time. And I take full responsibility for that, with no excuses.]

And after they carried me across the river and snowmobiled me back to the greenhouse (walking was not happening), the realization of this all set in as they spent next few hours warming my feet.

And the questions began. The self-doubt. The “what ifs.” The berating. The miserable, and foreign, feeling of failure. The Death Race had won–Mother Nature had broke me. And in a manner that I hated.

Because it wasn’t a testament to my athletic abilities. It wasn’t because I couldn’t meet time cut offs or I couldn’t get up and down the mountain quick enough. I got angry. In fact, I was destroying everything up until this point. I stayed on Andy’s heels up the mountain with my pack (and if you’ve hiked with Andy, you know this is a feat). I was feeling great. And I was left wondering what I could have done differently to possibly survive, and angry at what I saw was a cheap tactic solely to get high numbers of drop outs in a short period of time doing nothing that pertains to your athleticism.

But then I realized: that’s not what the DR is about. While being a fine athlete helps you at this race, the Death Race has never been about finding the top athletes or being in the best shape. It’s about enduring. And while I’ve always known this in the back of my mind, it crystallized in this experience.

It’s why, if you look at the DR vets who have done this race three or more times, every single one of them (save a few, including the superhuman Olof) has DNF’ed at least once. Because sooner or later, they are going to throw something at you that you can’t handle, though other people may.

And here’s what I have to repeat to myself: there’s no shame in that.

I am quick and light and fast. I love running up and down that mountain and I will crush you on it, and will do so for days at a time without tiring. Others may be able to hang out in the single digit temperatures in an icy creek for hours and be unaffected. And depending on the composition of the race that year, those strengths or weaknesses may be the deciding factor.

And there’s no shame in that.

There is nothing wrong with a DNF unless you make something wrong with it. As Melody, a finisher told me, “You have nothing to prove to anyone.” She’s right. I’ve always said that the DR is about proving things to yourself, and testings your limits. There are certain limits I’m willing to stretch, but potential frostbite wasn’t something I was willing to toe the line for. (if you think I’m miserable right now trying to process this, imagine how I would feel if I did permanent damage, or god forbid, was unable to continue to race and compete).

And there’s no shame in that.

So while I may be licking my wounds, I’m also thankful for this: I’ve learned more about myself from a single DNF than I have from all of my victories combined. And I’m taking a step back to reevaluate why I do these races, why I push myself, and whether I’m started to lose the “fun” in all of this amongst the disturbingly increasing need inside of me to win, amongst the growing pressure that I put on myself to perform up to some stranger on the web’s “expectations” of me.

And there’s no shame in that.

Cheers to the first DNF. It likely won’t be the last.

And there’s no shame in that.

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Death Race, Uncategorized

Coming Back as a Veteran

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The racing season hasn’t exactly started off with a bang. After missing the Spartan SoCal due to weather and air traffic control (thanks Philly!), I’m now faced with an unpleasantly cold Winter Death Race.

Well, that’s what I signed up for, right? Fair point. Last year the Winter Death Race was held a month later–beginning of March, and it was a particularly balmy weekend (need I remind you of the sports bra burpee pics? No. Thank God. Because I can’t get over those either). I went in scared out of my mind, with no idea what to expect.

So this year should be easier, yes? Having finished two Death Races, it should be old hat to me by now. Yet the butterflies are still there, the unknown still lingers, and my biggest foe–the cold–is alive and kicking.*

I don’t doubt my ability to finish a Death Race. And I don’t doubt my ability to finish this Death Race. What I doubt is my body’s ability to last outside in single digit weather for 24+ hours. What I start to fear is giving in because I can no longer control my body, I can no longer feel anything, and I can no longer move my toes. Perhaps because I’ve seen so many people go down from hypothermia, but despite never being a victim, I have an irrational fear of it.

Hands and feet. Hands and feet. Hands and feet. That’s what it all comes down to–that’s what it always comes down to in the cold.

But is this fear any different than my pre-race fears in the past? Isn’t that what drove me to tears and a breakdown before World’s Toughest Mudder this past year? Didn’t I say the exact same thing preparing for the Winter Death Race last year?

