My rendition of the Sugar Monster. His needs are simple, but great.

I really thought this would be harder. Not to undermine other people’s attempts at getting off The Sugar, but it just so happens the longer I go without it, the less I want it. At the beginning of this cavewoman thing, I was seriously stalking cheesecake. Now, I could give or take it. Don’t put words in my mouth, I never said I didn’t want it. That creamy thickness, the tart and sweet happily marrying in my mouth, the sighing exhale as all stress and worry melts away from my body. Oh, I can vividly imagine it and if I were to take a bite right this second, I can promise you two things: I would not regret it for a millisecond and it would send my sugar monster over the cliff, gobbling up cookies, cake, brownies, and ice cream as it went.

So, is it worth it? Right now, the answer is no. Is life without cheesecake a life I deem worth living? Also, a resounding no. This Paleo thing was never about me stripping my life of all the foods that I love. I won’t ever feel bad about having a special occasion slice of cheesecake, but at the same time, I’m very grateful that I’ve found that life is not all about that sweetness that comes at the end of the meal. You can have sweetness in all other things if you just open your eyes instead of your mouth.

Dormant, just as a good sugar monster should be.

I came back from Orlando at the beginning of the month with a sore throat. I knew I was getting sick but was cheerfully optimistic about recovery time. I trained through it like a zombie through a shopping mall. Put my head down, charged forth and kept on keeping on. You’d be correct to guess that this didn’t help me get over the plague. At. All. It continued to worsen to the point where I couldn’t work out and it would have been rude to do so (what with the coughing, hacking and mucus-ing everywhere). So I took a week off, and then a week easy. Now, I’m back into things.

Friday was a fast 7-mile run with Joe. Let me tell you a little something about Joe. When I agreed to train with him, I told him I was a slow runner. He said that wouldn’t be a problem because the distances we were doing required a slower pace. Perfect. Easy. Thanks, Joe. But now I have to rescind that thanks because none of the runs we have done have been slow. Or easy. I like to be pushed, but hope that here soon we are finally going to run those 10-minute miles I was promised. Joe? Did you hear that?

Friday: 7 miles on trail at an 8:32 pace. That’s fast for me even at 3 miles.

Saturday: (keep in mind this is after a fast run Fri night, then Kettlebell class an hour later) About 11.5 miles on trail at a 9:08 pace. Woo and hoo! What a great run. Though I did have to admit to Joe that there was one point I threw up in my mouth a little. He said he was close to the same. I think this friendship just may work.

Oh, did you think you were going to get away without a Paleo update? Un-pat your back; you were wrong.

The lightheadedness is gone and my skin is looking better. Not that I had yucky skin to begin with, but I’ll confess a semi-embarrassing secret to you: one of the major reasons I wanted to try Paleo was that I was waking up in the morning and looking old. Wait, wait, I know I’m not 18 anymore and I’m not trying to hold onto youth forever, but I’ll face the facts, it was enough to make me frown which wasn’t making me look any better.

Out of bed, I had puffiness, I saw dark circles for the first time and my skin was blotchy and ugh. After a couple of hours, the blood meandered back to my face or some other such science wizardry and I would look like myself again. I don’t know how I connected that to eating…salt and bloating or not enough nutrients or irritated skin, but I had an inkling that Paleo may just keep the puffiness at bay, which it did! It’s a miracle! These days I look the same out of bed as I do the rest of the day, my skin is getting glow-ier, my pores are less gunky and I feel more 28 than 40.

Because blogs are just better with photos, here is a dramatic re-enactment of my mornings before Paleo:

"Who is THAT?!"

"If this were Delta, I would get charged $75 for those bags!"

:(

And a mere 18 days on Paleo:

Rock on, cavemen.

The Fountain of Youth not enough for you? Well, here’s more: my teeth feel cleaner. Is that even a Paleo thing? I don’t know, but by the end of the day on Standard American Diet (yep, that’s right, the food that the rest of you are eating has an acronym that spells SAD), my teeth felt coated with a grainy film. Who’s the culprit? Is it you, Sugar? Or you, Wheat? Whoever dunnit, nowadays my teeth feel clean from brushing to brushing which I enjoy immensely. Yucky teeth are the worst.

