Savage - noun. (chiefly in historical or literary contexts) a member of a people regarded as primitive and uncivilized.
Some synonyms include barbaric, harsh, and brutal.
I don't consider myself any of these things. In fact, on the contrary, I would describe myself as careful, polite (mostly), soft and quite civilized... yet I found myself in the middle of an event fittingly dubbed the "savage race" last fall.
The Savage Race is the muddy obstacle course run that touts having "the world's best obstacles" and after one look at some of the descriptions outlined on the website you can see why! If it's sponsors give you any indication of the nature of this beast, let it be known that the Air Force Reserves are among them, with their logo proudly displayed throughout the obstacles, -which basically stood to remind me that I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into!
I had been convinced to join a team to run the Maryland course in early October, 2014. We embarked on our little road trip to join the rest of our team in Maryland on a sunny, warm Friday afternoon. By Saturday morning, race day, the weather had turned dark, cold and wet with no sign of changing its mind. I would spend the day with goosebumps and chattering teeth trying to regulate my already, defunct internal thermostat.
The course we set out to tackle was about 6 miles long, with about 26 obstacles scattered throughout, the first of which is aptly titled "the Shriveled Richard". No amount of training was going to prepare me for the piercing cold that I would voluntarily plunge into after only a short run, not near enough time to make this obstacle feel even the slightest bit refreshing. I knew it was coming. I knew I would do it even though there was always an option to go around any obstacle. I did NOT know I would have to submerge myself completely, head and all, to pass under an obstructing wall that hovered just above the waters edge. As the ice and water hit every inch of my skin, my lungs forgot how to function and I hesitated, gasping for enough air to make the pass under the frigid water. Only seconds had passed by the time we were out of Shriveled Richard's grip, but this would set the tone for how I would spend the rest of this run....shivering...and semi shocked.
After getting our bearings, we progressed onward, making our way through muddy forest trail and corn cob slicked field with breaks only to take on another wicked challenge. We carried logs through waist high water. We crawled through muddy, rock filled trenches and tunnels and climbed high walls to drop to the other side- sometimes onto flat weather-muddied ground, sometimes into pits of mud stained water from those that had gone before us. We belly crawled under barbed wire. We pulled cinder blocks up hills and then hoisted them to take back down to the bottom. We crawled on our backs using nets to hoist ourselves up a hill while cold water drenched us from the top.
We slammed ourselves into walls to grab rope and pull ourselves up...well, I slammed. I think most people were more capable of such a feat. Running head long into a ramp to reach a rope is, apparently, among the many things I should not be allowed to attempt. Albeit, I did attempt it. I watched others do it with ease and upon my turn, I took a running leap ...and missed the rope, sliding back down the wall with a bruised ego. I would try again, ouch- that might leave a mark. And again, -seriously, could I be this athletically challenged!? Until nearly giving up after taking a hard hit against the wall that would leave my left hip and right elbow battered. I finally grabbed that rope and climbed to the top of that wall with my teammates there to help me down. It was embarrassing. It was painful. It was also invigorating and empowering and I was so glad I tried it and tried it again....and again. Sigh.
Many of the obstacles required a bit of upper body strength. Not my strong suit, but I had fun giving my best effort and then mostly, clumsily falling into a pool of cold, brownish water and swimming or wading out. I grabbed only one rung of the intimidating monkey bar called "sawtooth" before dropping like a lead balloon and whacking my elbow off of the platform.
At some point, it wasn't about feeling defeated for not completing the obstacle the way it was meant to be completed. It became more about having the proverbial "balls" to actually try these things and to make it to the finish. Of all the obstacles that miserable day in early fall, I skipped two. "Davy Jones' Locker" was a high jump into a deep pool and came upon me at a point that I just couldn't bring myself to be immersed in cold water again.
Among the final obstacles, one called the "Collosus" was a larger version of the rope ramp I had thrown myself at over and over again earlier, except this time upon reaching the top, runners would slide down a giant, steep slip and slide into a pool of- you guessed it- dirty water! I couldn't fling my body at one more wall so I passed and found some of my team mates at the finish- a FIRE jump-...that's right, WARMTH!!!! I had no shame at this point hovering around the smoldering logs. No matter who finished and when, we all met at that fire jump and grabbed hands to leap over it together and walk off into the looming grayness that had held it's ground stubbornly all morning.
That day. That experience. The challenges we met that we had knowingly signed ourselves up for and the challenges of a moody mother nature were all tough. Indeed, our savage race proved appropriately named. It was harsh. It was brutal. It was everything I never thought I would do. It was also such a rush! At the end of the day, the feeling of empowerment and pride for making it through a course like that, no matter how fast or how well, was like nothing else. I've taught fitness classes for 5 years and enjoy the endorphin release found as a result of a good workout, but this feeling was beyond compare. For a moment there, I thought myself pretty badass.
The next day -of course- we awoke to find sunny skies, barely a breeze and a temperature at least 20 degrees warmer than what we'd had for race day.