While I’ve always said that the Death Race attracts a special group of people, let it be known that the Winter Death Race attracts an EXTRA special set of people. Current registration for this summer’s DR is 382 people; for the Winter Death Race – 74 (and I know a good number of those are already DNS’s). In this respect, it makes the WDR all the more special – it feels like a family event, albeit extremely dysfunctional. Very few people want to hang out in the woods and hike up and down a mountain in the dead of winter in Vermont.

And that’s the reason that keeps me coming back, despite the frigid temps, despite the long travel and time required off from work.

And despite the very real fear that, just because you’ve finished all the previous ones, it doesn’t mean that you are going to finish this one.

Being a veteran is a double-edged sword: while you have experience and know generally what to expect, you also (or at least I do) put expectations on yourself. As a newbs, all you can do is give it your best shot.

But lest I forget, we are doing this all for our own personal pride and enjoyment. There’s no monetary gain. There’s no glory. There are no fancy pictures or merchandise for sale. There’s a single plastic skull, and a feeling of satisfaction. And hopefully a hell of a lot of fun and amazing memories along the way.

And a breakfast sandwich at Pittsfield General Store.

See you soon, Pittsfield. It’s been too long.

(Can we get some bikram in this joint this year?!)

*Hi Andy & Joe! You wanted to know my weaknesses??

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Death Race, Uncategorized, World's Toughest Mudder

A Racing Year in Review: The Tippity Top

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So the world didn’t end today, though judging by the looks of the weather outside here in Chicago, it may still choose to do so. I guess that means that we’ll make it to 2013 and another year of racing will commence. The end of the year is always littered with the “best of”, “year in review” or the “top 10” lists from various outlets, my favorite being this one from The Onion. So if a lemur can have its place in a year in review list, I sure as hell can write my own about my racing year. Right? Right? Obviously, all of these highlights will involve yours truly, so call me self-important or egotistical, but I certainly can’t write about it if I wasn’t there, so deal with it. Without further ado, the inaugural 2012 “Amelia’s Top 16 Moments in Obstacle/Adventure Racing”* (and challenges, to encompass GoRuck and S.E.R.E.)

[*Because Top 10 lists are so cliche.]

(1) The Burpee Board at the Winter Death Race: It’s a thing of beauty right? And very precise and scientific. But after 3000 burpees, you’d lose count, too. Some of us lost count repeatedly, but that happens after 30+ hours awake. And some of us had WAAAAY too much fun doing burpees (I’m looking at you, Mark Webb burpee-sandwich).

(2) Acquiring Weapons as Prizes: Top Team at S.E.R.E Chicago received KA-bars, which I have now used for everything from opening cans to a using as a steak knife to cutting through wrapping paper. And first-place prize at the Super Spartan Midwest was a 2-ft sword, which I have used for…nothing. It’s still sitting on my living room floor until I figure out what to do with it. And a smattering of kettlebells could technically be considered weapons–have you ever dropped one of those suckers?

(3) Carrying the concrete bag at the Death Race. There were very few times this past year at races where I didn’t think I was going to make it. At 50+ hours into the Death Race, after being handed a 60lb bag of concrete to add to my 35+lbs of gear and being told to carry it to the top of Joe’s mountain (without breaking it, mind you), I was fairly certain I couldn’t make it. And was praying for them to call the race. I’d never carried close to 100lbs on my back, which is about 3/4 of my body weight. But slowly, surely, step by step, I made it up that mountain. 10 steps at a time, I told myself, as I fought being pulled backwards and falling over due to the enormous weight on my back. I hugged my bucket as a counterbalance, and leaned forward almost in a crawl position. I don’t know how long it took me to get up that mountain, but you best be believing I’d never been so happy in my life when that cabin at the top came into view. (and then I flipped out on Olof–sorry dude. You rock)

(4) Successfully making it across the rings and monkey bars multiple times at WTM. While this may not seem like a huge feat for a lot of you, I had struggled with these obstacles for the longest time. I’m going to go ahead and thank the cult of Crossfit for my success at this one (hello grip strength!). And I’m no longer frightened of these.

(5) Finishing GoRuck Class 129 on an 80 degree day St. Patty’s Day in Chicago. The picture says it all.