P.S. I apologize for the bombardment of blogs. I’ve never subscribed to that theory that more is better. One blog a week is the perfect number for me, not too much for me to write, not too much for you to read. Believe me, I don’t fancy myself so important as to imagine you are just sitting there, refreshing my blog, on the edge of your seat as to what I’m eating for dinner. I’m just super jazzed about this Paleo thing; I want to shout it from my little blog platform! And when I get excited about something, I want to share it with everyone I love. So, consider this a big compliment that I love you and want you to be healthy too. Hopefully, once the novelty wears off, the blogs will taper back to a one-a-week deal, but also hopefully, I will never lose this zeal for Paleo

My most recent Paleo complaint (luckily there haven’t been too many) is the clean-up. I hate to do dishes. Hate. It. Lucky me, my guy knows that golden rule: if one person cooks, the other cleans. Oh, how I love that rule. Unlucky me, my guy has been sick for the past two months. He’s been keeping up pretty well, but recently it’s gotten bad. So, that leaves me to cook AND do the dishes. As if cooking wasn’t taking up a large amount of my time, now I have to add rinsing and scrubbing to the list of things that keep me from bed and sleeping. Because, let’s face it, though I try very hard with the help of my Tetris skill, not everything is dishwasher compatible.

Complaint remedied: We went to Moe’s. Before going cavepeople, Jerritt and I ate at Moe’s about 2-3 times a week. More realistically, closer to the 3. So, we always knew the first flex meal we would have would be at Moe’s. But I’ve been wary about flexing. I’ve read that people feel worse than crap after eating grains and dairy while on Paleo. And it’s still close enough to Dec. that I remember how crap feels. I don’t really want to go there. At least, not yet. Surely, pizza or ice cream will lure me there one day soon. But back to Moe’s night.

This was Jerritt’s flex meal, though he didn’t flex too hard. He had a little cheese, and a little taco shell, but most of his cheat was sweet tea. For me, I did zero flexing. Unless you count the flexing of my awesome willpower. I had (I warned you this was coming…where I list out every morsel of food in my meal…) chicken fajitas with no tortillas. Sautéed green peppers, onions and mushrooms. Lettuce, pico, and sliced jalapeños. I dumped salsa on top, got a cup of guacamole and refused the chips. It was the best Moe’s meal ever. Better than queso-drenched nachos. Better than tacos with sour cream and shredded cheese. Better than that awesome taco-wrapped-in-a-quesadilla they have. Incredible – 1. I can eat at Moe’s without fear. 2. You can have Paleo food without feeling like you’re missing out. 3. Om nom nom nom. I did have a little stomach discomfort the next morning, but I’m hoping that was because of the half pound of jalapeños that I ate with my food. Scientific experimentation is the only way to find out for sure. Back to Moe’s!

This is how bad it can get: I love seeing food in movies. Sometimes, I will put in a DVD and flip to the scene where they are serving food. Don’t believe me? My favorite part of Ponyo? When they make the bowls of Ramen. My favorite part of Twister? When they go to Aunt Meg’s house and cook up steak and eggs. I don’t even like steak. Most likely, if I’ve seen a movie, I can tell you what foods were eaten in which scenes. I’m just weird.

Remember when I first started doing triathlons? The thing I enjoyed most is that we had to travel to Panama City or Jacksonville for the events. Panama City = Volcano Nachos at Margaritaville and Toasted Coconut ice cream at Kilwin’s. Jacksonville = what else? Cheesecake Factory. Please excuse my Homerism here, but mmmmglargerahhhh…Cheesecake Factory… Plus, food just tastes so much better after a race. It’s a fact.

So, is this Paleo thing just an excuse to feed my gastronomic obsession by looking at pictures of food, googling recipes, meandering down the produce aisles, or constantly shoveling massive amounts of fruits and veggies into my mouth? Perhaps. Is it a little over the top that I’m already deciding on what date-based delicious snack to prepare and stow in my suitcase for my summer trips? Likely. Is this an innocent way to spend my time and a healthier obsession than others? Definitely. I love these Paleo people, their Paleo food and their love of working out. I think we have the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.

P.S. Just a warning. I can definitely see myself becoming one of those people who take pictures of their food and blog or Facebook about it. You know those people. I just can’t help it. I love food.

Random pictures of me eating:

Volcano Nachos. Told you.

Massive food after the Death Race.

Flat Stanley. Wait, I didn't really eat Flat Stanley. No Flat Stanleys were harmed during the taking of this picture.

