"This
is a man's world," James Brown once sang.
And
to read this
story in the New York Times, you'd have to think the title of the
song, "It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World" would be a pretty
apt description for the OCR scene.
And
you'd be wrong.
Sure,
lots of OCR advertising material focuses on attracting the
beer-chugging, fist-pumping, chest-thumping,
weekend-warrior-kind-of-guy, but OCRs are not the sole province of
the testosterone set. As I, and my 8466 sisters who are a part of the
Spartan Chicked movement, can attest to, women are just as good at
getting as dirty.
Writer
Joshua David Stein, in his NY Times piece, describes the Tough Mudder
as "an extreme obstacle course
that is becoming the macho sport of choice for Type A men (and some
women) who find marathons too easy and triathlons meh." He goes
on to chronicle pull-up challenges, keg-chucking, and other feats of
intense, well, male-ness. He focuses on the "band of brothers"
camaraderie and spirit.
And
he totally misses that lots of women run OCRs too.
Are
there tons of guys, like the ones Stein describes, running OCRs?
Sure. But there are tons of others, too, from all walks of life.
Mixed in with the former athletes and hardcore fitness fanatics,
there are plenty of people who are out there on the course, just
trying to prove that they can overcome one more challenge, conquer
one more obstacle. There are plenty of women running these races -
from stay-at-home-mothers in Ohio, to English teachers in New
Hampshire, to graduate students in New Mexico. To stereotype obstacle
course races as a man's world is to discount the growing number of
women who are getting down and dirty in the mud every weekend.
I,
myself, am a self-described OCR addict. As my husband so often
complains, I plan my year (and my vacations) around OCRs. I ask for
Dri-Fit gear and trail running shoes for Christmas. I head to the gym, not so I can look better in a bikini, but so that I can finally
complete a rope climb during a race.
And
I'm not alone. The number of female obstacle course racers increases
every year. We are a force to be reckoned with. And while we may be
competing for different and very personal reasons, we all get at
least a small sense of satisfaction when we pass a guy on the course
- also known as "chicking."
And
why not, when as Stein describes in his article, there are men
who put surgical tape on their chests, while saying, “This is
going to be 9/11 on my nipples.”
Really?
Try nursing a baby with tongue tie and thrush. Dude needs to quit
whining and take a lesson from the chicks and Spartan the F up...
Monday, December 10, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Superman and Tough Mothers
I did not want to go the the gym today.
I've been back crossfitting now for almost 2 months, and I'm signed up for 3 classes per week (really, with my schedule, fitting anything more would be a challenge. Eh, who am I kidding, with my schedule, fitting in 3 classes per week is a challenge). Since I registered for Tough Mudder Georgia (April 6!), I have officially put myself into training - which means making it into the box (Crossfit term for the gym) 3 times per week, as well as getting at least one run in per week. In order to meet my goal, I dutifully packed up my gym bag and threw it in my car, so I could go to the box right after work.
Well, my box posts its daily WODs (workout of the day) on its website. During an idle moment at work this afternoon, I decided to look up the WOD, to get an idea of what I would be in for.
Bad move.
The WOD was rowing. Intervals of 250m rowing sprints followed by 3 minutes of rest, 8 times on the Concept 2 (C2) rower.
I hate rowing. It makes me legs feel all rubbery and my forearms all stiff. It doesn't help that I am always the slowest rower, either.
I sat there, at work, staring at the computer screen, and excuses started popping into my head. I needed to spend more time with the kids. I really needed to finish up a report. I could always go on Friday and then Saturday and still get my 3 classes in this week - no harm, no foul, right?
And then, it hit me: if I ran away from this challenge, this WOD, I might as well quit training for the Tough Mudder right then and there. Because nothing about Tough Mudder is going to be easy: not the obstacles, not the cold, nothing. Just like the Spartan Beast, it will be about facing my limits and pushing through them. I am not going to be the toughest or strongest or fastest at the Tough Mudder (or, let's face it, at any race), but it shouldn't even be about that. Just showing up to take on something you know will be a challenge takes tremendous amounts of strength and courage. There was a great movie called "Angus" from the mid-90s. In it, Angus's grandfather is trying to impart words of wisdom to his teenage grandson, Angus, who has been the target of bullies for years. He tells Angus, "Superman isn't brave."
Sometimes training isn't just about the physical - it's about the mental too. And, today, I totally smoked the WOD when it came to the mental.
I've been back crossfitting now for almost 2 months, and I'm signed up for 3 classes per week (really, with my schedule, fitting anything more would be a challenge. Eh, who am I kidding, with my schedule, fitting in 3 classes per week is a challenge). Since I registered for Tough Mudder Georgia (April 6!), I have officially put myself into training - which means making it into the box (Crossfit term for the gym) 3 times per week, as well as getting at least one run in per week. In order to meet my goal, I dutifully packed up my gym bag and threw it in my car, so I could go to the box right after work.
Well, my box posts its daily WODs (workout of the day) on its website. During an idle moment at work this afternoon, I decided to look up the WOD, to get an idea of what I would be in for.
Bad move.
The WOD was rowing. Intervals of 250m rowing sprints followed by 3 minutes of rest, 8 times on the Concept 2 (C2) rower.
I hate rowing. It makes me legs feel all rubbery and my forearms all stiff. It doesn't help that I am always the slowest rower, either.
I sat there, at work, staring at the computer screen, and excuses started popping into my head. I needed to spend more time with the kids. I really needed to finish up a report. I could always go on Friday and then Saturday and still get my 3 classes in this week - no harm, no foul, right?
And then, it hit me: if I ran away from this challenge, this WOD, I might as well quit training for the Tough Mudder right then and there. Because nothing about Tough Mudder is going to be easy: not the obstacles, not the cold, nothing. Just like the Spartan Beast, it will be about facing my limits and pushing through them. I am not going to be the toughest or strongest or fastest at the Tough Mudder (or, let's face it, at any race), but it shouldn't even be about that. Just showing up to take on something you know will be a challenge takes tremendous amounts of strength and courage. There was a great movie called "Angus" from the mid-90s. In it, Angus's grandfather is trying to impart words of wisdom to his teenage grandson, Angus, who has been the target of bullies for years. He tells Angus, "Superman isn't brave."
You don't understand. He's smart, handsome, even decent. But he's not brave. No, listen to me. Superman is indestructible, and you can't be brave if you're indestructible. It's people like you and your mother. People who are different, and can be crushed and know it. Yet they keep on going out there every time.I went to the box this evening. I did my WOD. Out of the the 8 other people who came for the 6pm class, I was, by far, the slowest. Out of all of the people who did the WOD today, I was the second slowest. But I did it. I showed up, gave it my all, and I walked out proud of myself for not running away.
Sometimes training isn't just about the physical - it's about the mental too. And, today, I totally smoked the WOD when it came to the mental.
OCR History 101
So, you find yourself interested in learning more about OCRs and training for one, but you're not quite sure how to go about doing so? Well, you're in luck! Follow this link to download the Spartan E-Book that chronicles the Spartan Race and has training tips to help you out.
Want to register for a Spartan Race and get a 15% discount? Follow this link and use the code "extole15" for 15% off! It's that easy!
Want to register for a Spartan Race and get a 15% discount? Follow this link and use the code "extole15" for 15% off! It's that easy!
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Joining the Spartan Street Team
I hate selling things.
When I was a Girl Scout, I pretty much flat refused to go door-to-door selling things. I had no problem manning the booths outside of stores and stacking boxes while others tried to get people to buy, but anything that required me to directly approach others for the purpose of selling - not gonna happen. When Older Boy started kindergarten this year, the school gave us the option of participating in fundraisers or writing a check.
I wrote the check.
So last Thursday, when Travis from Spartan Race put out a call for people to join the Street Team and help market the Spartan Race at the Thunder Road Expo in Charlotte, I was understandably hesitant. Give up 4 hours on my day off to try and sell a bunch of strangers on the Spartan Race? As much I love the Spartan Race, memories of school fundraisers and Girl Scout cookie sales assaulted me. And yet, for some reason, with much trepidation, I signed up for a 4-hour stint at the Expo. That Friday morning, I almost talked myself out of showing up, but I spartaned up, got in my car, and drove into Charlotte.
And had the best time.
Sure, initially when I showed up at the booth, I felt uncomfortable and a little out of place. Intimidated even. The first half-hour, I probably talked to maybe 4 people who walked by the booth. But after a while, I really got into it. There I was, surrounded by marathoners and half-marathoners, and yet I - the girl picked close to last in gym class - was the one who had accomplished something most of them had not: a Spartan Race. A Spartan Trifecta.
And I wanted to share my love of OCRs with all of them.
After a while, it got easy. I started chatting guys and gals up right and left. The most fun was shooting down the excuses I heard from people as to why they couldn't do a Spartan. As someone who did not start running until July 2011 and then did her first Spartan in March 2012, I found that I had a story to tell: I did this and you can do this too. I was upfront with people: I'm not the fastest, I'm not the strongest, but I finished all the same. Four hours flew by quickly, and before I knew it, my shift was up and it was time for me to leave to get Older Boy from school.
As I was leaving, I mentioned to Travis that manning the booth and selling the Spartan Race ended up being easier and a lot more fun than I expected. He responded that selling from the heart is the easiest and best way to market.
And he's right. In a lot of ways, I never believed that the school fundraising or selling cookies really mattered - the school or scout troop received so little in return for each unit sold. But you can't get the benefit of an OCR - the addiction, the desire to get into shape, the desire to push yourself - unless something gets you to sign up first. What I was doing really mattered - I really could have gotten someone to sign up for their first OCR that day.
And, that, my friends, is what made it so fun and easy.
Earning a free Spartan race didn't hurt either ;).
Arooo!
When I was a Girl Scout, I pretty much flat refused to go door-to-door selling things. I had no problem manning the booths outside of stores and stacking boxes while others tried to get people to buy, but anything that required me to directly approach others for the purpose of selling - not gonna happen. When Older Boy started kindergarten this year, the school gave us the option of participating in fundraisers or writing a check.
I wrote the check.
So last Thursday, when Travis from Spartan Race put out a call for people to join the Street Team and help market the Spartan Race at the Thunder Road Expo in Charlotte, I was understandably hesitant. Give up 4 hours on my day off to try and sell a bunch of strangers on the Spartan Race? As much I love the Spartan Race, memories of school fundraisers and Girl Scout cookie sales assaulted me. And yet, for some reason, with much trepidation, I signed up for a 4-hour stint at the Expo. That Friday morning, I almost talked myself out of showing up, but I spartaned up, got in my car, and drove into Charlotte.
And had the best time.
Sure, initially when I showed up at the booth, I felt uncomfortable and a little out of place. Intimidated even. The first half-hour, I probably talked to maybe 4 people who walked by the booth. But after a while, I really got into it. There I was, surrounded by marathoners and half-marathoners, and yet I - the girl picked close to last in gym class - was the one who had accomplished something most of them had not: a Spartan Race. A Spartan Trifecta.
And I wanted to share my love of OCRs with all of them.
After a while, it got easy. I started chatting guys and gals up right and left. The most fun was shooting down the excuses I heard from people as to why they couldn't do a Spartan. As someone who did not start running until July 2011 and then did her first Spartan in March 2012, I found that I had a story to tell: I did this and you can do this too. I was upfront with people: I'm not the fastest, I'm not the strongest, but I finished all the same. Four hours flew by quickly, and before I knew it, my shift was up and it was time for me to leave to get Older Boy from school.