Some synonyms include barbaric, harsh, and brutal.
I don't consider myself any of these things. In fact, on the contrary, I would describe myself as careful, polite (mostly), soft and quite civilized... yet I found myself in the middle of an event fittingly dubbed the "savage race" last fall.
The Savage Race is the muddy obstacle course run that touts having "the world's best obstacles" and after one look at some of the descriptions outlined on the website you can see why! If it's sponsors give you any indication of the nature of this beast, let it be known that the Air Force Reserves are among them, with their logo proudly displayed throughout the obstacles, -which basically stood to remind me that I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into!
I had been convinced to join a team to run the Maryland course in early October, 2014. We embarked on our little road trip to join the rest of our team in Maryland on a sunny, warm Friday afternoon. By Saturday morning, race day, the weather had turned dark, cold and wet with no sign of changing its mind. I would spend the day with goosebumps and chattering teeth trying to regulate my already, defunct internal thermostat.
The course we set out to tackle was about 6 miles long, with about 26 obstacles scattered throughout, the first of which is aptly titled "the Shriveled Richard". No amount of training was going to prepare me for the piercing cold that I would voluntarily plunge into after only a short run, not near enough time to make this obstacle feel even the slightest bit refreshing. I knew it was coming. I knew I would do it even though there was always an option to go around any obstacle. I did NOT know I would have to submerge myself completely, head and all, to pass under an obstructing wall that hovered just above the waters edge. As the ice and water hit every inch of my skin, my lungs forgot how to function and I hesitated, gasping for enough air to make the pass under the frigid water. Only seconds had passed by the time we were out of Shriveled Richard's grip, but this would set the tone for how I would spend the rest of this run....shivering...and semi shocked.
After getting our bearings, we progressed onward, making our way through muddy forest trail and corn cob slicked field with breaks only to take on another wicked challenge. We carried logs through waist high water. We crawled through muddy, rock filled trenches and tunnels and climbed high walls to drop to the other side- sometimes onto flat weather-muddied ground, sometimes into pits of mud stained water from those that had gone before us. We belly crawled under barbed wire. We pulled cinder blocks up hills and then hoisted them to take back down to the bottom. We crawled on our backs using nets to hoist ourselves up a hill while cold water drenched us from the top.
We slammed ourselves into walls to grab rope and pull ourselves up...well, I slammed. I think most people were more capable of such a feat. Running head long into a ramp to reach a rope is, apparently, among the many things I should not be allowed to attempt. Albeit, I did attempt it. I watched others do it with ease and upon my turn, I took a running leap ...and missed the rope, sliding back down the wall with a bruised ego. I would try again, ouch- that might leave a mark. And again, -seriously, could I be this athletically challenged!? Until nearly giving up after taking a hard hit against the wall that would leave my left hip and right elbow battered. I finally grabbed that rope and climbed to the top of that wall with my teammates there to help me down. It was embarrassing. It was painful. It was also invigorating and empowering and I was so glad I tried it and tried it again....and again. Sigh.
Many of the obstacles required a bit of upper body strength. Not my strong suit, but I had fun giving my best effort and then mostly, clumsily falling into a pool of cold, brownish water and swimming or wading out. I grabbed only one rung of the intimidating monkey bar called "sawtooth" before dropping like a lead balloon and whacking my elbow off of the platform.
At some point, it wasn't about feeling defeated for not completing the obstacle the way it was meant to be completed. It became more about having the proverbial "balls" to actually try these things and to make it to the finish. Of all the obstacles that miserable day in early fall, I skipped two. "Davy Jones' Locker" was a high jump into a deep pool and came upon me at a point that I just couldn't bring myself to be immersed in cold water again.
Among the final obstacles, one called the "Collosus" was a larger version of the rope ramp I had thrown myself at over and over again earlier, except this time upon reaching the top, runners would slide down a giant, steep slip and slide into a pool of- you guessed it- dirty water! I couldn't fling my body at one more wall so I passed and found some of my team mates at the finish- a FIRE jump-...that's right, WARMTH!!!! I had no shame at this point hovering around the smoldering logs. No matter who finished and when, we all met at that fire jump and grabbed hands to leap over it together and walk off into the looming grayness that had held it's ground stubbornly all morning.
That day. That experience. The challenges we met that we had knowingly signed ourselves up for and the challenges of a moody mother nature were all tough. Indeed, our savage race proved appropriately named. It was harsh. It was brutal. It was everything I never thought I would do. It was also such a rush! At the end of the day, the feeling of empowerment and pride for making it through a course like that, no matter how fast or how well, was like nothing else. I've taught fitness classes for 5 years and enjoy the endorphin release found as a result of a good workout, but this feeling was beyond compare. For a moment there, I thought myself pretty badass.
The next day -of course- we awoke to find sunny skies, barely a breeze and a temperature at least 20 degrees warmer than what we'd had for race day.