(6) Nearly dying from eating a Larabar at S.E.R.E. Beta. I am VERY allergic to certain trees nuts, particularly cashews. I am also apparently VERY bad at reading labels, as I found out when I stuffed a Larabar into my mouth at 3am at SERE Beta in D.C., and immediately went into allergic shock. Thanks to some speedy classmates (and an injured Joel Gat who managed to run like the wind), some liquid Benadryl saved me. And after some puking on the street in Georgetown with Petrizzo rubbing my back and then giving me a Honey Stinger waffle, I made it and completed the challenge. And now Deavilla will ALWAYS volunteer to give me CPR when there are cashews around. You guys were the best.

(7) Todd’s sled at the Winter Death Race. We all laughed with Sedlak rolled up with a plastic sled strapped to his pack at the WDR, particularly because the rules made clear that anything you brought with you had to be carried with you at all times. In typical Todd fashion, he made fantastic use of that sled, nearly killing himself sledding down the mountain several times. So think outside the box on your gear lists, Death Racers. (though his wheeled shopping cart at the Summer Death Race didn’t work so well)

(8) This picture at the Midwest Super Spartan:

I’d highly recommend volunteering, particularly to hand out medals, after you finish. Most fun you’ll have congratulating a bunch of muddy people.

(9) The hills at the Ultrabeast. You will never see me get more excited about something at a race than when there are massive hills/mountains involved. I could have run up and down (nb: I hate the down part, so really, just up) those things all day long. And I did. And I loved every second of it. To me, that course was perfection.

(10) Winning first overall (for men and women) at Civilian Military Combine. For all the talk of what happened at WTM and people finding it incredible that I could be that close to catching J.Pak, I had to remind myself that I already beat all the boys once this year. At CMC at Camelbak Mtn, PA, I took first place overall. And there I also met Alyssa and Carrie (in person) for the first time, and they are now two of my favorite people out there. So I’d call that a victory in itself.

(11) Having TSA open up my sandpills for inspection. Ha! Fooled you, suckers. #notcocaine

(12) Breakfast sandwiches at the Pittsfield General Store post-Winter Death Race. Or really, just the Pittsfield General Store in general. Because after finishing at 3am, sleeping on the floor of the barn for 3 hours, and then getting up and heading to the general store with fellow Death Racers, there is NOTHING better than the General Store. Really, just Death Racers in general deserve their own “moment.” Obstacle racers are cool and all, but there is something special about, and a strong camaraderie among, those that have finished a Death Race.

(13) A sub-8min Helen, a 4 and a half Fran, and a 3:45 Grace. Oh wait, that’s not obstacle racing. But I’d like to think that obstacle racing got me into Crossfit, so I’m going to call it tangentially related. I’m marginally passable at Crossfit–never going to compete with the big girls. But now I can be super cool and measure my self-worth in workouts named after girls and the number of times I rip my calluses, and then talk to everyone nonstop about it.

(14) Bikram Joe-ga at the Winter Death Race. Because nothing is more motivation than a second 90-minute session of bikram where Joe yells at you “grab your heels and PULL like a motherfucker!” during standing-head-to-knee pose.

(15) Having legs that always look like this:

And going to summer weddings like that.

(16) And finally, how I felt at this moment:

It’s been real, folks. See you next season.

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Uncategorized, World's Toughest Mudder

WTM Commandments Revisited: One Year Later

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You all can blame WTM 2011 for me entering into the blogosphere. It’s because of that race that you feel obliged to read my unimportant and trivial ramblings. Post-WTM last year, I sat down a wrote four posts on the Ten Commandments of WTM (you can find them here, here, here, and here).

But this year’s race was a whole different animal than last year. So did these Commandments hold up? Or, now, in my infinite wisdom (after being at this for less than a year), have I committed sacrilege by violating my own commandments?

(1) Thou shall respect the power of neoprene

If you took a look at the pics of the starting line this year, it’s clear that everyone obeyed this one: aside from a few weirdos in speedos (several of whom I saw in the med tent being treated for hypothermia later), we all waddled to the starting line in our wetsuits.

I started in a 3/2 full, and nearly died of heat the first lap. I almost wanted to fail at Everest solely so I could jump in the Arctic Enema as a penalty. And for the first three laps (all before sundown), the 3/2 full was all I needed–no hood, no vest, no gloves, no socks.