As I was leaving, I mentioned to Travis that manning the booth and selling the Spartan Race ended up being easier and a lot more fun than I expected. He responded that selling from the heart is the easiest and best way to market.
And he's right. In a lot of ways, I never believed that the school fundraising or selling cookies really mattered - the school or scout troop received so little in return for each unit sold. But you can't get the benefit of an OCR - the addiction, the desire to get into shape, the desire to push yourself - unless something gets you to sign up first. What I was doing really mattered - I really could have gotten someone to sign up for their first OCR that day.
And, that, my friends, is what made it so fun and easy.
Earning a free Spartan race didn't hurt either ;).
Arooo!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Color Run 2012 - Charlotte
Color Run is referred to as the "Happiest 5k on the Planet," a slogan that, whether it was planned or not, reminds one of the slogan for Disneyland. You know, Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth.
Unless you're a 5-year-old.
If you're a 5-year-old, Disneyland is the Most Epic Tantrum Place on Earth.
I should have kept that in mind before signing Older Boy and myself up for the Run.
I should first explain that Older Boy is very proud of his mother for running OCRs. Last year, when he was 4, he eagerly asked to enter several tot trots, or "running races." His first running race, his shoe came off not once, but twice, which led to him sitting down and bawling on the road. Running race 2 and 3 were only nominally better. I offered to run with him around the neighborhood, but much to my disappointment, after running past 3 houses, he would say he was tired and give up. When I heard about the Color Run, I had high hopes that he would finally get bitten by the running bug and we would be able to bond over races. I showed him videos of the event, and he excitedly asked to do it. We signed up as a team with one his friends, K, and his K's mother, and Older Boy would chatter to anyone who would listen about the Color Run.
The Color Run was held in Charlotte at Lowe's Motor Speedway on November 17th. Older Boy was absolutely stoked to be running near the race track. As we walked from the car to the race area, I kept having to tell him to stop running, as mommy, with her full bladder, was in no shape to run yet. He was positively pulsing with excitement. After a stop at the porta-potties, we met up with our running partners and he and K excitedly danced around while waiting for our start.
Initially, Older Boy did great. He ran and jogged along, chatting with his friend. However, before the 1st kilometer had even been run, he declared running was too hard and started pouting. Frustrated and embarrassed by his escalating temper tantrum, I picked him up and started carrying him. Some people noticed and commented on my hauling my 42 lb son up-and-down a hill; clearly, my Spartan training was coming in handy. Eventually, he agreed to use his own two legs and I put him down and he walked and jogged some more. We came to the first color station, however, and he refused to walk through with his eyes open. I agreed to hold his hand and guide him through while he kept his eyes closed. K and his mom ran through happily, while Older Boy grimly marched through the color. Afterwards, he got upset that he did not get enough color on him. So at the second station, I made sure to guide him through even slower. My reward? Red color directly sprayed in my left eye.
At least, at that point, neither one of us was happy.
Older Boy perked up a little at the water stop, agreeing to jog a little even, but for the most part, he walked, which was fine with me. I just wanted him to keep moving on his own. Things appeared to be going better until right at the end, when the finish line came into sight. K and K's mom (a runner) eagerly took off running towards the finish line. I asked Older Boy if he wanted to run across the finish line; he said no. And then he stopped walking. Ready for it to be done already, I scooped him up and started running, less than 75 yards from the finish. Somehow, this made him even more upset and he started screaming in my arms and flailing. I put him down and he ran away from me. On the bright side, he actually did run towards the finish line, but then he stopped short. I went up to him, grabbed his hand, and we walked across the finish line. Finally, it was over.
We met back up with K and K's mom. The boys had a grand time opening up their packets of color and smearing each other with them. After 15 minutes, we were ready to leave and said goodbye to our partners. Walking back towards the car, wouldn't you know it, I had to yell at Older Boy for running.
*sigh*
My hopes of Older Boy being bitten by the running bug were soundly dashed. As we drove home in silence, I realized that he was not going to be the little runner buddy that I had been hoping he would become. I decided it was time to let go of that hope and just enjoy him for the child that he is. As much as I would like to share my love of racing with him, he simply is not - and may never be - cut out for it. It was a hard pill to swallow, but after a good night's sleep, the disappointment has worn off to a large degree. It is what it is, and he is who he is.
Who knew mothering could be so messy?
Unless you're a 5-year-old.
If you're a 5-year-old, Disneyland is the Most Epic Tantrum Place on Earth.
I should have kept that in mind before signing Older Boy and myself up for the Run.
I should first explain that Older Boy is very proud of his mother for running OCRs. Last year, when he was 4, he eagerly asked to enter several tot trots, or "running races." His first running race, his shoe came off not once, but twice, which led to him sitting down and bawling on the road. Running race 2 and 3 were only nominally better. I offered to run with him around the neighborhood, but much to my disappointment, after running past 3 houses, he would say he was tired and give up. When I heard about the Color Run, I had high hopes that he would finally get bitten by the running bug and we would be able to bond over races. I showed him videos of the event, and he excitedly asked to do it. We signed up as a team with one his friends, K, and his K's mother, and Older Boy would chatter to anyone who would listen about the Color Run.
The Color Run was held in Charlotte at Lowe's Motor Speedway on November 17th. Older Boy was absolutely stoked to be running near the race track. As we walked from the car to the race area, I kept having to tell him to stop running, as mommy, with her full bladder, was in no shape to run yet. He was positively pulsing with excitement. After a stop at the porta-potties, we met up with our running partners and he and K excitedly danced around while waiting for our start.
Initially, Older Boy did great. He ran and jogged along, chatting with his friend. However, before the 1st kilometer had even been run, he declared running was too hard and started pouting. Frustrated and embarrassed by his escalating temper tantrum, I picked him up and started carrying him. Some people noticed and commented on my hauling my 42 lb son up-and-down a hill; clearly, my Spartan training was coming in handy. Eventually, he agreed to use his own two legs and I put him down and he walked and jogged some more. We came to the first color station, however, and he refused to walk through with his eyes open. I agreed to hold his hand and guide him through while he kept his eyes closed. K and his mom ran through happily, while Older Boy grimly marched through the color. Afterwards, he got upset that he did not get enough color on him. So at the second station, I made sure to guide him through even slower. My reward? Red color directly sprayed in my left eye.
At least, at that point, neither one of us was happy.
Older Boy perked up a little at the water stop, agreeing to jog a little even, but for the most part, he walked, which was fine with me. I just wanted him to keep moving on his own. Things appeared to be going better until right at the end, when the finish line came into sight. K and K's mom (a runner) eagerly took off running towards the finish line. I asked Older Boy if he wanted to run across the finish line; he said no. And then he stopped walking. Ready for it to be done already, I scooped him up and started running, less than 75 yards from the finish. Somehow, this made him even more upset and he started screaming in my arms and flailing. I put him down and he ran away from me. On the bright side, he actually did run towards the finish line, but then he stopped short. I went up to him, grabbed his hand, and we walked across the finish line. Finally, it was over.
We met back up with K and K's mom. The boys had a grand time opening up their packets of color and smearing each other with them. After 15 minutes, we were ready to leave and said goodbye to our partners. Walking back towards the car, wouldn't you know it, I had to yell at Older Boy for running.
*sigh*
My hopes of Older Boy being bitten by the running bug were soundly dashed. As we drove home in silence, I realized that he was not going to be the little runner buddy that I had been hoping he would become. I decided it was time to let go of that hope and just enjoy him for the child that he is. As much as I would like to share my love of racing with him, he simply is not - and may never be - cut out for it. It was a hard pill to swallow, but after a good night's sleep, the disappointment has worn off to a large degree. It is what it is, and he is who he is.
Who knew mothering could be so messy?
Hero Rush Carolinas 2012 Recap
Obstacle course racing is still a new sport, and yet, in some ways, it lacks imagination. Once you've jumped a bale of hay, well, you've jumped a bale of hay. So, it's nice when someone puts a new spin on some of the staples of OCRs. Thus, I was excited to participate in the Hero Rush, a firefighter-themed OCR, even if it was the first year it was being held. Coming off of the Carolinas Beast, I had some hesitation about whether I would be able to actually do it, as running an OCR with a open wound on your toe is probably not recommended (I had the toenail on my right big toe surgically removed the Tuesday between Carolinas Beast and Hero Rush). And truth be told, I probably shouldn't have run Hero Rush, but well, I can be extremely stubborn at times and darn it, I wanted to do Hero Rush. So, with 2 ibuprofen, numbing cream, and numbing spray on-board, I lined up to the start line of Hero Rush on Oct 20, 2012 and took off running.
Don't tell my podiatrist.
Hero Rush was definitely unique. The Charlotte race was held at the Z-Max dragway near Lowe's Motor Speedway. Parking was plentiful and there were actual bathroom facilities, which was a nice touch. On the bad side, though, this meant that a good bit of the run was on concrete, which is not a lot of fun when wearing trail-running shoes. Waves started every half-hour, but each wave was then broken down into mini-waves which started every 15 minutes. The bad thing about this was that the DJ decided that prior to every wave starting, he needed to play "Kickstart My Heart" by Motley Crue. Unless you are a serious metalhead, there is only so much Crue one can take. By the time my friend Shana and I headed back to my car, I was ready to kick something, and it wasn't the DJ's heart.
Shana and I were signed up for the 10:30 wave and were close enough to the front to be in the 10:30 wave rather than the 10:45 wave. The DJ made some barely understandable announcements, "Kickstart My Heart" blared over the speakers, and we were off, running up wooden stairs on a platform and then sliding down firepoles, aka Dispatch Descent. There were about 4 or 5 sets of stairs to the platform and an equal number of firepoles. The organizers were smart and had the timing mat set after participants ran a short distance away from the firepoles, so the backup at the start did not affect timing. I started running down the dragway and was glad to realize that my toe was pretty numb. Unfortunately, I was still recovering from the Beast, so my energy was, again, not where it needed to be. No matter, I chugged along, marvelling that I was actually at the front of the pack.
I'm never near the front of the pack.
After running the length of the dragway, I came to Forcible Fury - a series of doorways with springs on the doors to make it hard to open them. I took a doorknob to the hip which hurt massively in the moment, but was easily run off. The dragway ended in a patch of rocks and the next obstacle, Cargo Climb was set in this area. Up and over the cargo nets and finally onto the off-road portion, down the edge of dragway. The course then turned back and ran parallel to the dragway, but on the grass side and uphill to the next obstacle, Stretching the Line. Fire hoses were tied onto tires and we had to drag or carry them around a course. I opted to carry mine and then took off running into the wooded area behind the Z-max. I slowed down a little when I came to River Rescue - running through a pebbly creek. I did not want to run the risk of injuring my toe any further. Up and out of the creek bed and through some more trails. I realized I was running behind a cute couple and I used them to pace myself. Next up was Staying Alive: CPR Stop, in which organizers had strewn CPR dummies across the course and volunteers watched us do 30 chest compressions. The volunteers at that obstacle were three boys, one elementary school kid and two teenagers. They seemed somewhat impressed when I ran past the water stop, dropped to the ground, pounded out 30 compressions, and got up and kept going. Just a Mud Pit, which disappointingly, was just a mud pit. Or mud patch. The next obstacle was Crowd Control, which was your typical run-through-tires-hanging-from-ropes obstacle. After this was Dummy Drag, a unique obstacle in which participants had to partner up with another racer to carry a dummy (two tires tied together) on a stretcher over and under obstacles.