The one-week Paleo Diet review: Clean eating is being pretty good to me so far. It’s definitely a process with some ups and downs but in general, it’s not as difficult to do as I thought it would be. It’s a lot of money (more meat and fresh veggies than I’m used to buying) and a lot of time (cooking Every. Single. Night.). I’ve had some really yummy recipes (like this one: Fast Shrimp) and some not so yummy recipes (the oven is not always my friend). I’m not jonesing like I expected. Every now and then, I’ll think to myself how nice a bowl of ice cream or a slice of pizza would taste, but I haven’t fixated on one non-paleo item to the point of obsession. I’ve lost about 3lbs. To clarify, I lost 3lbs in the first three days. Everyone says this is the water weight. And my only complaint other than the time suck is that I’ve been lightheaded. Research turned up that this is due to my insulin level dropping (causing there to be less sodium in my blood stream) plus the drop in blood sugar equaling less blood volume thus lower blood pressure. The sources also say that this should go away after three to four weeks on the diet, which seems like a long time to me, but they also promise that after that initial period, I’m going to feel like a super woman. World, be warned!

After two years of anticipation, I'm finally at Harry Potter World! With the conductor of the Hogwarts Express

Sometimes I feel like it’s going to be hard to top 2011. There was the Death Race, yes, there was that, but also so much more. 2012 was supposed to be my year off from racing to focus on more outdoorsy, family oriented activities like tent camping and mountain climbing. But here we are, one week into the New Year and I’m signed up for the Tallahassee 1/2 Marathon in February and will soon be paying my entry fees for a zombie run in Atlanta and my first 50K in New Mexico! It doesn’t take much peer pressure to get me to agree to a race.

Just a little catch up:

Finished! With my prized orange headband and free beer.

The Tough Mudder Race Review – This race was in one word: awesome. I hadn’t properly trained, of course, having taken a lengthy 4-5 month sabbatical after the Death Race. Having fulfilled the self-promised three months off, I had seriously gotten used to getting home from work and not having to leave immediately to work out for a few hours. It was nice. And if I hadn’t already paid over the summer, I definitely wouldn’t have gone. But as things stood, the plan was to go down to Tampa for the day, take things nice, easy and slooooow and just have a good time.

The atmosphere at a Tough Mudder is infectious. People are dressed in costume and no one takes themselves to seriously. Over the course, I had to have assistance with a couple of obstacles, but there was always a fellow racer right there to give you a hand, or shoulder, up. The race was do-able and I felt good throughout, but was actually surprised by how tired I was at the finish. I still had energy and was smiling, for sure, but my legs and arms were like jello that had been sitting in the sun for a little too long. Before going, everyone told me, “Oh, after the Death Race, this will be cake for you!” so that was kinda the mentality I had going in but don’t underestimate the Tough Mudder, you do need to be in shape to make it through without being miserable the entire time.

Some highlights:

- I did the monkey bars! Doesn’t sound that impressive, but I knew going in, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was not going to be able to make it across the monkey bars. I could visualize my fingers betraying me as I fell several feet in the pool of water below. And these aren’t your standard playground monkey bars, these are Tough Mudder monkey bars – they angle up and then angle down like a gently sloping “A.”

- I learned a pretty profound thing about myself. The entire race (about three hours for me), I had time to reflect on the upcoming obstacles. There was plenty for me to fear (falling, drowning and getting shocked): the cargo net that I had problems going over at Adventure Race Training, the 10-15 feet jump into cold water, the electroshock obstacle, and the unknown, but the one thing that had a grip on me with tunnel vision-like worry was the Everest obstacle. This is a 10-15 foot half-pipe that you have to run up, grab the top lip and pull yourself over. Most people can’t accomplish this by themselves, but usually there is a Mudder at the top with an arm out to help lift you up. The entire race, I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to do this and I’m terrified that I’m not going to be physically capable of completing the obstacle and will have to, gasp!, go around. There you have it folks. Me vs. My Fears? Not an issue. I’ve been there, knocked them down. Don’t give it a second thought. Me vs. Not Being Able To Do Something? A horrible thought, I don’t even want to talk about it. Oh, and if you are wondering, it took me three attempts, but I was able to mount Everest with some help from a few nice Mudders.

Paco has a mustachio.

