WWND? (part 1)
June 5, 2011
This past weekend has been circled on my calendar for over 5 months.
2011 had just been rung in, and I was determined to make this a better year than last. Some friends had signed up for the Warrior Dash and were looking for others to join them. It looked like fun, but knew I was still in the midst of my own physical restrictions. I was suffering (suffering being a good word as for 12 weeks I couldn’t completely straighten my left arm) from bursitis. I don’t know how I got it but it wasn’t going away quickly by any means.
The Warrior Dash is a race with obstacles thrown in. I’ve run 5Ks before and those are the same 3.1 miles as this. Looking at the obstacles, I tried to pump myself up. Running through a windstorm, I can do that. Trudging through waist-high water and jumping over floating telephone poles, sure-why not? Rappelling down a wall...uh, now we have a problem.
I’ve never rappelled, and only having one functional arm, I don’t see that happening. Both my arm/wrist doctor and my physical therapist said I should make a full recovery, and this was going to be my motivation. Days ticked by and the slots kept filling up. I was no longer able to sign-up for the start time with my friends, and when the choices (which had been 21) were down to three, I knew it was now or never.
I told everyone I knew I was doing it, knowing the more people expecting me to do it, the more I could convince myself I could. When Annette and I would sit and watch TV, she’d have the laptop in front of her and out of nowhere she would blurt out, “You realize there’s fire in this ‘thing’ you’re doing? Real fire!” Yes, I’d seen it. I also know about the mud pit with the barb wire we had to crawl under.
Finally, race day was here. I drove down, with my pouch of Gatorade fuel and a can of Red Bull. I picked up my gear, tied the timing chip into my shoe and headed for the start area.
The course was set up in Logan, OH part of scenic Hocking Hills. The first three-quarters of a mile the course was all uphill and at a pretty decent incline as well. The path was probably only 4-5 feet wide (the width of the Bobcat they drove through to make a path) and it didn’t take long until the field of runners, turned into a field of walkers and whiners, and I was one of them.
I definitely didn’t train for hills like this and before I really even got started, I could feel my spirit being sucked out of me. I kept moving forward, not even able to keep a jogger's pace. I'd look up and just see more of the hill hiding the sun that hadn’t made it over the top either. There was really no end in sight. My endurance was fading, and my only motivation was the thought that what goes up must come down.
I didn’t wear a watch, but I felt like I was already 20-25 minutes in, and hadn’t face the first (of 12) obstacles designed to be the challenging part of the course. Finally making it to the top of the first hill, I began running as we went down, down, down. Making sure not to go too fast, as getting out of control was a grave possibility. Then another spirit killer, back up, again not knowing how far, or how much it would take to hit the next peak.
The second hill wasn’t as bad and it led to the first obstacle, 100 tires hanging, and swinging on ropes. Getting through that was cake, just don’t give me another hill! Sorry, for my luck, back up-and-down it was. The next obstacle was the waist-high trudge and over the telephone poles. The problem was it was armpit-high water. I tried swimming, but quickly learned walking was the way to go. Climbing out of that water (my clothes now weighing 7 pounds more soaking wet,) it was climbing over junk cars, across 100 tires, then more cars and over more tires.
Back to the narrow path, and back to the hills. I was almost ready to cry. There was a voice in my head, telling me to stop, but there just wasn’t room. There were still more people behind me, and even if I stopped, there was no real place to rest. It was just about that time, I had the thought about Nathan, how hard he works for all the things I take for granted. I thought about him looking at the hallway at school and wondering do I have the leg-strength to get me all the way there.
There was no way I could stop now. The next obstacle was a wood frame, 3-foot tall, 50 foot long and covered on five sides by a black tarp. It required getting on hands-and-knees, crawling forward, going at the pace of the slowest crawler. Feet would constantly kick you if you tried to go faster than the person you couldn’t see in front of you. What I realized here, was this was actually a chance to slow myself down, catch my breath and let my confidence rebuild. As the end of the tarp came, I could finally see the light, and it was an awakening of what'is really important.
The next obstacles seemed petty. I can’t remember most of the other hills, as I was thinking of the finish line. No longer did I get bogged down the roadblocks thrown in my way trying to get the best of me, there’s a bigger goal in the end. A few people passed me, and I passed a few others, but they were no longer competitors, but teammates battling the same challenges together. Going through miles of bungee cords wrapped around a group of trees like a spider web, the first person would grab a handful, pass them to the next, and on and on, together we all made each other better.
The last half mile had one obstacle after another, starting with a 25 foot cargo net climb. Climbing wasn’t the problem, going over the top, regaining your footing and heading down the other was the challenge. It made me think of what happens when we attack a problem, discover the solution and put the plan in place. Once you reach the top, what’s next, there’s other issues to battle, where do we go from here?
Three obstacles later (with the finish line looming just beyond sight) there it was. The rappelling wall. Sixteen feet high, with ropes on the top, hanging to one side or the other. Probably my biggest feared obstacle going in, my strategy took on another leap of faith, pick a spot with a rope to the left and bare wall to the right and hope there’s a rope to the other side at the top. To be honest I can’t even remember the climb up, I was just hoping to see the rope to get me down. There it was, my lifeline to victory. I’m still a big boy, falling’s still a possibility, but not when you have angels looking over you. Somehow, down I climbed, like a pro.
The growing volume of music, sounded that the finish was close. Only two obstacles left. The first, jumping over two rows of fire 24 inches high, which didn’t phase me a bit, I was still transfixed on what was coming next - the infamous mud pit and barb wire. I never slowed down entering the put, but all I could see were butts, backs and heads of those ahead, the arms, knees and feet were submerged in the mud.
Time for the army crawl. And just like that, my thoughts were back on Nathan. We’ve tried to get him to army crawl for years, but he’s seen no point, and had no interest. Still, on I went forearm over forearm, one knee passing the other. The mud was the consistency of pudding, sticking to every part of the body it could grab hold. The more you fought the more it drained the muscles. All this after three miles of hell and hills?! Just when I thought I couldn’t move any farther, my guardian angels pulled me the last 5 feet. I could almost hear them say, “Stand up and finish, your victory is at hand.”
I pulled my head up and saw the finish line. My heavy legs could barely move, but I had done it. I was a Warrior!
In the few times I did get out to "train" (a very flat, in comparison) 5K, my time was between 36-37 minutes. My goal for completing the Warrior Dash (before knowing about the hills) was 50 minutes.
I drudged over to the results tent, not sure I wanted to see it but there is was. My time: 40 minutes 18 seconds. I was dumbfounded. I was numb. I thought my time on that first hill was almost that on its own. It felt like four hours, not 40 minutes! I don't know if I could have made it had it been any longer. My body still aches, two days later.
My next thought, one of Nathan’s PT sessions: 60 minutes.
Now tell me, who’s the real warrior?!
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