Running to the next obstacle, I saw people waiting down below it. It was Hoarder's Hell, in which you had to climb a ladder to a "window" of a makeshift second story building, walk through a smoke filled "room" and then go down a cargo net to the ground. There were only two ladders and rooms, and as I learned when I finally got into the room, there were a lot of scared people on the cargo net holding up the line. Cool idea for an obstacle, but poor execution. I got a little impatient when I finally got to the cargo net and went out and around two people on the net already.
The next obstacle was Basement Entrapped. You either climber a ladder or a rope in order to get to a two-story platform, and the walked a rope down to the ground. The line for the ladder was a good 5 minute backup, but there was hardly anyone trying to get up the rope (which was actually a deflated firehose). I thought I would take the chance on the rope and was ecstatic when I climbed it up to the second story. Woo hoo! First time accomplishing a rope climb at a race! I ended up passing the cute pace couple at that obstacle, since they opted for the stairs. I was flying high still when I came to the next obstacle, Towering Inferno. Large tubes were laid on their ends and wooden slats were placed inside as sort of a makeshift ladder to the the second story; water flowed down the pipe, making me glad I had brought a pair of swim goggles along. I climbed up the tube and emerged on the second story platform. In order to get down, you had to slide down a gigantic waterslide, which I happily did. At this point, the course was back onto concrete and off of the trail. The next obstacle took place on the infield of a dirt track race course at Lowe's Motor Speedway, a variation on the dummy drag called Stretcher Evac. I teamed up with a girl who had been running a little ahead of me; unfortunately for me, she was not quite so confident in her evac-ing skills, leading to the metal stretcher falling on my hand. However, we finished and took off running again, out of the dirt track and over three fire piles for Fire Walker. The next obstacle was Foam Adventure, in which a small tank was filled with foam (like you would find at a foam party). I accidentally inhaled through my mouth while running through and had the worst taste in my mouth as a result. From there, the course went down under the bleachers of the Z-max and into the dark. There, I was greeted with a crowd of people waiting to get through the next obstacle: Entanglement. Four tubes were laid on end next to each other and cords were strung through them so that you had to inch through them, akin to Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment. The backup at this obstacle easily killed my time by 5 minutes, and as I was waiting, I realized that my right thumb was wet and throbbing. In the dim light, I realized I had cut myself deeply on the metal stretcher and I was bleeding. I pushed the pain out of my mind and took full advantage of my small stature to quickly get through the tubes. Up the stairs and past another water stop, I came to Bystander Blast, in which participants had to wade through a pool of water while being shot with water sprays controlled by people on the sidelines. On to Fire on 16!, a devilish obstacle that involved hauling heavy fire hoses up and down the bleachers at the Z-max. Up the stairs was awful, but the downhill gave me a chance to recover. Two reps of that and it was off to the HazMat Zone. It's hard to explain this one. Basically, a pool was filled with day-glo water and jelly-like bits of material, making the pool more solid than fluid. We had to wade to the middle, dive under a floating barrel, and then come out. I was grateful for my goggles, once again. Climbing out of the tank, it was time to get back on the dragway and run towards the finish. But between the finish line and HazMat was Mazed and Confused, in which you had to crawl on your hands and knees through a dark maze. It wasn't bad, but I was slipping a little on the dragway surface and I was ready to be done. Getting up, I got ready and sprinted across the finish line. And headed to the First Aid station to see about my thumb.
The "5k" turned out to be 5 miles. When I found that out, my reaction was: "Huh." I guess 3 Spartans has really screwed with my sense of distance. I ended up finishing far better than I expected: 1:14:07.6, 19th in Age Group, 44th for Gender, and 165 Overall. Would I do it again? Probably not. While the obstacles were unique, I hated having to run on the asphalt and concrete in my trail shoes. Another thing that was a huge turnoff: the lack of camaraderie amongst racers. Attempts to encourage other racers were generally met with silence and for once, I really felt like I was running alone. Not sure if this was due to the kind of racers/runners the race attracted or what, but it definitely did not feel as fun as it could have been. However, I will say that it got a couple of acquaintances interested in OCRs, so that was a positive, and it would probably have been better if you were running with a group that stayed together.
So, Hero Rush. Good entry level OCR that would probably be fun to run with a group. Just make sure no one drops a stretcher on your thumb...
Don't tell my podiatrist.
Hero Rush was definitely unique. The Charlotte race was held at the Z-Max dragway near Lowe's Motor Speedway. Parking was plentiful and there were actual bathroom facilities, which was a nice touch. On the bad side, though, this meant that a good bit of the run was on concrete, which is not a lot of fun when wearing trail-running shoes. Waves started every half-hour, but each wave was then broken down into mini-waves which started every 15 minutes. The bad thing about this was that the DJ decided that prior to every wave starting, he needed to play "Kickstart My Heart" by Motley Crue. Unless you are a serious metalhead, there is only so much Crue one can take. By the time my friend Shana and I headed back to my car, I was ready to kick something, and it wasn't the DJ's heart.
Shana and I were signed up for the 10:30 wave and were close enough to the front to be in the 10:30 wave rather than the 10:45 wave. The DJ made some barely understandable announcements, "Kickstart My Heart" blared over the speakers, and we were off, running up wooden stairs on a platform and then sliding down firepoles, aka Dispatch Descent. There were about 4 or 5 sets of stairs to the platform and an equal number of firepoles. The organizers were smart and had the timing mat set after participants ran a short distance away from the firepoles, so the backup at the start did not affect timing. I started running down the dragway and was glad to realize that my toe was pretty numb. Unfortunately, I was still recovering from the Beast, so my energy was, again, not where it needed to be. No matter, I chugged along, marvelling that I was actually at the front of the pack.
I'm never near the front of the pack.
After running the length of the dragway, I came to Forcible Fury - a series of doorways with springs on the doors to make it hard to open them. I took a doorknob to the hip which hurt massively in the moment, but was easily run off. The dragway ended in a patch of rocks and the next obstacle, Cargo Climb was set in this area. Up and over the cargo nets and finally onto the off-road portion, down the edge of dragway. The course then turned back and ran parallel to the dragway, but on the grass side and uphill to the next obstacle, Stretching the Line. Fire hoses were tied onto tires and we had to drag or carry them around a course. I opted to carry mine and then took off running into the wooded area behind the Z-max. I slowed down a little when I came to River Rescue - running through a pebbly creek. I did not want to run the risk of injuring my toe any further. Up and out of the creek bed and through some more trails. I realized I was running behind a cute couple and I used them to pace myself. Next up was Staying Alive: CPR Stop, in which organizers had strewn CPR dummies across the course and volunteers watched us do 30 chest compressions. The volunteers at that obstacle were three boys, one elementary school kid and two teenagers. They seemed somewhat impressed when I ran past the water stop, dropped to the ground, pounded out 30 compressions, and got up and kept going. Just a Mud Pit, which disappointingly, was just a mud pit. Or mud patch. The next obstacle was Crowd Control, which was your typical run-through-tires-hanging-from-ropes obstacle. After this was Dummy Drag, a unique obstacle in which participants had to partner up with another racer to carry a dummy (two tires tied together) on a stretcher over and under obstacles.
Running to the next obstacle, I saw people waiting down below it. It was Hoarder's Hell, in which you had to climb a ladder to a "window" of a makeshift second story building, walk through a smoke filled "room" and then go down a cargo net to the ground. There were only two ladders and rooms, and as I learned when I finally got into the room, there were a lot of scared people on the cargo net holding up the line. Cool idea for an obstacle, but poor execution. I got a little impatient when I finally got to the cargo net and went out and around two people on the net already.
The next obstacle was Basement Entrapped. You either climber a ladder or a rope in order to get to a two-story platform, and the walked a rope down to the ground. The line for the ladder was a good 5 minute backup, but there was hardly anyone trying to get up the rope (which was actually a deflated firehose). I thought I would take the chance on the rope and was ecstatic when I climbed it up to the second story. Woo hoo! First time accomplishing a rope climb at a race! I ended up passing the cute pace couple at that obstacle, since they opted for the stairs. I was flying high still when I came to the next obstacle, Towering Inferno. Large tubes were laid on their ends and wooden slats were placed inside as sort of a makeshift ladder to the the second story; water flowed down the pipe, making me glad I had brought a pair of swim goggles along. I climbed up the tube and emerged on the second story platform. In order to get down, you had to slide down a gigantic waterslide, which I happily did. At this point, the course was back onto concrete and off of the trail. The next obstacle took place on the infield of a dirt track race course at Lowe's Motor Speedway, a variation on the dummy drag called Stretcher Evac. I teamed up with a girl who had been running a little ahead of me; unfortunately for me, she was not quite so confident in her evac-ing skills, leading to the metal stretcher falling on my hand. However, we finished and took off running again, out of the dirt track and over three fire piles for Fire Walker. The next obstacle was Foam Adventure, in which a small tank was filled with foam (like you would find at a foam party). I accidentally inhaled through my mouth while running through and had the worst taste in my mouth as a result. From there, the course went down under the bleachers of the Z-max and into the dark. There, I was greeted with a crowd of people waiting to get through the next obstacle: Entanglement. Four tubes were laid on end next to each other and cords were strung through them so that you had to inch through them, akin to Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment. The backup at this obstacle easily killed my time by 5 minutes, and as I was waiting, I realized that my right thumb was wet and throbbing. In the dim light, I realized I had cut myself deeply on the metal stretcher and I was bleeding. I pushed the pain out of my mind and took full advantage of my small stature to quickly get through the tubes. Up the stairs and past another water stop, I came to Bystander Blast, in which participants had to wade through a pool of water while being shot with water sprays controlled by people on the sidelines. On to Fire on 16!, a devilish obstacle that involved hauling heavy fire hoses up and down the bleachers at the Z-max. Up the stairs was awful, but the downhill gave me a chance to recover. Two reps of that and it was off to the HazMat Zone. It's hard to explain this one. Basically, a pool was filled with day-glo water and jelly-like bits of material, making the pool more solid than fluid. We had to wade to the middle, dive under a floating barrel, and then come out. I was grateful for my goggles, once again. Climbing out of the tank, it was time to get back on the dragway and run towards the finish. But between the finish line and HazMat was Mazed and Confused, in which you had to crawl on your hands and knees through a dark maze. It wasn't bad, but I was slipping a little on the dragway surface and I was ready to be done. Getting up, I got ready and sprinted across the finish line. And headed to the First Aid station to see about my thumb.
The "5k" turned out to be 5 miles. When I found that out, my reaction was: "Huh." I guess 3 Spartans has really screwed with my sense of distance. I ended up finishing far better than I expected: 1:14:07.6, 19th in Age Group, 44th for Gender, and 165 Overall. Would I do it again? Probably not. While the obstacles were unique, I hated having to run on the asphalt and concrete in my trail shoes. Another thing that was a huge turnoff: the lack of camaraderie amongst racers. Attempts to encourage other racers were generally met with silence and for once, I really felt like I was running alone. Not sure if this was due to the kind of racers/runners the race attracted or what, but it definitely did not feel as fun as it could have been. However, I will say that it got a couple of acquaintances interested in OCRs, so that was a positive, and it would probably have been better if you were running with a group that stayed together.
