Surviving the Spartan Beast

I used to snicker at people who did Spartan Races. Quietly, behind their back.  

It tracks, for so long I was a finance girl, boujie, only respect for mainstream elite behavior.  And there Spartans are, rambling around in the bushes, digging through mud, inglorious, ignoble, degrading.  I was a different person before I came out as nonbinary, I was working so hard to minimize and erase parts of myself, it was easy to downplay others' accomplishments as well.

I did my first Stadion last year, I can't even remember why.  I think a friend of mine said they wanted to do one so I signed up, but then they didn't and I went alone.  It's pretty easy to make friends at Spartan Races, even easier than at road races.  They take longer, you're doing hard physical labor, none of us get through it without some encouragement and support from strangers.  I suppose maybe the elite competitors do, though I suspect even they share some level of camaraderie.  The course was demanding, but it didn't put me on my ass, and I still thought Spartans were easier than road races.

The 10k was harder.  Apparently the Mountain Creek course, which just so happens to be the one closest to New York, is also one of the most difficult.  5,000 feet of elevation change, rocky and muddy, after a day on those hills every single part of my body felt defeated.  But not demoralized, that took the 21k, a race I finished last weekend.  It was on Saturday, it took 6.5 hours for me to complete, I was up the next morning at 3:30am to spend half a day on my feet cheering for our Brooklyn Half Experience competitors, by Monday getting out of bed was difficult.

My body so beat down like that, I was sure I was slow, weak, simply hadn't done the strength training necessary to show up ready (and, I didn't, outside of hot yoga I rarely strength train, it's something I need to work on).  I checked the results to see if my concerns were valid and while I could have prepared better I was pleasantly surprised.  9th out of 39 individuals in my age group.  69th out of 320 women (they don't have a nonbinary category...).

I could have pushed harder, not waited for friends I'd made on the trail to get up the side of a hill, been more strategic in my obstacle approaches.  But I'm happy with my finish.  And happier still with the experience.  It rained, heavily at times.  There was one moment, I had just been in a group of people, and I jogged a bit through the wooded trail, then stopped to look back and suddenly I was completely alone, no one in front, no one behind.  Just me and the rain and the forest, Black Creek rushing along to my left.  

Other moments I'd get to an obstacle I knew I couldn't tackle alone, find the nearest person who was standing around watching, and ask for a boost.  Everyone else watching would start yelling, 'PUSH PUSH PUSH.' It's silly, I know, but sometimes those chants are what made me push through my seizing muscles to get me up and over whatever obstacle I was struggling with.

I met some folks from Asian Trailmix, I saw their singlets from behind and immediately recognized them.  Charm and Law gave me such a beautiful and much needed reminder that our friends are everywhere, even when we don't know it, even when we don't know them, yet.  

I suppose I used to find Spartan Races silly for the same reason my condescension and exclusivity have always popped up, entry is accessible to almost anyone willing to rip their body apart for half a day.  Entry is expensive, but rarely limited.  You don't have to sign up by a certain time to secure entry, you could likely show up day of and get a bib.  They don't require heavy training, if you can't do an obstacle no one shames you for it, and while misogyny and racism have their place there (as they do everywhere...) the events I've participated in have been quite collegiate, with men being very supportive and helpful to the women around them.

I used to think value had to be exclusive to mean something. But the more I show up muddy, sore, and willing to ask for help, the more I understand that access doesn't dilute meaning—sometimes, it creates it.