My
training this year had been tough and spot-on. My friend Bill and I spent
Sundays crawling through sewer pipes with 50 pound sand bags, dragged big logs
up and down ravines, hiked with full backpacks through waist high frigid water
for miles, carried 50 gallon buckets of water on winding trails, did pushups in
streams, split wood for hours, and of course, 1,000 burpee sets, and so on. Going
into race week I felt stronger and fitter than I ever had, confident in my
abilities, and extremely calm, which is extremely important. My only concern
was the condition of my feet. They were in bad shape and in pain, and I knew
they were going to be a problem.
The
theme for this year’s race was Betrayal. That is all any of us knew, Betrayal.
Would Andy and Joe (The Undertakers) betray us? Would fellow competitors betray
us? Or would our own bodies, minds and emotions betray us? The thoughts
lingered.
An
unofficial theme for every Death Race is “This is the Death Race”. This is not
a 5K. This is not a triathlon. Or a marathon. This is the Death Race, one of
the hardest races on the planet. You hear these words when Joe is displeased
with the speed of your burpees. “This is the Death Race, pick it up). You
mutter these words when you are in pain, tired and hungry in the middle of the
night, “This is the Death Race”. And you laugh these words when you slip off
the trail and are lying flat on your back with you backpack weighing you down
so that you can’t get up, “This is the Death Race”.
Although
we had been told that there was not going to be a required equipment list, in
the week leading up to the race three different lists were sent to us, each one
a little different. This was designed to f#ck with our brains. In the end, the
list was an axe, certified life jacket, pink swim cap, needle and thread, five
gallon bucket, a bag of human hair, saw, pen, paper, and a black compression
shirt. Additionally, we should bring anything we thought we would need to
survive in the wilderness for one week. Anything we brought would stay in our
backpacks for the entire duration of the race. We were even required to submit
a list of our items. Food, water and clothing could be stashed at the Aimee
Farm, our base camp. There would be no outside assistance from our support
people away from Aimee Farm.
The
drive up was beautiful, much better than the torrential rains of last year.
Nicole and I arrived in Pittsfield and pulled into the Inn we had reserved. We
finally found a person that worked there. He told us he would be with us in a
little while, as soon as he finished de-lousing our room. The may be the Death
race but we got in our car and drove up the road as fast as we could.
We
lucked out and got a room at the Swiss Miss Inn, a cute B&B directly across
from the Aimee Farm. We were met by the innkeeper, Whalen, and extremely nice
guy who cooks awesome pancakes. Standing outside the inn for a moment, I looked
up at the beauty of the Green Mountains and suddenly had the gut feeling that
they were laughing at me and what I was about to go through.
Shortly
after checking in, we met Bruce and Melissa Harris from Pensacola, Florida.
Bruce was a Marine drill instructor for 20 years and is now a K-9 police
officer and trainer. He is an intimidating block of human muscle but as it
turns out has a heart of gold. The thing about Death Race is that new friends
become fast friends, and quickly become old friends. It is the commonality of
what we are going through and what got us here that glues us together. As the
day went on we ran into other Death Race friends Johnny Waite, Kevin Lowe, and
Yitzy Sondag. It was great to finally meet fellow Team RWB athletes Marcus
Franzen and Marc Dibernardo, Army Special Ops guys from Fort Campbell. We had a
nice dinner that evening and relaxed.
Friday
at 1230, our first task was upon us. We were to hike up a steep mountain trail
with our gear to be weighed in at the top. Nicole hiked it with me. The view at
the top was spectacular. We entered a cabin one at a time, told to look
straight ahead and step on the scale. Do not say a word. We were given some
rabbit pellets and told to keep them dry the entire race. The games had begun. Back
down the mountain we went.
Next
we went to Riverside Farm for “official” registration. Our pack list was turned
in, we received our race numbers, and new instruction. Hike back to the Aimee
Farm along the river trail, when we get to the farm, sew our numbers on our
black compression shirts in 3” block letters that will last the entire race. Nicole
and I went our separate ways. Along the trail there were signs, about 40 in
all, with quotations, symbols and pictures, all having to do with betrayal. I
wrote down every one of them, as did everyone else, not know if we would need
them later.
My
understanding is that Death Race received over 8,000 applications for the race,
accepted about 300, of which 56 dropped out for various reasons before ever
reaching Pittsfield. It is a comical sight to see 250 incredible athletes
sitting on the ground sewing. I think we should form a quilting club.