So, Hero Rush. Good entry level OCR that would probably be fun to run with a group. Just make sure no one drops a stretcher on your thumb...
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Calendar Girl
My race season is over for 2012 - a little prematurely, thanks to Filthy Fun Mud Run having to cancel due to Hurricane Sandy - and it is time to start thinking about 2013. This year, I did 8 OCRs, 1 sprint triathlon, and a 10k. While I enjoyed the experience of the triathlon, I've decided to focus my attention next year strictly on OCRs, so it's time to start deciding what will, and what won't, be on my race calendar for next year.
The first race on tap for me will be The Jungle Cup in early March at Carolinas Adventure World, where the Carolinas Beast was held. At the end of March will be the Carolinas Spartan Sprint in Charlotte. I'm still on the fence about doing the postponed Filthy Fun Mud Run, which would be the second week of April, but am definitely on-board for doing the USMC Challenge in Columbia, South Carolina on April 27. Rugged Maniac in Richmond and Warrior Dash Carolinas are on tap for May and June, respectively, and I am signed up for the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Sprint in August. So that is 6 definites and one maybe, and my race schedule is definitely busy in the spring, but empty in the fall.
Even though Hero Rush will be returning to Charlotte in October, I am not sure that I will be doing it again. As I will write about in my forthcoming write-up, the long lines at obstacles and the lack of camaraderie between racers really make me iffy about doing it again. Another one I am iffy about is the Carolinas Spartan Beast. Next year, it will be in November, and the thought of going 14 miles in the cold sounds beyond miserable to me, as I really hate the cold. I had been tentatively thinking about doing a Tough Mudder next year, but the dates, prices, and team members are not falling into line. I am crossing my fingers that Superhero Scramble will be coming to North Carolina in the fall.
So, as of this writing, my 2013 race schedule will finish up in August. Of course, it's only November, so things are definitely subject to change! If anyone knows of a good race within driving distance of Charlotte, let me know!
The first race on tap for me will be The Jungle Cup in early March at Carolinas Adventure World, where the Carolinas Beast was held. At the end of March will be the Carolinas Spartan Sprint in Charlotte. I'm still on the fence about doing the postponed Filthy Fun Mud Run, which would be the second week of April, but am definitely on-board for doing the USMC Challenge in Columbia, South Carolina on April 27. Rugged Maniac in Richmond and Warrior Dash Carolinas are on tap for May and June, respectively, and I am signed up for the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Sprint in August. So that is 6 definites and one maybe, and my race schedule is definitely busy in the spring, but empty in the fall.
Even though Hero Rush will be returning to Charlotte in October, I am not sure that I will be doing it again. As I will write about in my forthcoming write-up, the long lines at obstacles and the lack of camaraderie between racers really make me iffy about doing it again. Another one I am iffy about is the Carolinas Spartan Beast. Next year, it will be in November, and the thought of going 14 miles in the cold sounds beyond miserable to me, as I really hate the cold. I had been tentatively thinking about doing a Tough Mudder next year, but the dates, prices, and team members are not falling into line. I am crossing my fingers that Superhero Scramble will be coming to North Carolina in the fall.
So, as of this writing, my 2013 race schedule will finish up in August. Of course, it's only November, so things are definitely subject to change! If anyone knows of a good race within driving distance of Charlotte, let me know!
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Carolinas Spartan Beast 2012 Recap
The Carolinas Beast was held Oct 13 at Carolina Adventure World in South Carolina, about an hour south of the Charlotte metro-area. I had worried that it was going to be too cold, but was pleasantly surprised to find that the temperature was in the just-right zone. All said and done, it was around 14 grueling miles and there were definite times that I wondered whether I would finish, considering the furthest I had ever traveled on my own legs (in one go) was the 10.5 miles of the Mid-Atlantic Super. But finish it, I did. And I could not have done it without the support and tenacity of one thing in particular:
The toenail on my right big toe.
I would like to take a second to give a warm "Thank You" to this particular body part for hanging on through the several creek runs, through all of the ups and downs of the trail, for mile after mile. Yes, it was definitely not fun running with a toenail that was coming off, nanometer by nanometer, but as I triumphantly found out in the changing tent, the toenail hung on until the very end. Maybe a little too long, even, as the Tuesday after the Beast, I had to go to the podiatrist to get the toenail removed. But let's not ruin the congratulatory moment, shall we?
As with the Spartan Super, this was a race I was just looking to finish. For the 6 weeks prior to the Beast, I had a hacking cough that would not go away. One week before the Beast, I was lying in bed with a fever and body aches. For me, it was all about crossing that finish line and getting that beautiful green medal.
Our wave took off under gorgeous sunny skies. Karen and I split off from Shana, Isabel, and Ali early on, after coming to the first obstacle - chest-high water-filled ditches. I had some difficulty getting out of the last ditch (the travails of being short) and was grateful for the anonymous person who pushed me up. I also felt terrible for the young guy who tried to jump across that ditch and ended up landing on his crotch at the edge of it. Ouch.
Next came the barricades. It was at this point that I realized just how hard I had been hit by being sick the week before. My energy simply was not where it needed to be. Regardless, I went over the barricades and kept going. Following the barricades were the monkey bars. Karen attempted first and fell off. At first, I was going to try wth my gloves on (I bought snazzy new weightlifting gloves for the Beast), but opted to take them off and stuff them in my hydration backpack. I went up to the bars, climbed the steps, and -
Nailed it. Across those bad boys and to the other side. "Holy s^&!" I screamed to Karen. "I made it across!"
Still flying high off of conquering the monkey bars, we crossed over a ditch on a log and then came to the first of two stump hops. My balance was a little off but I made it across. More running, and the next obstacle was the Hercules Hoist. Once again, my creeping exhaustion made itself known, as I had to use every bit of my body weight to get the rope down. Next was a creek run. While the cold water felt GREAT on my calves, the pebbles and sand were wreaking havoc in my shoes. I had to stop a couple of times afterwards to clean out my socks and shoes. The great thing about Spartan Racers? Every time I stopped, someone (more often than not, more than one) would ask me if I was ok and whether I needed anything. Love Spartan Racers.
Next obstacles: Atlas Carry 1, Tire Flip, and Atlas Carry 2. Quickly followed by Stump Hop 2. Unfortunately for most of us, the stumps on the second go around were much further apart than during the first one. Most people ended up doing burpees. The first 30 down. *sigh* (Not trying to ruin the ending, but there were more burpees in my future).
The toenail on my right big toe.
I would like to take a second to give a warm "Thank You" to this particular body part for hanging on through the several creek runs, through all of the ups and downs of the trail, for mile after mile. Yes, it was definitely not fun running with a toenail that was coming off, nanometer by nanometer, but as I triumphantly found out in the changing tent, the toenail hung on until the very end. Maybe a little too long, even, as the Tuesday after the Beast, I had to go to the podiatrist to get the toenail removed. But let's not ruin the congratulatory moment, shall we?
As with the Spartan Super, this was a race I was just looking to finish. For the 6 weeks prior to the Beast, I had a hacking cough that would not go away. One week before the Beast, I was lying in bed with a fever and body aches. For me, it was all about crossing that finish line and getting that beautiful green medal.
Our wave took off under gorgeous sunny skies. Karen and I split off from Shana, Isabel, and Ali early on, after coming to the first obstacle - chest-high water-filled ditches. I had some difficulty getting out of the last ditch (the travails of being short) and was grateful for the anonymous person who pushed me up. I also felt terrible for the young guy who tried to jump across that ditch and ended up landing on his crotch at the edge of it. Ouch.
Next came the barricades. It was at this point that I realized just how hard I had been hit by being sick the week before. My energy simply was not where it needed to be. Regardless, I went over the barricades and kept going. Following the barricades were the monkey bars. Karen attempted first and fell off. At first, I was going to try wth my gloves on (I bought snazzy new weightlifting gloves for the Beast), but opted to take them off and stuff them in my hydration backpack. I went up to the bars, climbed the steps, and -
Nailed it. Across those bad boys and to the other side. "Holy s^&!" I screamed to Karen. "I made it across!"
Still flying high off of conquering the monkey bars, we crossed over a ditch on a log and then came to the first of two stump hops. My balance was a little off but I made it across. More running, and the next obstacle was the Hercules Hoist. Once again, my creeping exhaustion made itself known, as I had to use every bit of my body weight to get the rope down. Next was a creek run. While the cold water felt GREAT on my calves, the pebbles and sand were wreaking havoc in my shoes. I had to stop a couple of times afterwards to clean out my socks and shoes. The great thing about Spartan Racers? Every time I stopped, someone (more often than not, more than one) would ask me if I was ok and whether I needed anything. Love Spartan Racers.
Next obstacles: Atlas Carry 1, Tire Flip, and Atlas Carry 2. Quickly followed by Stump Hop 2. Unfortunately for most of us, the stumps on the second go around were much further apart than during the first one. Most people ended up doing burpees. The first 30 down. *sigh* (Not trying to ruin the ending, but there were more burpees in my future).
After that, we came to the Cargo Net Climb and having to go over logs that were 5 to 6 feet off of the ground. I gladly accepted help on the log crossings. Short people got tiny legs, but we are easy to throw over obstacles!
Next up were a set of ditches and mud hills. By this time, I was getting tired. I found that I had to eat a Cliff Shot Block every 20 minutes or so in order to keep my energy up and my electrolyte balance at the right level. So when we got to the Tractor Pull and were given the option between the women's weight and the heavier weight, you had better believe I went for the women's weight. Who was I trying to impress, right? I think that sentiment was echoed at the next two obstacles: Rope Climb and Traverse Wall, which were around Mile 7. Sixty more burpees for me. Yay. Not.
More running. At this point, Karen and I split up. Being a forefoot/midfoot runner, the best way for me to deal with potential cramps is to slow down and give my calves a break, while Karen would cramp up more by slowing down and cooling down. I told Karen to go on without me, knowing that I would not catch up to her until finish line. Eh, them's the breaks.
Next came the 6-ft walls, followed by a bridge over a roadway. After the bridge was one of the steeper uphill climbs. As I was going up it, I saw a guy standing off to the side in pain. I stopped and offered him a Shot Block, which he took with some hesitation. Later on, after I had finished the race, he found me on the sidelines and thanked me for the Shot Block, saying it helped him finish. Reason #956 I will always carry extra fuel with me on an OCR - you never know who might need it more than you do.
After cresting the hill, I came upon the first barbed wire crawl. I dropped my hydration pack and went through it. It definitely seemed easier to do that (and then pick it up) rather than trying to go through with it on my back. I saw many people opting to leave their hydration packs and continue on the course, as it looped back to this point and back over the bridge to the finish. Initially, I was going to leave my pack too, but then I thought to ask someone how far the loop was. When I heard 5 miles, I went back and picked up my pack. That decision turned out to be one of the best ones I made, as I could not have finished without my stash of Shot Blocks.