I threw on the 3mm vest/hood combo and 3mm gloves the 4th lap, and then added the 3mm long john and a 5mm hood from laps 5 onward (though I delayered again the last lap, stripping the last hood). Surprisingly, I never put on neoprene socks for three reasons: (1) my feet had started to swell so much I don’t think the neoprene could have fit in the shoes; (2) my feet actually stayed pretty warm with the injinji/smart wool combo; and (3) I NEVER HAD TIME. Being chased sucks.

Most other racers had similar strategies. Coupled with warmer temps, this meant I saw relatively few people shivering in the med tents. Personally, my hands only really got cold at a few points in the early morning hours, and my core never got cold. No uncontrollable shivering, no loss of feeling in the hands.

Neoprene for the win. But it’s not attractive–ohmygod it’s not attractive. TMHQ, let’s have a warm weather WTM next year–fit shirtless men and women in sports bras and booty shorts? Marketing dream.

(2) Thou shall dry off completely between laps

Yeah…this didn’t happen at all. In fact, I never changed out of my original socks or tights, and only took off my shoes once to scoop out the dirt that had caked in the end. Would I have liked to dry off? Yes. But once again, no time. The longest I pitted for was perhaps 25 minutes, in which I mixed up some hot chocolate and hid from the camera crews while stuffing peanut butter and pretzels, Snickers, and Ensure in my mouth.

(3) Thou shall know the beauty of aid stations

True, but yet again, no time. This year, there was no hot jello (thank you), and while there was hot broth, TM volunteers were regulating it like soup nazis, monitoring how much you could take. I grabbed a small cup at a few stations during the wee morning hours, but once again, kept trucking. I’m sensing a “no time” theme…

And let’s take a moment to discuss the Sharkie situation. Sharkies are hard to chew as it is. Frozen Sharkies are damn near impossible to chew. I will regret saying this, but I totally miss the sharkies in hot water of WTM 2011.

(4) Thou shall learn how to climb tactical ladders

Once again, people must have done their homework. No back-ups or lines at the tac ladders on the backside of Everest (granted, they were much shorter), but the cargo net out of the water proved to be a bit of a bear. Then again, I was also ahead of the pack for most of this race, and found the only traffic jam to be on my third lap, when most people were trucking through their second.

(5) Thou shall not undestimate the power of logrolling

After logrolling for a mile and a half at the Death Race, I’m pretty sure I can handle two Kisses of Mud. Perhaps I don’t have a “dizzy” switch, but I’ll never understand how a 50-ft roll can get people all discombobulated.

(6) Thou shall not get wasted the night before

I did not. I ate a massive omelette at IHOP. Joel did not. But he cramped and finished less laps than last year. So I will stick with not getting wasted the night before, but perhaps Joel should go back to the bottle.

(7) Thou shall get your ass in the water

Still applicable, but Walk the Plank was a million times less daunting this year, as we weren’t jumping into the lake, but a man made hole. And it seemed to be about 10 feet shorter. But the swim back and forth across the lake was still there, and no less daunting. Tip on passing the time: chat with the lifeguards on kayaks and paddleboards. They are bored out of their minds

(8) Thou shall smile (and thank your volunteers)

I gotta hand it to TMHQ–the volunteers were WONDERFUL. Absolutely wonderful. So much encouragement and cheering, so many words of comfort. Perhaps, at times, TOO much. (lady at mud mile during day 1–nice enthusiasm, but I was ready to get out and strangle you and your chants of “tough! mudder! tough! mudder!)

Best spot for it? coming down the backside of Everest. I made a point of throwing my hands up and going “woohoo” every time I slide down that thing, meeting the cheers of volunteers and spectators standing around. I wish someone could put together a montage of those 9 photos–perspective on the slow demise of my sanity.

(9) Thou shalt not stop for bathroom breaks

That’s what wetsuits are for. And that massive sinkhole of sh*t in the woods. Though, for the love of God, I hope if you had to take a dump on the course, you stopped. Otherwise I’m blaming you for whatever nasty eye infections I come down with.

