It is Sunday night and I’ve just awakened, but my body is still heavy from sleep.
I am 8 pounds lighter than I was yesterday morning. I have scrapes, blistered hands, muscles that need endless foam rolling, a huge bump and bruise on my right butt cheek from falling on jagged rocks and many, many stories.
In preparation for my Spartan Race (which I wrote about last week), I knew there was a good chance The Tralfamadorian Terrapins would not make it to the finish line, would not become Spartans. I can’t tell you how exactly I wanted the end to come if Justin and I could not finish, but me getting the onset of heat stroke was not what I had in mind.
We were competing in our first Reebok Spartan Race (a Super that was roughly 8 miles in length with more than 24 obstacles and difficult terrain) last Saturday at Blue Mountain Ski Resort in Palmerton, Carbon County, Pennsylvania.
My internal organs were shutting down at some point around mile four or five (the halfway mark), and for some reason, that’s not “good” enough for me. I was hoping my removal from the course would have had something to do with a crazy injury like falling 30 feet off a cargo net, breaking my ankle from slipping down a muddy cliff, getting caught on fire as I jumped over burning logs, or anything that got me medevac’ed off the mountain.
Even though heat stroke was unexpected, I can’t help blame myself and feel like I didn’t prepare enough, that I somehow could have prevented my removal from the race.