Rest in Peace Paco-Taco – My first Hounddog and best friend died on December 8th. And no, the world did not come crashing to a halt like I always thought it would. Even you that know me may not know that I considered Paco my soul mate, he was meant for me and I was meant for him and we were perfect together. He was my favorite dog, my Angel-face-baby-boy, and after he left, I thought maybe the source of my happiness. He was not a dog. He was an old soul that I loved more than anything else (don’t worry, Jerritt already knows).

Of course I know that I’m not the first to go through this grief but it just felt wrong to be without him. There was lots of crying, lots of down days, and lots of confusion. I never allowed myself any serious “what-ifs” because I know that kind of grief is more wounding than healing. But I do wish there was more I had done with the time right before his death. The Monday before he died was his birthday and I bought him some of his favorite toys and almost took him to the dog park. But Monday became busy and he never got to have his toys and didn’t go to the dog park. He was sick by Tuesday and the last time I saw him alive was Wednesday. Paco, I’m sorry that you didn’t get to rip apart one last dot or go “woo woo woo” at the intruding dogs at Tom Brown. I wish that several weeks before he left me, when he had run up to Linus’ area at MoJo’s on the way outside, I had let him play with Linus, his old best pal. Instead, I hastily shooed him outside to potty. Paco, I’m sorry that you didn’t get to have that grumpy old man contest with your favorite grumpy old man.

Other than that, I think Paco and I had a very good life together. A short life, indeed, maybe I could have had a few more years, but I’m grateful for every growl; whale-noise; woo woo woo; nose-kiss; jibbity-jab; shredded towel; shredded rug; shredded scarf; shredded t-shirt; shredded blanket (can you see his favorite pastime?); nice-to-meet-you-mr-paco-taco; high-pitched cry; bell ring; early morning tail wag; quick-stepped waddle up the stairs; leg lean; scratch, scratch, scratch at the bed; flip of your soft, floppy, pizza-ears; and every sit down pow wow where we would look into each others’ eyes and profess our mutual love of one another without words. Megan and Paco, For-Eva.

Call me a Cavewoman (for now) - I’ve made the leap. During the holidays, I abandoned my normally healthy eating habits to partake in the large amounts of junk food flowing into MoJo’s thanks to our sweet and generous clients. A cookie here turned into three cookies here, plus some chocolate bars, plus a candy cane…boiling down to a me that felt like crap for two weeks. Attributing my ill-health to too much sugar, starch and carbs, I was ready for a cleanse and a change. Enter the Paleo Diet.

Though it’s been on my radar for some time now, there were many reasons for me to not jump on the bandwagon. 1st – I was vegetarian, and cutting out dairy was not an option for me because that’s where I was getting almost all my protein. 2nd – I am very wary of any diet that cuts out entire food groups. 3rd – Yes, that’s how our ancestors lived many years ago and that’s how we evolved to eat, but wasn’t the average life span of a caveman 30, maybe 35 years? What’s the body do on a diet like this after that?

Yet here I am. I cut out the dairy, grains, legumes, processed sugar and alcohol and am seeing what ensues. I’m back on the fish and the chicken (free-range, non-cannibal, of course). The goal is a month to let my body tell me if this is right for me or not. Maybe I will add back some healthy grains and some greek yogurt, but for the most part, I’m enjoying what I’ve seen so far (though it’s only been 5 days…). I’m having fun with new delicious recipes, enjoying eating healthy foods again and feeling less sluggish throughout the day. We’ll see where this goes.

Training Resumes! - Now that I’ve signed up for some races and have the feel once again for what it’s like to have muscle tone, I’ve become re-addicted to working out. I’ve begun going every day again with some twice-a-days thrown in there too. There has been Bootcamp, Adventure Race Training, Sweat Therapy and long trail runs. Who knows what crazy people I will meet or what crazy races they will talk me into  Welcome 2012!

Wonder why the blogging stopped after the Death Race? Well, that’s a simple answer: because my training stopped. I had a nice month off (as promised to myself from myself) from all training and when I thought I could pick back up with a nice 5 mile run, my knees told me otherwise. I fell back on active isolated stretches but even that didn’t help my knees to heal. I had pretty much given up on long distance running, telling myself I can get by with 3 mile runs more frequently when the weather turned cool and I felt the pull of the trails. But even having doubled my intake of glucosamine and fish oil, I couldn’t get my knees past a 3 mile road block. Then, I got a message from my former Death Race training buddy saying that he would be back in Tallahassee for the marathon in February and wouldn’t I like to join him? Of course I would! Just gotta get these knees going again. I made an appointment with a kinesiologist recommended by a running friend and he straightened some things, realigned some things and gave me a couple of stretches and exercises to do at home. I’m now up to 6 miles before the knee pain hits, but that’s a far cry from 26.2 miles with just 3.5 months until race day.