(10) Thou shall never travel alone

Of course, the last commandment is where I committed real sacrilege. Well, I take that back–there were cameras in my face for about 95% of the race, so I guess I was never REALLY alone. And while it was rather depressing and lonely at times to not have a running companion, it didn’t mean I was the only one out there. The shouts of encouragement from other racers as I ran by kept me going, and stealing the small chats here and there with people moving at the same time. I put names to faces, and faces to names. I joked for a few moments with those around, and then shuffled on my merry way. Towards the end, I was being passed left and right by others moving faster than me. And when my strength failed me on Everest and the 12 ft walls as the night progressed, tons of people pitched in to get me through it. So while I didn’t have the constant companionship like I had with Joel last year, I never felt utterly alone.

As I’ve said countless times before, it’s the people and the fellow racers at these events that keep me coming back. And here, it was no different. I’m honored to run among all you amazing athletes, and I thank you for the help and support along the way.

Like I’ve said, it’s amazing the difference a year makes. And if I wrote commandments this year, they’d look a hell of a lot different than last years. So maybe I will. Just maybe I will.

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Day After World’s Toughest Mudder Hangover

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No, not like booze hangover. I wish. Back to work, back to the grind, and thanking the higher powers I’m a desk jockey. Sitting is the only thing that doesn’t kill me right now. I need a dog to go fetch my print jobs from the copier.

I always like to mull over races for a few days to let it all sink in and organize my thoughts, so that will happen at some point.

But let’s get to the not-so-important and meaningful things: the “random thoughts” edition. So in no particular order:

(1) So much warmer than last year. I got a bit chilly at around lap 4 or 5, but it was never unbearable. As it became harder and harder to run, though, it got colder since I couldn’t keep my body temps up. And thank you wind for not picking up until the last lap. Did anyone notice how calm the wind was during the night?
(2) Who is in charge of TMHQ’s music? I swear to God it was the same 5 or 6 bands on repeat throughout the course the entire time: Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blink-182, Tupac, Van Halen, and Pink Floyd. I must have heard Nirvana’s “Rape Me” about 5 times during the race–very motivational, guys. I heard a racer say he thought Christmas music was playing during part of it. Hallucination or not, but that’s freakin’ hilarious.
(3) Mudders rock. The amount of encouragement from other racers out there was just amazing. I apologize to those of you who called out to me and I had no idea who you were–wetsuit hoods make everyone look the same. I met tons of awesome people along the way, and offered people $5 here and there when they helped me out in some way (offering to hold down the cargo net, etc.). I hope you all don’t think you actually are going to collect on that.
(4) Wetsuits are not flattering. As I ran by people, I must have been told “keep it going, man!” or “well done, dude!” about two dozen times. So yes, we all look the same in wetsuits: like dudes.
(5) Wetsuits do prevent gnarly gashes. While I’m covered in bruises, at least I don’t have to worry about infected cuts like after the Death Race or the Ultrabeast. Infected eyes from the Jersey mud, however, are probably inevitable.
(6) Windburn and eyeball burn hurts. I spent the entire flight back to Chicago last night with a Coke can pressed up against my face. And rocking sunglasses in the Philly airport to shield my eyes. People must have thought I was either a celebrity or a beating victim.
(7) When your grip strength goes, you’re screwed. I cruised through the Funky Monkey and Hanging Tough and that rope climby-thing the first few laps just fine (I’m going to go ahead and thank Crossfit for that–struggled immensely with all of those last year). But between the monkey bars, rings, ropes, tac ladders, and that damn cargo net out of the lake, my forearms were shot after 4 laps. Couple that with the freezing water, and there’s no way to regain that. I’m just thankful I didn’t fall off of that cargo net the last couple laps. God knows I was precariously close.
(8) Being in the lead is stressful. I felt like I was being chased. I mean, I guess I was. Sadly, I never had the opportunity meet Deanna Bregg, the Aussie who held down third, but I wish I could have–what a great competitor and athlete. She stayed consistently 30 minutes behind give or take a few for the first 8 laps, and you bet that I was looking over my shoulder the entire time.
(9) OH MY GOD THESE PICTURES. I’m not vane or anything (ok, I am…a bit), but seriously?! Is that seriously what I looked like? Swollen face, mud mustache and eyebrows, and just pain? Yikes. I gotta work on that.
(10) I have phenomenal friends and support. Those who helped me break down my tent and campsite afterwards, who brought me clothes, who drove my rental car when I was in no condition to, who posed with my giant check and gave any interview…oh…wait.
(11) This is my first semi-serious race injury. I thought it was a sprained ankle, but the swelling has migrated to the top of my foot. Crossing my fingers there are no broken bones. Ice and rest for the time being, and you all know how I hate rest. Hate it.
(12) I still cry after races. This time, I made it successfully away from the race track and through a shower without breaking down into sobs. But as soon as I got on the phone with the parents, the flood gates opened.
(13) I did not break the 2nd place streak. I mean, I won for women, but I still came in second to Pak. Not that I even thought I could get within a lap of him, let alone less than 10 minutes. In other words, I’ll take it.
(14) Running alone blows. It’s lonely out there. Thankfully, I kept myself company by singing this on repeat for 24 hours. Check it out: THIS IS F*CKIN AWESOME.
(15) Watch out boys, we’re coming for you. 1300 competitors, only 100 of them women. Second and third place OVERALL held down by women. You figure out the rest.

