Meet The Savage Race. Got What It Takes?

Heading into the Savage Race on Saturday in Dade City, I was most concerned about the physical hurdles. This 6.4-mile race offered 23 obstacles that had runners crawling through mud and under barbed wire, not to mention climbing cargo nets, mountains of dirt and a pyramid of hay bales.  This is pretty standard fare at your average mud run.
But other shorter mud runs I’ve competed in have been a walk in the park compared to this race. The longer distance, helped spread out a most intense — and sometimes frightening — course.
At the start line, race producers stressed the importance of having fun — avoiding injury — and working as a team. But with the time chip strapped to my ankle, getting to the finish line as quickly as possible was beating out any notion of fun in the sun with friends (this strategy almost cost me, but more on that later).
So off I went forging my own path  unaware that the obstacles I had written off as a breeze would prove extremely challenging.

The first being a 4-foot-deep ice bath, that forced competitors midway through to submerge completely to get under a barrier before proceeding to the exit. There was nothing physical about this, other than the reaction my body was having. The frigid water took my breathe away. Trying to inhale a breath before dunking my head under proved to be almost  impossible… but that was the only way to end this nightmare. I would have easily added several miles if it was possible to go back and never experience that again.
The one benefit: once I got out, I was mooooving — anything to warm up and get the feeling back in my arms and legs.
OK, so it was clear that the non-physical challenges were going to be as difficult as all the others. At least the running portion wasn’t going to slow me down — I knew I could handle the distance even with mud, uneven terrain and a few hills thrown in.

As if the course wasn't challenging enough, a glimpse of this gator in a nearby lake made every water challenge tougher.

More than a mile and several obstacles later, an 8-foot wall stood before me. I realized this was THE obstacle that was not going to be completed alone — and there I stood absolutely alone (probably the only obstacle where I didn’t encounter some if not tons of racers waiting their turn).  At that moment, I could have used a friend.
On my fourth effort to shimmy up the wall, I felt a hand push my leg up. Hallallujah — teamwork at its finest. I pulled myself the rest of the way up and swung myself over while thanking my unknown helper. But I quickly learned as my right knee slammed into the ground — if you go up an 8- foot wall, you have to come down 8 feet on the other side. Ouch.
Thankfully, other than some scrapes and bruises, my sore knee was my only injury this race, but it wasn’t enough to keep me down. Onward and upward… Literally, upward.
After two miles and every variation of mud obstacle you can imagine and some you couldn’t, I was climbing a structure — up, up, up — and then peering over a ledge into a  pool of water about 12 feet below.
 Again, there was nothing physical about this. I had to take one step and drop. Nothing to it, right?
“Just do it,” I told myself as I stepped back and let someone behind me take my place on the ledge. My fear of heights started kicking in. I knew the longer I stood there, the less likely I would jump. As racers continued to climb up behind me, there was nowhere else to go but down – straight down into the drink.
Up to this point, I had conquered 17 obstacles and managed a steady pace for five miles. I’d like to say I maintained this. I’d like to say that monkey bars weren’t my downfall.  But these weren’t your normal monkey bars — these were called “Evil Bars.”  And sadly, I made it to the second rung before falling into the water below.

I redeemed myself on the next couple of obstacles and was feeling pretty good until I saw the 15-foot inclined wall.  Racers would get a running start and try to sprint far enough up the curved ramp to grab a rope that they could use to pull themselves up to a landing.
Even more daunting was the sea of racers waiting their turn. And we waited and waited and waited.
Once on the platform, racers made their way up another ladder to another platform with a 25-foot slide into a tub of water. It was only a hop, skip and a jump or more accurately, a crawl through electrified wires, jump over fire and crawl under barbed wire through the mud to the finish line.
But I was still back waiting for the inclined wall. Fifteen minutes later I was still waiting in the same spot. I overheard runners saying you could skip the inclined wall and climb a ladder to the platform. After waiting another five minutes — that seemed like an eternity — I made the executive decision to skip the incline wall and take the ladder.
As I slid toward the final obstacles, I immediately started doubting my decision. Could I have made it up the wall? Why didn’t I at least try?
Crossing the finish line felt great, but there is a lingering disappointment. I knew I couldn’t complete one obstacle — the monkey bars. I didn’t even try the inclined wall.
Sometimes, it’s the physical challenges that bring you down.
And sometimes it’s the mental game.