Next up were the 7-foot walls. I was definitely starting to cramp in my calves, so I decided to alternate between my legs as my leading leg over the walls. Another good decision, as it kept me from having a major cramp. Nothing, however, was going to keep me for doing burpees at Rope Climb #2. *sigh* Somewhere along the way, all of the water I had been drinking started to catch up with. Good for hydration, bad for the bladder. And so, upon the advice of a volunteer, I straggled out into the woods a decent distance, dropped trou, and proceeded to water the leaves in the most lady-like manner I possibly could (while covered in mud, of course). I had never done that before (peeing out in nature), so I considered it an unmarked obstacle for myself.
After making to the last aid station, I came upon the Tyrolean Traverse. Strung across a pond were several ropes. Our job was to cross the pond only using the rope and ring a bell hanging from the rope. I watched as the female in front attempted to get on the rope several times before letting go and crossing the shore to do burpees. I was determined not to do burpees. I grabbed onto the rope and pulled my legs up, resting the inside of my knees on the rope. While some other racers used their ankles as a hang point, I chose the knees because I was wearing long tights and I figure I would get more protection. I started crossing, hanging there, hand over hand, knee over knee. That dang bell was still far off. Determined not to quit, I closed my eyes, let my head hang back, and continued to cross by feel. The next time I opened my eyes, that bell was closer and I knew I would finish. I could hear people on the side - complete strangers - cheering me on, and when I hit that bell, it felt amazing. No burpees on the side of that pond!
Coming off of that triumph, I tackled the sandbag carry, up and down hill. As I have said before, motionless sandbags are easy for a mom of a 3-year-old and 5-year-old. Was I the fastest? No. But I got up and down with no problem and headed on to the next set of mud hills and ditches, before crossing back over the bridge to the "end game" of the Beast.
But the Beast was not finishing without a fight.
Next up was another barbed wire crawl. Uphill. With two different parts. While being sprayed down with water. It was brutal. I saw racers give up halfway through. As with the first barbed wire crawl, I left my hydration pack at the beginning. And while, once again, that was probably the best decision, I was regretting it as I had to walk down the hill and then back up again with it.
Coming away from the barbed wire crawl, I saw a clean guy standing against a tree, wearing a completion medal. Full of hope, I asked him how much more was left to the finish. He smiled and said, "Just up that hill." I can't remember what he looked like, but he was beautiful in my eyes at that point.
And he spoke the truth. Climbing what turned out to be the last hill, the 8-foot wall came into focus. I was so tired, I needed help, which I received. Then thirty burpees for a failed spear throw (of course!). A few yards away, a min-barbed wire crawl followed by the soap wall. I pwned the soap wall. Up and over. The over the fire jump, through the gladiators, and at last: Finish line! I crossed that bad boy, gladly accepted my medal (from Dirt in Your Skirt's Margaret Schlacter, no less!) and I was DONE.
14 miles. 150 burpees. And a pretty green medal (soon to be joined by a gorgeous tri-colored one for completing the Trifecta).
Life is good.
Arooo!
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Obstacle Course Racing: On Mud, Prep, and Gear
When I ran my first obstacle course race (OCR) during August 2011, I had no idea how to dress or what to bring. Thanks to the fabulous ladies over at Spartan Chicked, and through my own trial and error, I've come up with the following tips for getting dirty:
GEAR
Shoes
Most of the OCRs I've run are trail runs with at least some hill running. Regular road running shoes are not going to give you the traction or stability you need. In addition, most OCRs have at least one, if not more, mud pits and, more than likely, several obstacles that involve getting your shoes wet. I ran my first OCR in road shoes and I was slipping and sliding all over the place. Once those shoes got wet - well, it was like I had two weights hanging off of my feet. For this reason, I strongly encourage people to invest in good trail running shoes that drain well. As a forefoot striker, I love the Merrell Pace Glove - light, great fit, nice traction, drains like a dream, and comes out of the washing machine looking fantastic. Inov-8s also get some great reviews from the OCR crowd.
Clothes
For my first OCR, I wore a sports bra, athletic shorts, and a brown tank top. As soon as that tank top got wet, it got heavy. Once it got muddy, it was worthless and a pain to wear. By the time I crossed the fnish line, the tank was down to my knees (no joke!). Lesson learned: no cotton! I have an OCR "outfit" that I wear for all OCR consisting of dark-colored moisture-wicking pieces. My typical uniform is a black CW-X tank, black CW-X 3/4 or full-length pants, Patagonia moisture-wicking underwear, and New Balance moisture-wicking socks. For the Carolinas Beast, I also wore a black moisture-wicking, long-sleeved compression top that I bought at Target. Why do I dress this way? One, you don't have to worry about stains when you wear all dark colors. Carolina clay stains something awful, but since I'm pretty much wearing all black, you can't tell. Two, moisture-wicking fabric will not weigh you down the way cotton will after you get wet. Some people laugh when I tell them that I also wear moisture-wicking underwear, but whether you've got 3 miles or 13 miles ahead of you, you'll be glad that your panties won't be carrying muddy water the whole way! Third, I wear pants instead of shorts because having something to cover your knees during barbed wire crawls can be an absolute godsend. In addition, longer pants protect your inner legs from splinters when going over or through wooden obstacles and protect against rope burns on obstacles like the Tyrolean traverse.
Gloves
There is some controversy in the OCR world about wearing gloves. Some people feel like they are a pain and get in the way. Personally, I like wearing fingerless gloves, like lifting gloves, in order to protect your palms and lower part of your fingers. I will say that I took them off in order to do the monkey bars at the Carolinas Beast so I could grip the bars the better, but all-in-all, I was happy to be wearing them for most of the race. Wearing gloves is definitely a personal choice, but if you do choose to wear them, choose lightweight gloves that will drain water easily.
POST RACE GEAR
So, you've gotten down and dirty, and now it's time to clean up. What do you do? I always pack a bag of essentials so that I can get as clean (as possible) after the race and prior to the ride home. What's in my bag?
I hope to have a recap of the 2012 Carolinas Beast up soon!
GEAR
Shoes
Most of the OCRs I've run are trail runs with at least some hill running. Regular road running shoes are not going to give you the traction or stability you need. In addition, most OCRs have at least one, if not more, mud pits and, more than likely, several obstacles that involve getting your shoes wet. I ran my first OCR in road shoes and I was slipping and sliding all over the place. Once those shoes got wet - well, it was like I had two weights hanging off of my feet. For this reason, I strongly encourage people to invest in good trail running shoes that drain well. As a forefoot striker, I love the Merrell Pace Glove - light, great fit, nice traction, drains like a dream, and comes out of the washing machine looking fantastic. Inov-8s also get some great reviews from the OCR crowd.
Clothes
For my first OCR, I wore a sports bra, athletic shorts, and a brown tank top. As soon as that tank top got wet, it got heavy. Once it got muddy, it was worthless and a pain to wear. By the time I crossed the fnish line, the tank was down to my knees (no joke!). Lesson learned: no cotton! I have an OCR "outfit" that I wear for all OCR consisting of dark-colored moisture-wicking pieces. My typical uniform is a black CW-X tank, black CW-X 3/4 or full-length pants, Patagonia moisture-wicking underwear, and New Balance moisture-wicking socks. For the Carolinas Beast, I also wore a black moisture-wicking, long-sleeved compression top that I bought at Target. Why do I dress this way? One, you don't have to worry about stains when you wear all dark colors. Carolina clay stains something awful, but since I'm pretty much wearing all black, you can't tell. Two, moisture-wicking fabric will not weigh you down the way cotton will after you get wet. Some people laugh when I tell them that I also wear moisture-wicking underwear, but whether you've got 3 miles or 13 miles ahead of you, you'll be glad that your panties won't be carrying muddy water the whole way! Third, I wear pants instead of shorts because having something to cover your knees during barbed wire crawls can be an absolute godsend. In addition, longer pants protect your inner legs from splinters when going over or through wooden obstacles and protect against rope burns on obstacles like the Tyrolean traverse.
Gloves
There is some controversy in the OCR world about wearing gloves. Some people feel like they are a pain and get in the way. Personally, I like wearing fingerless gloves, like lifting gloves, in order to protect your palms and lower part of your fingers. I will say that I took them off in order to do the monkey bars at the Carolinas Beast so I could grip the bars the better, but all-in-all, I was happy to be wearing them for most of the race. Wearing gloves is definitely a personal choice, but if you do choose to wear them, choose lightweight gloves that will drain water easily.
POST RACE GEAR
So, you've gotten down and dirty, and now it's time to clean up. What do you do? I always pack a bag of essentials so that I can get as clean (as possible) after the race and prior to the ride home. What's in my bag?
- A change of dark-colored clothes (including dark underwear and socks) in a plastic bag. When you're muddy, you'll be glad that your clean clothes are protected by a black bag. And when you've cleaned off at the race, you'll still be dirty, so make sure you wear something that either won't stain or you don't mind if it gets stained.
- 2-3 kitchen sized garbage bags for your dirty items
- Extra shoes or sandals
- Extra pairs of contact lenses and a small bottle of saline solution in a Ziploc bag. I wear contacts and have managed to get mud or dirt in my eyes at several OCRs. An extra pair of contacts was the difference between utter misery and being able to enjoy post-race festivities in comfort.
- Sunscreen. Once that protective layer of mud is gone, you will need some protection from the sun.
- 2 towels. It goes without saying that these should be towels you don't mind staining. I bring two towels because water pressure at the hose down stations vary, and you may need to towel-off a bunch of mud with one towel and then clean off again with a second towel in order to get somewhat clean. Also, it's nice to have an extra towel to stand on if the ground is very muddy in the changing area.
- Ibuprofen. Because you never know!
- Sweatshirt. As with water pressure, water temperature in the hose down area can vary. Combine a cold wash down with a decent wind (like at the Virginia Spartan Super), and you will be grateful to have a warm sweatshirt to slip on.
EXTRA TIPS
- Use a dark towel to dry off with after your first real shower, or you will run the risk of staining your towel
- Wear dark panties or a pantiliner after the OCR. There's no nice way to put it, so I'll put it like this: Mud goes EVERYWHERE ladies. It does not discriminate. And it eventually comes out. Enough said.
- Body Glide is your friend. I coat the bottom of my feet with it in order to avoid developing blisters or hot spots from running with wet and muddy socks.
I hope to have a recap of the 2012 Carolinas Beast up soon!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
When There Are No Words
I know I haven't written in a while - 4 weeks to be exact. It's because while I had things I wanted to say, there was one post that needed to be written before I could say anything else, and I wasn't ready to write that post just yet.
You see, as I was finishing up my last post, my 14-year-old dog, Wicket, started aimlessly wandering around the downstairs, seeming confused. The husband and I noticed that his breathing seemed off. Husband offered Wicket a dog treat and for the first time ever, Wicket refused it. We petted Wicket and he walked into his crate and laid down.
He never got back up again.
The next morning, as I was getting dressed, my husband told me that Wicket had passed away in his sleep. And even though I knew it was coming, it still hurt so much.
There were no words. Just tears. Lots of tears.
But a month after losing my sweet furbaby, there are now words. And they need to be written before I can write others.