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The Gearwhore Edition: Cold-Weather Racing

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It’s that time of year again. The time when I dig out my boxed up hats, gloves, snow boots, and full-length down coat. The time when I mournfully put away my bikinis and sundresses. The time when the box is freezing for the 6am WOD. And the time when racing becomes a whole lot more…painful.

Gone are the days of racing in spandex shorts and a sports bra. The days of beanies, smart wool, compression gear, and yes–wetsuits, have arrived.

F*ck.

Nothing reminded me of this more than the Midwest Super Spartan this past week. The weather was eerily reminscent of World’s Toughest Mudder weather last year, and bite of the wind at 7am brought back vivid memories. I brought option after option of what to wear, and in the end, ended up OVERdressing. I was dying of heat 2 miles in, and looked forward to that last water obstacle solely to cool myself off.

But as I prepare for the rapidly approaching WTM (assuming I’m going), I remember that, most of the time, being overly warm is NOT the problem. And oddly enough, I’ve done more cold-weather races than I have warm weather races. Several races/challenges spring to mind that I can classify as “cold as f*ck”: WTM 2011, Indiana Tough Mudder, SERE D.C., Winter Death Race, etc.

I’d like to say that I have a system figured out–that I KNOW how to dress and prepare myself for the cold weather. I’ve fumbled my way through trial and error, I’ve underdressed, I’ve occasionally overdressed, but I’m still learning. So I bring to you, in NFL-style, my Matt Ryans and Tony Romos/Mark Sanchezes/Michael Vicks. (Is Matt Ryan the most underrated? I used to think it was Flacco, but not so sure anymore)

Overrated: UA Cold-Weather Compression Gear
Don’t get me wrong, I love Under Armour. Hell, my workout wardrobe is about 90% UA. But while everyone speaks of UA ColdGear like the holy grail of cold weather obstacle racing, it’s been pretty much a disappointment for me. While the compression is nice for movement, once it gets wet, there’s no warmth left. And it doesn’t dry as quickly as I’d like.

Underrated: Wool

S.E.R.E. Urban: Chicago
Specifically, smart wool and bio-merino wool. I have an I/O Bio-Merino wool top that I swear by–super light, quick-drying, and EXTREMELY warm. It made me die of heat at the Ultrabeast (til I went sportsbra style), and again at the Super Spartan. However, it’s easily packable so if you need to take it off, storing it in a pack isn’t a problem. It’s not tight-fitting like compression (as you can see from the pics), but I’ve never found it to be inhibiting while racing.

Overrated: Neoprene Socks
When I was preparing for WTM last year, everyone spoke of neoprene socks like they were the holy grail. I dunno–I wore neoprene socks for the entire race, and I still narrowly avoided frostbite on several toes. While they do insulate, they also keep your feet wet, which spells T-R-E-N-C-H-F-O-O-T. And blisters. Horrifying blisters. Not to mention how much room they take up in your shoes (so make sure to size up your racing shoes if you are wearing them).

