This…Is…Sparta!: Finding Strength in New Experiences
Written February 2024 via computer. Photos via me + Spartan website.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not exactly a “muscle mommy”.
For most of my childhood, I was the scrawny kid with arms that would make spaghetti noodles seem thick. Cross country and track competitions were my bread and butter throughout high school in terms of fitness, but that was pretty much the extent of my athletic ability. I couldn’t do a push up, hang on a bar, or bench any weight. I have memories of going to try-outs for soccer, gymnastics, and basketball in elementary school. It should go without saying that I did not make the team in either of those. The most lifting I probably did was carrying my textbooks from one class to another (I know, what a nerd). Because of these facts, I’ve never really felt like a physically strong person. I was always envious of people who could use massive weights and dominate the various rep machines, and on top of that I was embarrassed about lifting in the gym and struggling during simple exercises. Being someone who advocates for doing uncomfortable things and testing your limits, I knew this would be an opportunity to practice what I preach. No longer shall I be confined to my tiny-muscled prison of an upper body! Something had to change, that I had to make a change, but how does one do it?
You sign up for a Spartan Race in one of the nation’s most rugged locations with only three months to train, of course!
“Why Spartan?,” you may be asking. After my first ultramarathon in March, which you can read about here: https://abbysmancave.com/blog/i-barely-survived-the-ohio-backyard-ultramarathon , I was eager to get my paws on more unique athletic experiences. A standard running race wasn’t going to cut it. I needed something that was really going to push me, something that would make me reevaluate the way that I trained and help me become physically stronger. Along came the world of Obstacle Course Racing. I knew what obstacle races like Spartan, Tough Mudder, and Vikings were, but I had no idea how competitive the sport really was. There are dozens of professional OCR racers who dedicate their lives and make a living winning these races. There are sponsors, conferences, racing series, the whole shabang. There are even world-wide competitions held for those who want to be the best of the best. If you want to watch something neat, look up Spartan Race Championships highlights online. In the morning I began listening to OCR podcasts, and in the evenings after work I would eat dinner while watching OCR videos like an IPad kid watching “Baby Shark” for the twlevemillionth time. This was exactly what I was looking for. With zero experience under my belt and a whole lotta hope, I signed up for the Super 10k Spartan race in mountainous West Virginia.
Despite being interested in the sport, it was difficult to see myself racing in OCRs. Climbing, carrying, throwing, and pushing are not my specialties. The next three months would be tough. It would take hard work, a new style of training, and a whole lot of protein powder…
While proofreading this next segment of the article which described the three month period of training before the race, I nearly fell asleep because of how monotonous it was. BORING! To save you from a spontaneous nap, I decided to give a series of shortened highlights of what I did:
Entered my “gym bro era”, starting with light weight workouts, arm and back mobility training, and a more intense ab workout than what I usually. I would graduate to heavier weights every week or so, depending on the muscles worked. Lifts usually lasted anywhere from 60-90 minutes a day.
Became a huge fan of the rope-pull machine. I would use it anywhere from 25 to 40 minutes a day, and credit it greatly to my improved strength.
Discovered I was eating too little protein. I learned that you want to eat one gram of protein per pound of body weight, but it’s different for every person so DO YOUR RESEARCH! Eggs for breakfast, shakes throughout the day, ground beef or chicken as staple ingredients for dinner.
Doubled my overall calorie intake. Pretty self-explanatory, to add body mass you need to eat more.
I believed deep down that these were going to be the catalysts to my god-like physique. After four weeks of this, I saw very little results. My arms were sore, a kind of muscle pain that I was not familiar with. Though it was uncomfortable, I did like having some form of proof of my effort. If I winced when pushing furniture or carrying a box of paper to the printer I could think to myself, “oh yeah, the lifting is working all right.”
Just when I was considering smelling salts and drinking Prime as viable training choices, I began seeing results. I was consistently increasing the weights on all of the machines I was using, my shoulders and forearms grew a little bigger, and I could hang on a bar for over a minute. Eventually, I was able to even do a single pull-up. Oh yeah! It took a lot of work and many embarrassing gym sessions feeling self-conscious about how pathetic I looked with my 15 lb medicine ball and 10 lb dumbbells, but I was actually starting to get stronger. Who knew?! After three months the time had come, and with sore muscles and high spirits I saddled up for my Spartan Race and drove to West Virginia.