I adopted Wicket from the shelter when he was 8 weeks old. It was January 15, 1997. I didn't want to pay the pet deposit for my apartment, so my friend Josh, who lived in a house, technically adopted the puppy for me. I had gone to the shelter earlier that day and saw a cage full of puppies, along with their mother. I actually had picked out a different puppy - the runt of the litter - figuring he might be the easiest to care for. When Josh returned to shelter for the adoption, the runt was gone. Josh called me up and asked me what he should do. I told him to use his discretion (Josh wanted to be a vet at that time) and pick out the best pup that was there. As he later told me, he returned to the cage and one black and white spotted puppy came flying up to the door, trying to lick him maniacally.
That puppy was Wicket.
Up until then, I had never had a pet - I had never had to take care of anything other than myself. It was a learning experience. But I took care of Wicket as much as he took care of me. Through thick and thin, Wicket was always there for me, always ready to curl up to me or lick the tears off of my face. I called him, amongst other things, my "baby-dog." He was my furbaby. And I was his mom.
In time, real children came along, and poor Wicket found that he was no longer my priority. He still enjoyed laying at my feet or playing ball in the backyard, and he was always up for a good rawhide. As my kids grew, he loved hanging out underneath the dinner table and I found I never had to worry about cleaning up the floor!
But time kept moving forward, and my baby-dog grew older. The dog who used to love chasing tennis balls for hours started having trouble running. He stopped caring about squeaky toys. He stopped being as excited about eating. His black muzzle and spots started becoming more and more white. He slowed down.
And then, one night, he stopped.
It's been almost one month since I hugged his lifeless body and kissed his head, saying goodbye. And even now, one month later, there are tears rolling down my face as I write this post. The pain is not as sharp, not as acute, but it is still there. The loss still hurts.
He was my sweet boy, my Wicket-Ewok, my insane ball dog. He was the dog who attacked a watermelon and barked at a jalapeno pepper. He was the dog who let me hold him tight after I lost my first pregnancy. He was the dog who protected me when we were confronted by an off-leash dog on a trail.
He was my dog. And now he is gone.
Gone, but not forgotten.
I love you Wicket. Thank you for sharing your life with me. I will never forget you.
Rest in peace.
You see, as I was finishing up my last post, my 14-year-old dog, Wicket, started aimlessly wandering around the downstairs, seeming confused. The husband and I noticed that his breathing seemed off. Husband offered Wicket a dog treat and for the first time ever, Wicket refused it. We petted Wicket and he walked into his crate and laid down.
He never got back up again.
The next morning, as I was getting dressed, my husband told me that Wicket had passed away in his sleep. And even though I knew it was coming, it still hurt so much.
There were no words. Just tears. Lots of tears.
But a month after losing my sweet furbaby, there are now words. And they need to be written before I can write others.
I adopted Wicket from the shelter when he was 8 weeks old. It was January 15, 1997. I didn't want to pay the pet deposit for my apartment, so my friend Josh, who lived in a house, technically adopted the puppy for me. I had gone to the shelter earlier that day and saw a cage full of puppies, along with their mother. I actually had picked out a different puppy - the runt of the litter - figuring he might be the easiest to care for. When Josh returned to shelter for the adoption, the runt was gone. Josh called me up and asked me what he should do. I told him to use his discretion (Josh wanted to be a vet at that time) and pick out the best pup that was there. As he later told me, he returned to the cage and one black and white spotted puppy came flying up to the door, trying to lick him maniacally.
That puppy was Wicket.
Up until then, I had never had a pet - I had never had to take care of anything other than myself. It was a learning experience. But I took care of Wicket as much as he took care of me. Through thick and thin, Wicket was always there for me, always ready to curl up to me or lick the tears off of my face. I called him, amongst other things, my "baby-dog." He was my furbaby. And I was his mom.
In time, real children came along, and poor Wicket found that he was no longer my priority. He still enjoyed laying at my feet or playing ball in the backyard, and he was always up for a good rawhide. As my kids grew, he loved hanging out underneath the dinner table and I found I never had to worry about cleaning up the floor!
But time kept moving forward, and my baby-dog grew older. The dog who used to love chasing tennis balls for hours started having trouble running. He stopped caring about squeaky toys. He stopped being as excited about eating. His black muzzle and spots started becoming more and more white. He slowed down.
And then, one night, he stopped.
It's been almost one month since I hugged his lifeless body and kissed his head, saying goodbye. And even now, one month later, there are tears rolling down my face as I write this post. The pain is not as sharp, not as acute, but it is still there. The loss still hurts.
He was my sweet boy, my Wicket-Ewok, my insane ball dog. He was the dog who attacked a watermelon and barked at a jalapeno pepper. He was the dog who let me hold him tight after I lost my first pregnancy. He was the dog who protected me when we were confronted by an off-leash dog on a trail.
He was my dog. And now he is gone.
Gone, but not forgotten.
I love you Wicket. Thank you for sharing your life with me. I will never forget you.
Rest in peace.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Mid-Atlantic Spartan Super 2012 - the update
First, I need to apologize for not updating sooner! Things have been crazy busy with work (I work for myself and my business is expanding). I think I may finally be done with the working around-the-clock thing, and things have started settling down.
Now...on to the Super Spartan update!
The Super Spartan was advertised as an 8+ mile obstacle course. But, as those of us who do Spartan series races know, the pre-race estimations are pretty darn poor. All said and done, the official distance estimate was around, oh, 10.5 miles.
Considering my longest distance to that point had been 6.2 miles, I ended up in a bit of a hurt at the end.
I ran (or should I say, walked) the Spartan with my friend Shana. She and I did the Spartan Sprint together and the South Carolina USMC Mud Run together. Shana has had a bit of a rough summer with her lungs, so we both knew this race would be slower than we would have liked in general.
Little did we know just how slow it would be.
Now...on to the Super Spartan update!
The Super Spartan was advertised as an 8+ mile obstacle course. But, as those of us who do Spartan series races know, the pre-race estimations are pretty darn poor. All said and done, the official distance estimate was around, oh, 10.5 miles.
Considering my longest distance to that point had been 6.2 miles, I ended up in a bit of a hurt at the end.
I ran (or should I say, walked) the Spartan with my friend Shana. She and I did the Spartan Sprint together and the South Carolina USMC Mud Run together. Shana has had a bit of a rough summer with her lungs, so we both knew this race would be slower than we would have liked in general.
Little did we know just how slow it would be.
All Clean and Smiling Pre-Race
We were in the 9:30 wave on Saturday. We lined up at the back of the wave (I mean, really, who were we kidding if we lined up closer to the front) and started off at a leisurely pace. I was a spirit leader in high school, and I'm sure Shana figured out pretty quick why I was good at leading cheers. I'm just lucky she didn't bean me in the head.
We went through the first couple of obstacles - over and under barricades (some through barricades). Under some nets. No problem. The course was set up on an old horse steeplechase run, so we then ended up going up and down the obstacles that horse would have jump. Being all of 5'2" (and only used to running on 2 legs) I had a slight disadvantage compared to the average competitor on the course, but I did just fine anyways.
After the first set of horse obstacles, we came to a hill trail that we had to climb. We met up with some other racers while in this area who we thought would be running at our pace, so we all agreed to stick together and do the entire race. As Shana and I quickly learned, things are not always as they seem. While our compatriots were very nice, they were not as interested in running as we were. And so, as it turned out, we ended up walking, rather than running, most of the race.
Let's just say, lesson learned for the future, and move on from that, shall we?
More horse obstacles (over 3 dozen) and then we came to the barbed wire crawl. It must have been at least the length of a football field. And there were hills. I thought I came through pretty unscathed until a few nights later when the husband was scratching my head and found a definite scab on my scalp from a close-encounter with the barbed wire. Oops.
More running. Then the monkey bars around the 4th mile. At the Carolinas Sprint, I made the first rung, and that was it. I wiped my muddy hands off on the grass and started swinging. I made it halfway across, and then I hit a patch of mud on a rung and bam. It was 30 burpees for me.
There were more hills after that.My calves started giving me warning signs on those hills and I started popping Sports Beans, trying to keep my calves from mooing too loudly.
More obstacles. Wall climbing. The women had slats to help them out, and I got over with no issue.
Next big obstacle was the log balance. Stumps about 2.5 to 3 ft high were spaced across a patch of field, and we had to jump from one to another and cross the field. I had successfully completed this at Rugged Manic in May, so I wasn't too scared. I made it across with no problem. The guy next to me channeled Daniel LaRusso on the last stump and did the crane off of it.
Cargo nets followed. I love cargo nets. Honestly, I do. Up and down. Up and down. Big smile on my face.
Tractor flip was next, around mile 6. There were men's and women's tires. I came. I saw. I flipped. On to the next obstacle.
The next obstacle was the Hercules pull. Basically, pulling a weighted bucket using a rope and a pulley. I used a trick I learned on the Spartan Chicked Facebook page to conquer this one - using my hand to "tie off" the load as I pulled on it in order to make it less likely to slip through my fingers.
More running in the sort-of manner. I'm sure all of my "teammates" wanted to bean me as I encouraged them to run a little bit more.
Next was the sand-bag carry. Females had to carry a 20-lb sandbag (men had a heavier weight) up and over boulders, under trees, and across a trail. For a muddy mommy, it was a piece of cake. Unlike carrying a toddler, the sandbag rested nicely on my shoulder and did not kick or scream the whole time. Bonus: It did not pull my hair, either.
More pseudo-running. Then a lovely high cargo net. *aahhh*
The next obstacle was a new one. We had to put a rubber band around our legs and hop over obstacles. Having had two children, this was the obstacle that proved to be harder for my bladder control muscles than my leg muscles. Let's just say, I fought the law of gravity, and the law won.
Next up - climbing muddy hills followed by climbing a soaped-up incline wall. Not an easy feat, but one that I proudly accomplished without any help.
By this point, I was having to stretch out my poor calves after every obstacle. Cramps were constantly threatening me. I had shared more Sports Beans than I should have and my calves were not happy with me.
The cement block pull was next. Basically, we had to pull a cement cinder block around a field by a chain. I had a sneaking suspicion we were paying for the privilege of tilling someone's land for them.
From here, we walked/ran to the last high wall. The volunteer stationed there warned us that lots of people had cramped going over the wall. And we pretty much all got added to the illustrious list. As I was perched on top of the wall, I was not sure if my calves would cooperate enough for me to come down. But they did, and I came down safely without help. I have to say that at least 75% of the people going over that wall cramped on it, judged by the screams I heard.
Good times, people, good times.
Finally, we made it to the last few obstacles, all centered around the viewing area. First up, the horizontal traverse wall.
Hangin' Tough
At the Carolinas Sprint, I fell off of the Traverse Wall on the second hold. I was determined to do better at the Super. I carefully picked my way to the end and put my foot onto the last hold. A-ha! Victory at last. I held my hand out for the last hand hold and...
Wham! Down on the ground. Burpees for me.
So glad there were no children listening near by.
Next up was the spear throw. Yeah, who was I kidding. I knew there were burpees in my future.
Last major obstacle was the rope climb. Sure, I had accomplished it in the gym, but that had not been after covering over 10 miles. The bottom of the rope pit was filled with mud and water. I waded into the waist-high water and started my climb.
Starting to Climb
To tell the truth, I was exhausted. I gave it my all. I fought through as much as I could. And I climbed a whole lot of the rope. But I got to a point where my leg muscles all simply said: "Hellz no!"
