I don’t like running. I hate it, in fact. When I was a kid, I had pretty bad asthma, and so I never could run more than 100 yards before I couldn’t breathe worth a damn. So, I didn’t run much as a kid. As an adult, I find every reason in the world not to work out. And right now, I am on my way to DC to do a Spartan Race.
A Spartan Race is a 4-13 race with 15-30 obstacles. Rope courses, razor wire, weight pulls, log jumps and more, all as quickly as possible. And I am willingly doing this, having never run a race in my life.
At the end of May, a friend asked me if I would run a Spartan Race with them. I laughed for too long and said no. I hadn’t worked out once since January, and while my friend tried to convince me that I was in good shape, I knew that I had been eating too many nachos at the bar to be able to compete. But, I was surprisingly disappointed. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it.
I like pushing myself. And this race would not leave my mind. On some deep level, I loved the idea of doing some totally unnecessary physical challenge. It spoke to my inner warrior, who I thought only came out on hunting trips and at Superhero movie. I was haunted by some idiotic vision of me, covered in mud, grunting, and bursting through the finish line.
I found another race in DC, where my older sister lives. And I decided, that I had to do this.
It a very long “sorry if you die” waver attached. But, despite my better judgement, and having trained less than half as much as I should have, I still know that I needed to do this race.
Maybe tomorrow, I will break my leg, pull my shoulder, or pass out from exhaustion. But, I think that if I hadn’t forced myself to take this challenge, I would have regretted it.
So, wish me luck tomorrow and look for my results post next week.