The morning of the race felt unreal. The scene was reminiscent of the Cornucopia from the first Hunger Games, filled with thick woods, rich green tones, and mist that clung to the air. Instead of a group of teenagers entering to kill each other, 2,000 others and I flooded through a huge tent to get our gear before we suffered together. The Blue Ridge Mountains looked over us menacingly, as if they knew what was about to go down.
It was time. I checked my shoes for the 50th time and put on my Spartan headband. In prison-like fashion, everyone was assigned a number that was sprawled over our bands. What was even more prison-like was the barbed wire maze we had to crawl under just to get TO the start line. We huddled into the start corral, hundreds of people eager to start the adventure. After the signature “What is our profession?!” shpiel, we were off.
The running was fine. There were some hills here and there and the terrain was sticky with dew and mud, but nothing too crazy. What was crazy was how I failed the first obstacle. Literally, the very first one. Not even five minutes into the race. Want to know what’s worse? The obstacle was monkey bars. MONKEY BARS!
Partly due to the morning fog that dampened the metal bars, partly due to my lack of hand grip practice. You would think that someone who can dead-hang on a bar for 90 seconds could complete something as simple as monkey bars, but noooooo! After five or six tries I shamefully opted for the penalty and continued on the course. The next three obstacles were up my alley. One wall climb, one ladder climb, one rope climb. I was decent at climbing obstacles as long as I could use my legs (no surprise there). After 2 kilometers and the second wall climb I heard a gentleman in Spartan assistance gear say into a walkie-talkie “We have the first woman coming through now.” Whaaaaat?! I didn’t believe I was first but it was true, and with my new-found confidence I continued on to the next obstacle.
Monkey bars again. This time they spin. Crap.
Though I tried a bit longer on these bars it was to no avail. I had to take yet another penalty and continue the race if I wanted to remain in a top spot. Frustrated with the pattern I was developing, I approached the next obstacle. The Bender. Imagine a huge slanted metal ladder that goes up 20 feet in height. The goal is to jump up to the first bar, which is 7 feet from the ground, shimmy to the top of said bar, climb up five more bars, loop your body around the top bar like a slug, climb down to the first bar, then jump. Wowzers.
I had little hope, but with two penalty loops under my belt I couldn’t afford to lose more time. On top of that, I was getting sick of losing to the darn bar obstacles. I grabbed the first rung and tried to swing my leg up to wrap around it. No dice.
I was disappointed to have wasted three minutes trying to climb the Bender and about to take a third penalty, when what seemed to be my guardian angel came to my aid. I took two steps away from the obstacle before hearing behind me “Don’t you dare leave!”.
He looked like Sugar Ray Leonard if he went to a Bob Marley concert. A man in his mid-30s with military boots, a pink tank top, a tie-dyed bandana wrapped around long cornrows, and a running vest with what I believe was a giant portable speaker playing music hanging on his back approached. His name was Mario, and while he was running at a leisurely pace and clearly having a great time there was no denying that he was an incredibly talented athlete. “Show me how you’re swinging,” he said. I did, to which he responded, “Try to jump, grab, and swing at the same time,” before proceeding to demonstrate perfectly what he was instructing me to do. This guy completed the obstacle in what felt like three seconds before he was back on the ground asking, “Can you try to do that?” Bro…
A pair of ladies running the 5k race soon approached and decided to demonstrate too. They completed the obstacle the same way the mystery man had and were sticking around to instruct me. Finally, I was able to get the motions right and climbed up the first bar. Mario and the two ladies were hollering, giving directions when needed. I reached the top and climbed over. I was taken aback not only because I was so close to skipping this obstacle that I was now completing, but because of the unprompted kindness these people were providing. It was a powerful testament to what encouragement can do for others, even more because they could have easily gone through the obstacle and continued without stopping to help me. It is a race, after all. Instead they were uplifting another runner, and for that I’m so grateful for them.
They helped me conquer the Bender.
From the time I started that obstacle to when I finished around seven minutes had passed. “You’ve got some catching up to do,” said Mario, a huge smile lighting his face. “Go get em, girl!”
