DR 2012: Cheaters (and Brats) Never Prosper

As we began the 6hr drive back to Philly from Vermont, I broke out my legal pad and a pen and began to list all the tasks we completed in the 2012 Death Race. Despite having just spent 60 hours out in the woods of Pittsfield, VT, even then I had trouble recalling the sequence of events. And these past few days, my mind has been constantly churning over things that I think happened, things that I wish had happened, and things that I wish I had changed. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to come to terms with how I FEEL about my Death Race experience, and what it is that I'm taking away from it. This will probably end up being several posts as I distill the events over the next few days and weeks.

After the Winter Death Race, I wrote a post about how its easy and fun to be in the lead at the Death Race; the real test of strength and self, however, is when you have fallen (or feel like you've fallen) helplessly behind the leaders. Given my success at the WDR and CMC and other recent races, it's a feeling that was foreign to me, and one that I could only talk about in the abstract.

Until now.

Death Race by the Numbers

Total time to finish: 60 hours, 23 minutes
Place: 2nd female

# people wearing non-black shirts: 1

Total approximate distance covered: 50-70 miles (depending on who you talk to)
Clif bars consumed: 8

The Betrayal Has Begun

When I signed up for the Death Race back in December, I remember talking to a previous Death Race finisher and asking about the race.

"What is it?" I inquired.

"A complete mindfuck," he said.

Crossfit + Obstacles = Combine Love

When you take three of my current obsessions (Crossfit, obstacles, and hills) and roll them up into one race, I may start foaming at the mouth out of excitement. And as we surveyed the PIT early last Saturday morning at Civilian Military Combine up in Camelbak Mountain, PA, I could feel the buzz in the air.

S.E.R.E. Urban: Chicago is a Dangerous Place

You know you want to touch

 I've spent the last few days trying to figure out practical uses for my shiny new KA-Bar,* spoils of being crowned "Top Team" at S.E.R.E. Chicago this past weekend. I typically display my race schwag on my desk at work, but somehow I think that a 7-inch knife wouldn't go over too well and may result in losing my job even more quickly than I'm probably on track to lose it. So far, I've discovered that the KA-Bar is excellent for eating apples and opening the numerous Amazon boxes I get every week (GEARWHORE), and is just so-so serving as a steak knife. It does make for a great rendition of Psycho in the shower, though I wouldn't recommend it for getting out splinters. But enough about knife uses.

Used and Abused: The Essentials

My body hates me. There isn't a day where I'm not nursing some type of sore muscle, blister, injury, or rash of some sort (yum). If you know me, you are quite familiar with the fact that I am a certifiable gearwhore. So it makes sense that I'm also a certifiable product-whore as well: if it could potentially make the pain go away, speed recovery, or prevent the pain in the first place, I'm on it. So when I pack my bag for, say, the Death Race, these are the essentials:*

Everyday I'm Shufflin'

I posed the question this past weekend: "Which is harder to describe, the Death Race or a GoRuck Challenge?"

Obviously, to the average person, both seem certifiably insane:
The Death Race: you basically do whatever they tell you to do for 48ish hours, which likely involves chopping wood, running up and down a mountain, and carrying heavy and awkward shit.
GoRuck: you run through a city at night for 12ish hours with a backpack full of bricks and stop and do push-ups, bear crawls, crab walks, and any other stupid exercise you can possibly think of (see, e.g., monkeyfuckers; little man in the woods)

After giving it some thought (ok, WAY too much thought), I think I'm going to go with GoRuck being harder to explain. Why?