The dew-laden scent of evergreens soothed my senses as I remembered the fateful event five years ago that happened in this exact same spot. I distinctly remembered Norm shining the headlamp on my frozen face as my chip got cut off my shivering body. Smiling in memory of this I always felt empowered in this spot of the course. It marked one of the most important moments of my entire life that sculpted the person I am today and taught me to never let failure define me, instead to make it refine me. Locking the memory away once more, I took the time going uphill here to grab a snack from my pack to quiet my grumbling stomach. The crowd was beginning to thin out by this point, many of whom were still back doing Tarzan swing burpees. Also, it’s amazing how many death race alumni were out on course! People who I hardly remembered from the event suddenly reminisced with me the perils of the 60 hour suckfest and how much easier we have it now. Indeed it was true, and the perspective shift granted by that event transformed into what Joe DeSena described in his books as “obstacle immunity”. What we faced today was mere raindrops to the storm we faced just two months prior!

The quiet of the thick woods began to give way to a distant clanking of a bell, a prelude to the tyrolean traverse obstacle that greeted us in the clearing ahead. Getting through this was actually a little harder than expected, and the rope I was on was especially loose which transformed the last half of the traverse an agonizing upward slope. My pack occasionally tapped the ground underneath me, sending panic into my heart that 30 burpees may await me, but the volunteer said that it wasn’t an issue since it didn’t give me any advantage in the obstacle… thank goodness! Moving on, the ground was dug up into rolling trenches of mud that ended in a dunk wall. By this point getting wet again felt amazing! The heat of the day was already drenching everybody in sweat, so it felt nice to be caked in cold mud for a little while! The muddy, level ground once again surrendered to an uphill throughway between the woods and service roads which led everyone to what would become the most talked about, infamous part of the entire course… the Ultra loop.

“Come on down, guys! I designed the part of this course myself! It’s nice and runnable all the way down!” shouted an overly-cheerful fella in the middle of a fork in the trail. One part had a bunch of signs saying “Ultra” with an arrow ominously pointing forward, while the other direction mercifully led right into the woods to the right. After giving the guy a high-five, I ran quickly down the course which led into an open area at Bear Mountain, all the while realizing that I’m going to have to go back up the same distance I just easily went down. At the bottom was a hybrid obstacle that had us carry an atlas ball to a sled drag. Once I pulled the sled to me and walked it back out, I had to pick up the atlas ball again and place it back in the beginning of the obstacle for the next person. The obstacle itself wasn’t that bad, and the level ground finally gave me a minute to take my shoes off and pull the insole of my shoe back to normal (that’s the problem with the speedcross 4’s… they grip the terrain TOO well). After crossing a very necessary timing mat the inevitable uphill trek began… only this time it wasn’t on an open trail but through the thick boulder-ridden woods that beckoned us upwards with the randomly placed white ribbons dotting a tree here and there. There was no guided, beaten path. It was basically the race director saying “figure this out on your own” as we agonizingly inched upwards. A couple slow people was all it took to hold the entire line up, with few people daring to move around the masses on much more dangerous and exhausting terrain. Oh by the way, this portion of the course was much, much worse than the death march!

After what seemed like an eternity the thick woods opened up to some more generous single-track terrain. Eventually I saw a sign that indicated our merging back on to the rest of the beast course. By this time some faster runners were zipping by us, adorned with the bright green armband indicating their elite beast status of the day. “How was that ultra loop?” asked some of the athletes out of morbid curiosity. I spoke the very first thing that entered my mind without filter, “I’d rather fuck a cactus”. On the back of my mind I wished I had packed a cactus in my drop bin, because that loop would be eagerly waiting for me on lap two! Nevertheless, it was foolish to think that far ahead. That kind of thought is what causes people to voluntarily withdraw at the halfway point. This is what I loved about the Ultra, your success was demanded by you not thinking about how far you’ve gone or how much further you have to go. Living in the moment and focusing solely on your next step forwards was the only way to mentally cope with an event of this magnitude.

The course continued upwards until it was interrupted with the relatively easy Bender obstacle and an aid station. I was ecstatic about that aid station, since my camelback had literally run dry the moment I got sight of the table splayed with precious water jugs! Seeing that the course continued upwards and that I had already taken my pack off to fill up, I grabbed another clif bar and munched on that as I labored onwards.

The upward climb eventually gave way to a short runnable portion of the course. “You know it’s a crazy course when running normally feels like you’re taking a break!” joked the guy next to me. It’s funny because it’s true! The short run loosened my legs up and the ever-present feeling of a looming cramp ebbed away with every stride. The slight downhill run eventually opened up to a magnificent vista of the entire venue below, displaying the lodge, festival area and the distant mountainscape. This was much like a religious experience, since seeing the view made people say “oh my God”, and when they did a 180 to look at the next part of the course, many repeated that phrase only with a sense of dread. The next part of the course was such a steep and rocky incline that a massive cargo net was splayed across the ground for people to cling to. A few runners were sitting on the outskirts of the net clinging on to their cramp-ridden legs, fumbling through their packs for any salt or mustard packets. After handing a salt pill to one of the cramp casualties, I climbed up to the peak that had the stairway to Sparta obstacle followed by another much-needed aid station (compliments to the course designers for the aid station locations, by the way).

Running whenever I could, I kept myself focused on the next person in front of me to pass. Bad idea. After a short while a group of us noticed that there weren’t any course markings on the service road we were on, which curiously seemed to wrap around the mountain and back to where we came from. Thankfully we had only diverted course for about a quarter mile, but the lesson was still learned – pay attention to the damn course markings! After correcting my mistake, I trekked onwards down a very steep slope that was starting to resemble a rocky slip-n-slide as it snaked down towards the festival area. Some of the more daring participants decided to slide down the entire thing on their butts, but my memory of somebody breaking their tailbone doing the same stunt kept me from indulging in on the fun. In my way at the bottom of the trek was the first sandbag carry, which wasn’t bad since I kept the sandbag draped over my shoulders and never stopped moving. After finishing and dropping the sandbag in the bin with a loud THUD, a sea of spectators lined the edge of the course leading to Twister.

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