On the Way Down
I made it between one-half to three-quarters of the way up before I knew I was not going to make it. Again, far better than I had done at the Carolinas Sprint in March, but not completion.
I did my burpees and prepared to rush the gladiators at the end. Bam! Through both of them! Got my medal, smiled, and then -
The calves called it quits.
I went down with painful cramps in my left calf. For 5 minutes, I sat in the t-shirt area, massaging my calf and willing myself to stand up. Volunteers were kind enough to bring me bananas and sports drinks, and I did finally stand up and walk out of the finishers area. My friend Laurie took pictures. We all smiled. Things were good.
And then my right calf said," Screw this!"
Bam! I went down again. The cramping was so bad, my right foot was pulled in towards my calf. Laurie was nice enough to help me work out the cramp, and after 15 minutes, I could stand up again.
So, I completed the race, which was my goal, even if it took a whole lot longer than I would have liked. I had a good time, but because I didn't push myself, honestly, I didn't feel a huge sense of accomplishment at the end.
I did learn some lessons, though, that I hope will help me as I prepare for the Carolinas Spartan Beast in October. First, I need to get some mileage on these legs! The Spartan Beast is advertised as between 10-12+ miles, which in Spartan Speak means probably 15 miles. I've started running again in preparation. Second, I need to fuel throughout the race better. I picked up some Cliff Shots Rox and used them on my 7-mile run last weekend - not bad! And three, I learned that unless I honestly push myself, completion won't feel all that sweet, because even if no one else knows it, I will know that I didn't try my hardest.
Now, if I could just get my calves on board...
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday...
Have you ever had a wound that you just couldn't stop picking at, even though it hurt every single time you did it? If you haven't, then congratulations! - You are absolutely nothing like me.
Which may not be a bad thing necessarily. But I digress.
For the last two and a half days, I've had an emotional/psychological wound that I just can't stop picking at. I know I should - I know I should just step away - but I can't.
Let me explain. A Facebook page was started for my "class" in middle school. Call it a cohort, a bunch of kids who happened to born around the same time and ended up at the same school together - whatever. I was added to the group a couple of days ago, and I probably should have just politely left the group. But no, I am one of those people who likes to poke that wound over and over again.
And my, oh my, do I have some crazy emotional wounds from middle school.
I know I said in my first post that I was going to be honest, but there are some things I still am not going to be upfront about. A good deal of that had to do with 2 out of the 3 years I was in middle school. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of it not good and beyond the pale of the typical awkward-pubescent-experience. But there are some things I am willing to be upfront about. Like having been bullied. My goodness, did some people have a field day with my awkward, giant-eyeglass-wearing, no-fashion-sense, head-always-in-a-book self.
There's a thread on that FB page about what your most embarrassing moment was in middle school. People have posted about various silly things they did that everyone laughed about. I have not contributed - no need to be Debbie Downer and point out that my most embarrassing moments were pretty much all instigated by the same people posting in that thread (or their friends).
Like I said, I really should stop poking.
I guess what makes things so much more painful is that my Older Boy is currently dealing with a bully. He starts kindergarten on Monday, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look at his cheerful, bubbly self and think back to the little girl I used to be at that age - cheerful and bubbly. Before the bullies metaphorically knocked me to the ground.
I want to post on that board: "What the f*$k are you all smoking?!? Talking about how great junior high was? Or don't you all remember the nerds and peons you stomped into the ground with your comments and sneers?"
But that was over 20 years ago. Most of them have forgotten, I'm sure. Hell, I wish I could forget. One of the down sides to having a great memory is that you don't forget.
*sigh*
I've always wished that I could have stood up for myself more. That I would have stood up for myself more. I've wished that I could have said those things, as a 13-year-old, that I thought to say as a 20 or 30-something-year-old. I've grown up, gone on.
I'm not that girl anymore
Mostly.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'll always be a part of me. A reminder, a remnant.
But I wish I could just forget and let go. Or at least just stop poking.
Which may not be a bad thing necessarily. But I digress.
For the last two and a half days, I've had an emotional/psychological wound that I just can't stop picking at. I know I should - I know I should just step away - but I can't.
Let me explain. A Facebook page was started for my "class" in middle school. Call it a cohort, a bunch of kids who happened to born around the same time and ended up at the same school together - whatever. I was added to the group a couple of days ago, and I probably should have just politely left the group. But no, I am one of those people who likes to poke that wound over and over again.
And my, oh my, do I have some crazy emotional wounds from middle school.
I know I said in my first post that I was going to be honest, but there are some things I still am not going to be upfront about. A good deal of that had to do with 2 out of the 3 years I was in middle school. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of it not good and beyond the pale of the typical awkward-pubescent-experience. But there are some things I am willing to be upfront about. Like having been bullied. My goodness, did some people have a field day with my awkward, giant-eyeglass-wearing, no-fashion-sense, head-always-in-a-book self.
There's a thread on that FB page about what your most embarrassing moment was in middle school. People have posted about various silly things they did that everyone laughed about. I have not contributed - no need to be Debbie Downer and point out that my most embarrassing moments were pretty much all instigated by the same people posting in that thread (or their friends).
Like I said, I really should stop poking.
I guess what makes things so much more painful is that my Older Boy is currently dealing with a bully. He starts kindergarten on Monday, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look at his cheerful, bubbly self and think back to the little girl I used to be at that age - cheerful and bubbly. Before the bullies metaphorically knocked me to the ground.
I want to post on that board: "What the f*$k are you all smoking?!? Talking about how great junior high was? Or don't you all remember the nerds and peons you stomped into the ground with your comments and sneers?"
But that was over 20 years ago. Most of them have forgotten, I'm sure. Hell, I wish I could forget. One of the down sides to having a great memory is that you don't forget.
*sigh*
I've always wished that I could have stood up for myself more. That I would have stood up for myself more. I've wished that I could have said those things, as a 13-year-old, that I thought to say as a 20 or 30-something-year-old. I've grown up, gone on.
I'm not that girl anymore
Mostly.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'll always be a part of me. A reminder, a remnant.
But I wish I could just forget and let go. Or at least just stop poking.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Motivational Moment #6
It sucks when life gets in the way of training (and blogging). Hoping this silly season will be over soon...1 week until the Mid-Atlantic Super Spartan and I am not ready...
Friday, August 10, 2012
Motivational Moment #5
I will never be the fastest or the strongest. But I will still be lapping everyone standing on the sidelines.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Motivational Moment #4
If you can get past the incorrect possessive, it's a pretty awesome sentiment.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Why I Don't Support Chick-Fil-A
So today is the unofficial Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day. Supporters of the fast food restaurant have been urged to turn out in droves to show their support for the company and it's stance on moral and ethical issues.
I can't believe I just wrote that sentence about a fast food joint.
You won't see me at Chick-Fil-A today, however. No sir, no ma'am. I am vehemently opposed to their stance on what I think is one of the major issues affecting Americans today. I feel like Chick-Fil-A's support for, or rather lack of support for, one of the big issues that is facing our ability to communicate freely and express who we are cannot be overlooked.
The issue I'm talking about, of course, is spelling.
People decry the poor spelling of young people today and attribute it to "text-speak." But I honestly think the corruption of our spelling ethic goes back farther than just the introduction of SMS texting. I think it can be traced back to the early 1960s, when Truett Cathy flaunted basic spelling rules and spelled his restaurant "Chick-Fil-A" instead of the orthographically correct "Chick Fillet"
Oh, the English teachers who must have wept upon seeing that sign.
But, it got worse. The Powers That Be behind this chicken franchise weren't satisfied with ruining the spelling of fillet. Their marketing campaign raised the desecration of the English to new heights.
It makes my former-copy-editor heart bleed just looking at the atrocious spelling.
And now, the chickens (so to speak) have come home roost, with an entire generation of children who can't spell correctly. Surrounded by billboards that exhort them to "Eat Mor Chikin," of course they will start to think it's okay to write sentences like "R U OK? L8R! LOL!" What a world, what a world!
So I hope you will stand with me today and say, "No! We will not support the ongoing corruption of the written English language! No, we will not continue down this road to destruction of the written word."
I won't rest until Chick-Fil-A issues an apology and corrects its spelling.
Eh, who am I kidding? I'll probably still rest before.
But I still won't eat more chicken.
I can't believe I just wrote that sentence about a fast food joint.
You won't see me at Chick-Fil-A today, however. No sir, no ma'am. I am vehemently opposed to their stance on what I think is one of the major issues affecting Americans today. I feel like Chick-Fil-A's support for, or rather lack of support for, one of the big issues that is facing our ability to communicate freely and express who we are cannot be overlooked.
The issue I'm talking about, of course, is spelling.
People decry the poor spelling of young people today and attribute it to "text-speak." But I honestly think the corruption of our spelling ethic goes back farther than just the introduction of SMS texting. I think it can be traced back to the early 1960s, when Truett Cathy flaunted basic spelling rules and spelled his restaurant "Chick-Fil-A" instead of the orthographically correct "Chick Fillet"
Oh, the English teachers who must have wept upon seeing that sign.
But, it got worse. The Powers That Be behind this chicken franchise weren't satisfied with ruining the spelling of fillet. Their marketing campaign raised the desecration of the English to new heights.
It makes my former-copy-editor heart bleed just looking at the atrocious spelling.
And now, the chickens (so to speak) have come home roost, with an entire generation of children who can't spell correctly. Surrounded by billboards that exhort them to "Eat Mor Chikin," of course they will start to think it's okay to write sentences like "R U OK? L8R! LOL!" What a world, what a world!
So I hope you will stand with me today and say, "No! We will not support the ongoing corruption of the written English language! No, we will not continue down this road to destruction of the written word."
I won't rest until Chick-Fil-A issues an apology and corrects its spelling.
Eh, who am I kidding? I'll probably still rest before.
But I still won't eat more chicken.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
All Mud Runs are not Created Equal
I ran (and got hooked) on obstacle racing during August 2011, when I ran Warrior Dash-Carolinas. I had such a blast, that I couldn't wait to do it again. So, when a group of friends suggested teaming up for the inaugural "Roughneck Challenge," I was game. The event had been advertised at the Warrior Dash, so we all figured it would be on-par, or at least close, to the level of the professionally run Warrior Dash. We all dutifully ponied up our $45 and began preparing for what was described as "No Mud. No Mess. Just Race."
As we found out, the organizers spent more time thinking up their advertising slogan than they spent on the actual race.
When I arrived at the race site, I was surprised to find that the advertised live music and family-friendly games were non-existent. As I walked towards my teammates by the registration booth, I saw only two vendor booths. The race was held at a local high school, and looking around, I wondered what course had been laid out in order to equal 5k. I was shocked to find out that the course was only 2.5k. Participants would have to run the course twice.
But it got worse.
In order to time the race correctly, participants would have to change bibs between course runs.
No. Seriously.
After my team ran the poorly put together course the first time (we joked about how many stinking cargo nets we had to climb), a course sparsely monitored by apathetic volunteers, we declined to run it again. The organizers had our $45 a piece; we weren't giving them our pride too.
It seems, however, that we made out better than the participants of last weekend's Mud Wars in Chicago.
No water? Few bathrooms for over 6000 participants? Obstacles that were patently dangerous and fell apart?
No thank you!