From
sewing, I was to crawl through a 30” culvert pipe that runs approximately 50’
or so under the road. There was some water flowing through and it was dark but I
had done a lot of this in training so it was no big deal. Not everyone felt the
same way. I guess I was chatting with the guy in front of me so much that
someone behind me told me to shut up. Oops. Nerves.
Upon
exiting the pipe, we were to put on our pink swim cap and life jacket for a “swim
test” in the duck pond. The girls monitoring this activity were sure to tell us
that all of the animal waste from the pasture uphill ran into this pond and we
were sure to get sick. Regardless, the water felt great as the temperatures
were heating up. I’m glad to report that I did not get sick.
Now
it was time to do Joe’s chores. We split wood, carried wood, stacked wood,
re-stacked wood when they felt like we did a poor job, and weeded garden plots.
Just like home. Some people feel that Death Race is really to help Joe get
stuff done around the farm. After a while, we were told to hurry back to the
other side of the farm and make sure we had turned our identification to a
women at the table and get in line. I ran over to the table but did not have
any identification on me. I quickly took out my chapstick, wrote my name and
race number on it. The woman laughed when I gave it to her and said “Well, this
is Death Race!” I was kind of bummed. I really liked that chapstick.
With
backpacks back on, we loosely organized ourselves into groups and were told to
either pick up a 12’ kayak or 5’ PVC tube filled with water. I remember the
tubes from last year – heavy and awkward. I ended up under a kayak. Group by
group we hiked back over to the pond. We put the kayaks and backpacks on the
ground, put our swim caps and lifejackets back on, and all piled into the pond.
This was where we were to have our pre-race meeting, floating in a stinky duck
pond with 250 of our new bestest friends, most of whom were probably peeing.
Andy and Joe appeared and instructions began. The mood was very light with lots
of laughing and joking going on. You could tell everyone was pumped to really
get going. We were also introduced to a man named Chris who was part of the
race staff. Chris has just lost an immense amount of weight and was working on
losing more. I suspected that Joe and Andy were helping him with this. Besides
being sick, psychotic bastards, they are really great guys that go out of their
way to help people, just not in Death Race. It was inspiring to see everyone
cheer for Chris. Andy went to the other side of the pond and dumped in several
hundred numbered ping pong balls. The number was your group for the next
challenge. 
Group
by group, with packs on again, we lifted our kayaks or pipes and headed up a
trail. Here is the thing, we had people on each side of the kayak lifting it,
plus the width of the kayak. The trail was steep, winding, rocky, and single track.
You were not walking on the trail. You were walking beside it, through brush,
around trees and on awkward angles. It was tough going to say the least, and we
had just begun. Eventually, this section of trail opened up onto a fire/gravel
road. Races ensued to not be near the end of the groups. Running with full
pack, other people, up and down mountain roads, with a kayak above you…fun.
After several hours we came to a wider clearing. Here our groups formed a
circle and we passed the kayak hand to hand like a clock. Joe was displeased
with our effort so it was burpee time. First he told us we were doing 100, then
it became 200, 300 etc. I like to do burpees (I know I am strange but consider
the race I am in) so this was no big deal. Chris, the guy who had lost all the
weight, came by to each group and did a burpee with us. We all shook his hand
and congratulated him.
Off
on the trail again. It was beginning to get dark so headlamps were put on. If I
remember correctly, this portion got rougher. In fact we had two people in our
group go down because of blown ankles and blown knees. I waited with each them
until a race staff member could take over. Their race was over. I felt for them
knowing how much effort I had put in, they probably did the same. This is the
Death Race.
A
few more hours later, another clearing, more burpees. We actually named this
place Burpeeville. Strange things happen in the Vermont wilderness. We were
told that from here on, there was no turning back. This was the last chance to
exit. People that were struggling, injured or not feeling well were encouraged
to drop out. I’m not sure what time it was, but we had been going since 1230.
Fatique was naturally setting in. It creeps into your mind that maybe you
should get out. Many people did. Groups that had kayaks were now carrying two
tubes and vice versa.
On
we went. The hills got steeper, the terrain got uglier. There were big rocks
and roots to climb over. Streams and puddles to go through. For most of the
time, the left side of the trail was a drop-off. Twice I fell off the trail
tumbling until I could grab something. With a backpack on, you have little
balance to stop momentum. I ended up in a plant that caused a burning sensation
on my skin for about twenty minutes (wild parsnip someone said). By now, my
feet were a serious issue. Every step was torture. It really pissed me off.