I left in a sprint, thanking everyone for their help. He was right, I had some catching up to do. I finished three more obstacles before getting passed by a couple girls in the Atlas carry (carry a 75 lb concrete ball across 40 feet, around a pole, and back) and one other in the Z Wall (imagine rock climbing, but sideways). I made up some ground via running in-between obstacles and absolutely dominating the quarter-mile sandbag carry. During this portion of the race I met another quirky character. He was in his late 20s with jean shorts and a ripped white crop top that had “Mini Sasquatch” scrawled on the back in thick black marker. He looked about as far from Sasquatch as one could get, but we had some great conversation on the course while carrying the bags. Though we talked about plenty of things, it slipped my mind to ask what his bizarre shirt meant…
Four more successful obstacles passed before I got to the Hercules Hoist. I had to pull a rope to lift a sandbag that weighed almost as much as I do over 24 feet into the air. Like the Bender, I tried a couple of times and was left stumped. This was literally impossible, that was until I heard the faint and familiar sound of reggae music approaching. Once again, my guardian angel seemed to materialize and was coming to my aid.
“No, no! Put your legs up on the barriers! And tie the rope around your foot.”
I planted my feet against the metal bars that protected the athletes from the falling sandbags while wrapping the rope around my left leg.
“Now drop like a weight!”
Rude, you should never call a woman “a weight”.
I straightened my legs and dropped down. The bag rose, not by much but still an improvement. My arms and legs were shaking at this point, but the stranger placed his hand on the rope to steady it.
“I’m not going to hold it for you, you do that 5 more times and you got it!”
And I did. My muscles were straining, my face grimacing as I struggled to pull the bag up. Rope around the leg, drop, restabilize, repeat. My arms reaching one in front of the other to pull. Finally the sandbag hit the bell, and with a smile I released the rope. I didn’t think I could do it, I genuinely didn’t. With the help and encouragement from Mario once again I was able to complete the Hercules Hoist. I thanked him again, wished him luck, and sprinted to complete the last bits of the race.
Three obstacles, one swim through mud, one spear throw, and one epic leap over a burning fire later, I finished my first ever Spartan.
It all went by like a quick and indistinct blur. I was feeling a lot of emotions, but overall I was feeling so grateful for those who encouraged me and so proud of every individual who decided to spend their weekend having a crazy adventure. Over the speakers I heard a number of incredible people finishing. Cancer survivors, people running for charity, amputees, and one woman who was 76 years old filled the ranks. 9-to-5er or elite athlete, everyone had finished the race together while providing help to one another along the way. Lifting each other over walls, pulling each other up and down obstacles, and congratulating each other along the way.
This was what Spartan races were all about: testing yourself, finishing something extremely difficult, and rallying others along the way. To be uncertain if you can even finish, and yet to try anyway. I know that’s why I did it! Even after months of training I had no idea how it would go, but because of my desire to try something new and make a change in myself I trained my ass off and it paid off. I was stronger than I had ever been in my life, and it was all because of this race. I may not have placed first woman, but I was so happy and proud of myself and the others who finished this laboring thing.
I really wish I had written my notes on this race immediately after completing it rather than almost 6 months later, as there were so many picturesque moments that I remember thinking during the race “I hope I remember this for if I write a Spartan article”, but all of those stories and lessons boil down to this one sentiment: every once in a while, people need to do something that tests them. The original Spartans believed that all boys must go through a rite of passage before becoming men, and though I’m happy that we don’t have to sacrifice our children or go into constant war to prove ourselves worthy of being alive I think that there is something rewarding in doing difficult things. If I can give you a slice of motivation today, it would be to have confidence in yourself that you can get through tough stuff. Whether it’s a 10k Spartan race or a walk to the park or a horrible shift at work, you are a capable and strong person. You are capable of so much, probably more than you think! Also, if you're mildly interested I recommend giving an obstacle course race a try. It’s so fun! And who knows, maybe you’ll learn something about yourself that you didn’t know before…
And now, shoutouts!
Thank you to Joe De Sena for creating Spartan Races so I can be humbled by Monkey Bars.
Thank you to Mario, for some reason I still imagine you to be out on that course smiling and listening to some tunes in the woods.
Thank you to Mini Sasquatch for telling some funny jokes and making me question what your shirt meant.
Thank you to the ladies who helped me during the race, I hope your selflessness is repaid.
Now go do something hard!!