Underrated: Injinji Toe Socks & Smartwool socks
After WTM, I traded the neoprene socks for a base of injinji with smart wool over. While toesocks are a pain in the royal ass to get on, they are the best blister prevention I’ve found. However, they are not warm enough for cold weather races on their own–hence, the smartwool topper. Both quick drying, but let’s be honest–your feet are never going to be completely dry in one of these races.

Overrated: Gloves
If you can find me a pair of gloves that works to keep your hands warm while wet, I will be forever indebted. I’ve tried pretty much everything: neoprene, sealskinz, wool, ski gloves, waterproof, Seirus All-weather, etc. When wet, NOTHING keeps the heat in (though Seirus is the best of the worst). On the other hand, if you aren’t going to have wet hands (think Winter Death Race), down-filled ski gloves are EXCELLENT. I stayed pretty toasty at the WDR with some cheapo ski gloves.

Underrated: Beanies
Everyone knows you lose some ridiculous percentage of your body heat through your head. So keep that noggin covered, all. I may look like a man (and have been mistaken for a man on the course while wearing a beanie), but at least it prevents THAT HAIR from letting loose (see, e.g., Ultrabeast pics)

Overrated: Waterproof boots/shoes
As many before me have said, shitty at keeping the water out, EXCELLENT at keeping it in. The only exception to this would be the Winter DR–since most of the water is frozen and you are only in the snow, waterproof boots are an excellent choice (especially with the snowshoe component this upcoming year). That being said, don’t wear them if you have to go take a dip in the pond under the ice 😉

Underrated: Snowboard/ski pants with vents

This one is unique to the Winter DR as well–I would laugh if I saw some of you all out at WTM in a pair of ski pants. But for the snow, uninsulated ski pants do the trick well. And the vents are fantastic if, say, you have to do 3,000 burpees (and everyone wondered why I was in a sports bra…). As I think I’ve said before, I was pretty toasty (and downright hot) at the WDR.

Overrated: Handwarmers
They get wet, they stop working. End of story. That being said, shake a couple before the race (if it’s only a few hours long), and they’ll be nice and toasty by the time you are done.

Underrated: Windbreakers
This one I owe to the indubitable Joel Gat. While I was freezing my ass off last year at WTM, he was toasty in a Gore-tex windbreaker. Yes, even through the water. And when I thought I was going to go the way of Steiner at S.E.R.E. D.C. in January and Joel gave me that windbreaker, I was toasty to no end. It’s simple: wind + wet = death. So while it may feel weird (and super-unflattering) to swim and crawl through mud in a windbreaker, I’m a believer.

Overrated: Putting on an extra layer of fat
Ok, ok, this may work. But vanity would get the best of me.

Underrated: Neoprene vest/hood combo
Yes, wetsuits are great, and I sure as hell will be wearing one at WTM this year. But the key is keeping your core warm, so if you are going to have a layer of neoprene, concentrate it mostly around your core, neck and head. And that neoprene hood serves as great insulation when you get zapped by the Arctic Enema (is that what they are calling it now? It’s been forever)

Overrated: Dry Suits
Sure, I imagine they work. But they are also incredibly expensive and you risk puncturing a hole in that spendy investment.

Underrated: Aquaphor
Every list I make always comes back to Aquaphor. This time, it’s not about chafing–it’s about windburn. I suffered from slight windburn this past weekend at the Super Spartan, but I’ll never forget the “face on fire I’m going to die” feeling after WTM last year. So lube up the face and the lips with regularity, or prepare to bathe in a vat of aloe gel.

Overrated: Booze
Unfortunately, “beer blanket” does not work here.

Underrated: Hot liquids
I kept a thermos of hot water in my tent during WTM. It was a godsend. As was the hot chicken broth at the aid stations, but that’s another story.

Overrated: Cleaning up post-race
That shower hose on-site is only going to make you colder. Bring clean towels, wipe yourself down, and save the shower for when you can sit in it for over a half hour.

Underrated: Down coats
For after the race. After WTM last year I threw on my full-length sleeping bag coat and felt my body temperature slowly come back to normal. Bring lots of dry, warm clothes for after any cold weather race.

And, for the record, no one is paying me off here for these views. I wish I was that important. So UA, don’t come after me, mmmmkay?

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