Slip, Scream, Repeat - Spartan Sprint Greek Peak Reflections

As I walked sure footed through the house just over two years ago, with armloads of Christmas gifts that I was transporting from my car to the indoor hiding spot of the front hall closet, I would not see the blanket on the hard wood floor that I would slip on forcing my left leg out so quickly that the stress fracture, that was unbeknownst to me, would come apart snapping the top of my femur.  The surgery and long recovery, including 6 weeks on crutches in the winter, that followed would leave me with a brand new habit.  It is the screeching type of scream that lasts only a second, but seems to arise from the depths of my toes the minute I find myself slipping in any situation.  It can be ice on the driveway, or something as benign as a melted ice cube on the kitchen floor.  Nonetheless, it is there.  Every single time, it is there.

Saturday, I found myself taking on my first Spartan Race of the year.  It was the Winter Sprint at Greek Peak in Cortland, New York.  I had done this race last year.  I had it all under control.  Last year, it was three miles and brutally cold.  It was 12 when we started and 16 when we finished.  So, this year I kept saying I wasn't worried.  I had another year of training under my belt, and this was to be my fifth Spartan Race.  It would be warmer, a mere 32, and it would likely snow, but it wasn't 12, so I was pretty confident I had it handled.  What I didn't anticipate, was the change in weather, would dramatically change the race.  This year, in true Spartan style, the length was completely different.  At the finish our GPS read 5.39 miles, dramatically longer.  The winds proved to be a bit more punishing than last year, as the snow pelted our faces. 

Typically, anyone that races with me will tell you, I generally have one rule and that is when it comes to the experience, what happens on the course stays on the course.  This way, we feel a bit freer to voice our fears at the top of an obstacle, ok, that generally involves mostly me and my insane fear of heights.  The tapestry of four letter words that may exit our mouths can stay just where we left it, as a hovering cloud over the burpee station.  However, this race I will be bold enough to rat myself out.  What I did not plan on, in this race, were the abundance of two things.  First, there was mud.  Slushy wet deep mud that even the greatest of obstacle shoe could not necessarily grip onto.  Second, there was ice.  Much of the course by early afternoon was slick.  So, the continued slipping and sliding for miles allowed that scream I mentioned to come flying out of my mouth many times.  Foot slip, scream, repeat.  I will say this,  I was extremely fortunate to have an amazing team that patiently reminded me over and over that I was OK. 

Ultimately, I would find myself getting frustrated.  The screams were embarrassing, yet I could not seem to stop. At different points in the race, I would find myself stopped on one of  the declines simply hugging a tree wondering if I would ever be able to finish, stop screaming, and find sure footing again.  I began to think about an escape plan.  I would look around wondering if there was a way out.  The reality was, deep in the treeline four miles in, the only escape was through, one foot slip, one scream at a time.  I would see other racers who were so much bolder than I was in these moments, shimmying down the hill with the only vocal sound being a laugh or some sort of celebration of their conquering of the slippery slope. 

In the end, my team of six and I would jump the fire, get our medals and fight the ice the rest of the way down the mountain to the lodge.  In my five previous races, I had always been overcome at the finish line with emotion.  The joy of a hard fought battle, well rewarded with an awesome medal.  Not this time.  I was still living off the overwhelming uneasiness only fear can provide.


The next day, I would find myself in my obligatory Spartan Finisher's Shirt standing on the balcony of my room at the lodge, staring out over the mountain.  As I looked at the steep peaks that took so much out of me the day before, I was reminded of the multiple times in the past, a life challenge would suddenly nearly double in enormity and I would find myself hugging that proverbial tree on an icy mountain paralyzed with inactivity because things suddenly seemed so overwhelming.  However, I learned some things about hugging the actual tree on Saturday.  It's cold, it isn't any less icy and does not get me to the finish line any faster.  I realize now, the screams of fear along the way were really only my natural reflexes reminding me of a bad incident two years prior that is now a part of me just as much as the titanium screw in my hip.

I can honestly say, I have done five Spartan Races and each race has taught me something new.  This race reminds me that sometimes life is twice as hard as you plan it to be, with twists you do not count on and reactions you wish you didn't have.  However, through it all, the goal is to let go of the tree on the icy mountain, take on the slippery slope even if it means you might fall, or end up sliding down on your butt, because truly all trials come to an end and the satisfaction from overcoming the paralysis of inactivity will make it all worth doing.  My faithful sidekick racer, my son, and I have been talking a lot about repeating this particular race for a third time next year.  As the blister on my right heel heals, and the windburn on my cheeks goes away, my initial reaction of,"no, not again" may change as I just may have to challenge myself to take a page out the more experienced racers' book and become less frustrated with those parts of myself I cannot totally control, and enjoy the ride down.  Today, as I place the medal on the rack for a fifth time, I can honestly say, I believe the best is yet to come.