Obstacle racing is still a relatively new sport. And unlike traditional road races, there don't tend to numerous OCRs within easy travel distance for people to choose from. Seeing this void, unscrupulous and/or ignorant entrepreneurs are racing to put together mud runs (and get your money). As tempting as it is to feed your appetite for OCRs, it's probably a good idea to put your credit card back in your wallet when it comes to most "inaugural" OCRs. Unless the organizers have worked on some of the more highly-regarded OCRs (ex: Tough Mudder, Spartan Race, Rugged Maniac, Warrior Dash, etc...), you'll probably be wasting your time and money.
I wish I could say that I learned my lesson after the Roughneck Challenge, but no. Sadly, this past June, I signed up for yet another "inaugural" mud run. And once again, I wasted my time and money.
Lesson learned. At least that time, I only paid $35 for the taste of extreme disappointment.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tales of a Has-Been
This song has been bouncing around my head all morning. I can hear Eddie Money's voice, on constant replay. And of course, the cheesy saxophone. No self-respecting '80s song was complete without a saxophone.I Wanna Go BackAnd Do It All Over AgainBut I Can't Go Back, I KnowI Wanna Go BackCause I'm Feeling So Much OlderBut I Can't Go Back, I Know
But I digress.
Some people stroll down memory lane. For the past two weeks, I've worn my proverbial shoes through the sole pacing up and down memory lane. You see, my parents are in the process of moving out of the home they lived in for 21 years. Which meant that I, finally, had to go home and pack up my old room and decide what I was keeping and what needed to be either thrown away or given away.
It's not easy going through things that once meant so much to you, and now have no place in your life. It's hard looking back at the girl you used, through the lens of the woman you are now, knowing what life would bring to that girl, both the good and the bad.
Oh, the things you would tell your teenage self if you had the chance.
In junior high and high school, I was very involved with a national organization. My senior year, I was even a national officer with that organization. As it so happened, this year, their national convention was about an hour and a half from where I live now, so a friend and I decided to drive up and say hi to a couple of friends who were still involved, as well as to see how much things have changed.
There's a saying: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Seeing the mostly high school crowd, I could palpably feel a wave of nostalgia and memory sweep over me. I could feel that excitement again that I used to feel as a high schooler.
There's another saying: You can never dip your toe into the same stream twice.
As much as things were the same - many of the same sponsors, some of the same faces, though older - it was so different. I was different. I was 15 years older. Instead of worries about whether that cute guy from a different delegation would like me back and whether I would win a contest, I had worries about whether my 3-year-old would finally stop having potty training accidents and whether my parents would acclimate to the their new environment. I looked at the kids around me at the convention - many of whom weren't even born during my heyday in the group - and for a few moments, I envied them. I envied the simplicity of their lives, the joy of new discoveries to come.
The joy and freedom of youth.
And that was where my stroll down memory lane stopped. I had had my moment. It was nice to revisit, but it was time to move on.
As another saying goes: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.
This was my time to say good-bye.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Almost Found Out for Who I Am!
Let me just come out and say it: I am never winning mother of the year. And I don't even pretend to be in the running. If they started the qualifying every January 1st at midnight, I'd be disqualified by 12:05 a.m. When my older son, in fits of anger, tells me I'm the worst mommy ever, I just nod and agree with him.
It's easier that way. Why fight the truth?
You may ask: "Why do you consider yourself a bad mommy?" Well, there are numerous reasons. And I'm sure I'll share them with you over the coming weeks. But today's example of poor parenting concerns my inability to properly feed my children according to the standards, of well, most people with basic standards.
Let me preface this by stating: I myself have never been a good eater. I think I went until 4 pm yesterday before eating something. Today, I was good and actually had a snack around lunch time. It's not that I don't like eating, I just have others things I rather be focusing on. If you put food in front of me, I'll eat it. But left to my own devices, well...As my husband says, I'd never survive in the wild.
My children have learned to adapt to my lackadaisical attitude towards food by fending for themselves. Older Boy, who is 5, began raiding the refrigerator regularly, until I, in all my wisdom, decided to stock the bottom shelf with healthy snacks for him and Younger Boy. My mother is pretty much in a constant state of criticizing my mothering when it comes to food.
It's easier that way. Why fight the truth?
You may ask: "Why do you consider yourself a bad mommy?" Well, there are numerous reasons. And I'm sure I'll share them with you over the coming weeks. But today's example of poor parenting concerns my inability to properly feed my children according to the standards, of well, most people with basic standards.
Let me preface this by stating: I myself have never been a good eater. I think I went until 4 pm yesterday before eating something. Today, I was good and actually had a snack around lunch time. It's not that I don't like eating, I just have others things I rather be focusing on. If you put food in front of me, I'll eat it. But left to my own devices, well...As my husband says, I'd never survive in the wild.
My children have learned to adapt to my lackadaisical attitude towards food by fending for themselves. Older Boy, who is 5, began raiding the refrigerator regularly, until I, in all my wisdom, decided to stock the bottom shelf with healthy snacks for him and Younger Boy. My mother is pretty much in a constant state of criticizing my mothering when it comes to food.
Part of the problem is I'm just not very interested in food. Recipes, cooking? I'd rather balance my checkbook. I'm firmly in the camp that sees food as fuel - if it tastes good, well, that's just a plus. If someone came out with the type of nutritious gruel that the people in "The Matrix" eat on-board the Nebuchadnezzar, I'd be mad stocking up on it.
But, back to the topic at hand: My messy mothering.
One of the neighbors, a girl about a year older than Older Boy, came over to play this morning at our house. Older Boy starting complaining he was hungry. I looked at the clock. It was 11:30. Oh, crap: Lunchtime. Even worse than that, lunchtime with an outside participant.
I tried not to panic.
Lunch at our house generally consists of either leftovers from dinner, ramen noodles, sandwiches, or macaroni and cheese. We didn't have leftovers from dinner. Crap. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich didn't seem adequate enough to feed someone else's child. My kids? Sure, nothing but the minimal standard for my kids, but this involved someone else's child. I opened the pantry to look inside. I offered macaroni and cheese. Nope, neighbor kid had it for lunch the day before. I began to panic. My poor mommying was about to be found out. Luckily, Older Boy poked his head into the pantry and screamed, "RAMEN!" Neighbor girl got excited about ramen. Phew! Saved! I made the kids ramen and supplemented it with apples. Apples are healthy, right?
The kids happily munched their ramen and apples. Disaster averted. Neighbor girl went home with a full tummy and my secret was safe.
For now.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
In the beginning...
And so here I am. Staring at a blank screen that is just waiting for me to fill it up with words. Sigh. It always starts like this, doesn't it? Where to start? Where to begin?
I guess I should start with why I'm doing this - why am I writing? Why am I starting over with a new blog? I wrote 73 posts on my last blog; why not build upon that? Well, the truth is (and I have a feeling I will be writing those words a lot in the coming days), I needed a do-over. Not a fresh slate - in this day and age, no one gets one of those anymore - but a chance to go with a different type of theme for my blog. I stopped blogging on my old site for several reasons. One was time, of course. Another was motivation. My last blog was filled with diatribes and criticisms. Not really anger, per se, but more like an opinion column. And, well, at this point in my life, I just don't have the angry energy to write an opinion column on a regular basis - that was me 15 years ago. For me, at the ripe old age of 34, writing has once again returned to what it used to be: a chance to express. A chance to get down on paper - or screen, as it were - the words and thoughts that are bouncing around in my mind. A chance to be honest.
So, here I am.
I came up with blog name as I was walking through the grocery store today, with a thousand different thoughts bouncing around in my head, thinking about where my life is, what I have become.
Messy.
My life is always messy. And I don't mean in a cobwebs-hanging-off-of-the-fan kind of way, I mean in a what-paintball-or-water-balloon-am-I-juggling-at-the-moment kind of way. I've always got too much going on, whether it's with my family, my work, myself. I'm messy in that I aspire to do so much in so many areas, but then something shiny catches my eye and, whoops! I'm messy in that my life is a constantly choreographed chaos, and I always swear I'll do better next time...but never quite follow through. And, of course, like so many "messy" individuals, both literally and metaphorically, I excel at cleaning up my messes and trying to learn from them. Probably so I can make a bigger mess next time.
Muddy.
Last year, I discovered a new passion of mine: obstacle course racing, or as they are more popularly known, mud runs. In the last year and a half, I've gone from being a couch potato to happily crawling through my share of muddy, barbed wire covered fields. And while I end up pretty messy after each race, I've found that mud actually keeps me clean. It is my balance. It's what keeps me grounded. And it has a nasty way of ending up in the inner parts of your ears so that you find bits of it weeks later.
Mommy.
I hate being defined by one aspect of my life. I am not just one thing. I am a combination of many things. But, when it all comes down to it, I am at the phase of my life in which the title I hear most often is "mommy." Though I have been trying to break my dear husband out of the habit of calling me that instead of my given name.
And so, there it is. Who I am at this point in time. Messy muddy mommy. Life's a journey. You're going to get quite dirty along the way...
I guess I should start with why I'm doing this - why am I writing? Why am I starting over with a new blog? I wrote 73 posts on my last blog; why not build upon that? Well, the truth is (and I have a feeling I will be writing those words a lot in the coming days), I needed a do-over. Not a fresh slate - in this day and age, no one gets one of those anymore - but a chance to go with a different type of theme for my blog. I stopped blogging on my old site for several reasons. One was time, of course. Another was motivation. My last blog was filled with diatribes and criticisms. Not really anger, per se, but more like an opinion column. And, well, at this point in my life, I just don't have the angry energy to write an opinion column on a regular basis - that was me 15 years ago. For me, at the ripe old age of 34, writing has once again returned to what it used to be: a chance to express. A chance to get down on paper - or screen, as it were - the words and thoughts that are bouncing around in my mind. A chance to be honest.
So, here I am.
I came up with blog name as I was walking through the grocery store today, with a thousand different thoughts bouncing around in my head, thinking about where my life is, what I have become.
Messy.
My life is always messy. And I don't mean in a cobwebs-hanging-off-of-the-fan kind of way, I mean in a what-paintball-or-water-balloon-am-I-juggling-at-the-moment kind of way. I've always got too much going on, whether it's with my family, my work, myself. I'm messy in that I aspire to do so much in so many areas, but then something shiny catches my eye and, whoops! I'm messy in that my life is a constantly choreographed chaos, and I always swear I'll do better next time...but never quite follow through. And, of course, like so many "messy" individuals, both literally and metaphorically, I excel at cleaning up my messes and trying to learn from them. Probably so I can make a bigger mess next time.
Muddy.
Last year, I discovered a new passion of mine: obstacle course racing, or as they are more popularly known, mud runs. In the last year and a half, I've gone from being a couch potato to happily crawling through my share of muddy, barbed wire covered fields. And while I end up pretty messy after each race, I've found that mud actually keeps me clean. It is my balance. It's what keeps me grounded. And it has a nasty way of ending up in the inner parts of your ears so that you find bits of it weeks later.
Mommy.
I hate being defined by one aspect of my life. I am not just one thing. I am a combination of many things. But, when it all comes down to it, I am at the phase of my life in which the title I hear most often is "mommy." Though I have been trying to break my dear husband out of the habit of calling me that instead of my given name.
And so, there it is. Who I am at this point in time. Messy muddy mommy. Life's a journey. You're going to get quite dirty along the way...
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