One
of my big mistakes last year was not eating enough. I set my watch to eat every
45 minutes. It really helped. One of the big problems we faced was that
everyone was running out of water and getting dehydrated. The hours between two
and four a.m. seemed to take forever. Time and distance just seem to stand
still in the pitch black dark. People were working together but there was
starting to be some edginess. Tired, wet feet, thirsty. Maybe we were going to
betray each other. After three hours with no water we came to a stream.
Everyone filled their bottles and camelbacks. Some people had filters, others,
like me, had iodine tablets. Once the water was safe to drink and everyone was
re-hydrated, the mood seemed to get better. Dawn was beginning to break, it was
a new day. Saturday.
At
approximately 6 am we arrived at a house next to a reservoir. We dropped the
tubes and collapsed for a short rest. We had hiked 25 miles over 15 hours
carrying a 12’ kayak or 5’ tubes filled with water over rough mountain trails. I
had heard the 60-100 people had already dropped out. Rumors tend to circulate
so I don’t know if it was true or not.
The
condition of my feet had only worsened. Even sitting down they were excruciatingly
painful. I was trying to think of anything I could do to make them better but I
had no ideas. Andy was there to greet us. He told us there was pizza, coffee
and donuts in the house and we were welcome to it…if we dropped out. Or we
could continue on and go for a nice swim out to a yellow buoy and back.
Everyone was required to wear a life jacket but Andy said I didn’t need to
because of my swimming. I had been hiking with a guy named Chris who was also
an ironman. We debated a swim race but opted for a nice slow float with the
life jackets on. The water was awesome. I flexed my legs and feet as much as I
could to try and loosen them up. It helped some. Hopefully enough.
We
got out of the water. Ate more food, drank more water, stretched. Our next task
was to take our 5 gallon buckets, march a half mile up a dirt driveway, fill
them to the top with gravel, bring them back down, and pave the road. We were
required to do this eight time. A five gallon bucket filled with gravel weighs
about 80 pounds and is awkward at best. Every trip back down the drive became
torture. Agonizing. Some old guy that was watching us saw me struggling and
came over to talk to me. He introduced himself and began asking me about my
faith. I know this is not going to sound too great, but if ever I wanted to
kill someone, it was right there and then. I picked up my bucket and walked
away thinking that maybe this was part of the betrayal, or just some quack in
the woods.
I
sat down and considered the situation. I knew that we were to hike back towards.
Someone told me it would be 12 miles (it was actually 18 I later learned). I
was out of food. I couldn’t walk. I was out. Done. Finished. My body betrayed
me.
This
sucked. I sat on the ground and starred off across the water of the reservoir.
It was beautiful. I thought about 9 months of training coming to an end because
my feet betrayed me. I think I now understood the theme. I looked down at my
watch. I made it 24 hours. I was proud of that. I wanted more but it wasn’t
going to be. I know everyone had pain to deal with, but I couldn't push through mine this time. Someone told me I could walk up to a road and catch a ride back to
Pittsfield. The ride took forty minutes, plenty of time with my thoughts and to
come to grips. There were 11 other drop outs along for the ride.
Back
at base, I found Nicole and I had a cheeseburger that may have been the best
one I ever had. My feet we still killing me but I felt great. Still felt strong
and wide awake. I learned of some friends that had dropped out before me and
tried to find out about those that we still in.
This
was my last attempt at Death Race. I had decided that long ago. I want to find
some new challenges. I know that most people don’t get this whole Death Race
thing. The looks I get from people when they hear about it or see me working
out are usually just blank stares and then questions about my sanity and life
insurance policy. I understand that it is not normal. Andy, Joe and Death Race
literally chew you up, spit you out and you stand up a better person for
trying. How many opportunities in life are there to just dig to the depths that
you didn’t think you had? There is an understanding that only comes from doing
it.
Finally,
I am indebted to Nicole who should probably be sainted. Even though we grew up
only a few miles apart, we met and fell in love while I was a rugby player. She
should have run. She didn’t. Nicole has always encouraged me to push further and
train harder. Maybe it’s the life insurance, maybe not. I couldn’t do any of
this stuff without her alongside me. The best part of the weekend was spending
time with her.
Postscript:
The race finally ended this morning, Monday June 18th (It started on
June 15) after 62 hours and 38 minutes. Eleven finishers.