As for my Tough Mudder training? You guessed it…non-existent. I did write up a work-out plan. I did start it and last for 2 weeks. Then, I fell off the wagon, it ran me over as it sped forward, and I’m just an all around lazy bum now. I really did think that I could workout on my own. I thought, “I can bike without paying for Sweat Therapy rides.” I thought, “I can do upper body without going to Boot Camp.” I thought, “I know what needs to be done and I have an event coming up, so that’s my motivator.” Nope, nope, and no. Really? I know myself better, I was just pulling the wool over my own hopeful eyes. In order for me to workout, I need 1 of 3 things (preferably more): 1) a paid membership to a good workout program 2) a very real and exciting or scary deadline (a race) or 3) a training partner who is motivated and dependable to meet me at designated times. I think most people are like me in this respect. So, I’ve signed up for Kettlebells at Boot Camp Fitness and Training and finally got Jerritt on the hook for a century bike ride next year. Am I pretty excited? Yeah. Am I barely able to move after Tuesday’s Kettlebell Skills Clinic? Most definitely. We will be biking 3 days a week, Kettlebelling 3 nights a week and I will hopefully be running 3 or more times also. I haven’t given up hope for that marathon, Thor, but I’m pretty sure the 3:30 is out of the question. Miss you and our 4am, 18-mile runs.

I check in with the volunteers and am told to find Andy or Joe for my next task. Most people are doing farm-like chores – I see lots of wood and wheelbarrows and such about. I find Andy and he looks surprised to see me and asks me if I’m still in. Of course I’m still in! I just came down that freaking mountain! He gets on the walkie and says something like, “who said that Megan Mays dropped? Because she’s standing right in front of me and is still in the race.” Then he starts ticking off tasks left to do: go get bucket from Colton Camp, bring bucket back down, fill at pond, take back to Colton to have water measured, leave bucket, go to Roger’s to leave log, come back to Amee, plant cucumbers, do test, and he tells me, “so you might as well finish.” And I think, “yeah, might as well finish.” He was so nonchalant about it even though I’m looking at 8-9 more hours of work and have been going for 41 hours straight. In my mind, if Andy thinks it’s possible, then it is. I’m about to finish this bad boy.

He then directs me to Joe who thinks for a minute and tells me that the rocks lining the drive all need to be deadlifted. Just to clarify, I ask him if I’m allowed to get help on the bigger rocks. He reluctantly allowed help (saying he would prefer another athlete to help, but that they were all busy) from my support crew, looking at Anita and Laurel.

Laurel’s got this. We start around the circle, and she’s taking most of the weight. Some rocks need all three of us but for the most part, it’s all her. After some weak protesting about not doing the brunt of the work, Laurel says something to the point of, “he said that we could help you on the big ones, not that you had to do the lifting.” In tricky terms, this is true. Ricky had come back from the Death Race Camp in the spring warning me about listening closely to their words, how they would say something like, “put water in your bucket,” which most people took to mean, “fill up your bucket,” but which actually meant, “put any amount of water in your bucket.” So I acquiesced. Laurel is literally a rock star. Muscles bulging, sweat pouring down, blood from a ripped finger dripping on the stones…she knows how to get this done. It takes no time at all and the rocks have been lifted.

Bearing in mind that I have to be clean and at the church at 3pm for our mandatory sermon, I head towards Colton with Jerritt like it’s the first day, nothing’s sore, and there is definitely something to lose. I’m timing the trip up just in case I have to turn around before I even get there, but it only takes 20 or 40 mins…either way, there was plenty of time to make it back, down some Red Bulls and change. The volunteers at Colton were excited to see me again, telling me I looked much better than the last time they saw me. They gave me a bucket, a cryptic message about how much water needed to be in it when I got back (they refused to say how high the water had to be up the side, but the girls’ height was 2 inches less than the boys’) and sent me back to Amee. As before on every downward trek, my knees ached relentlessly, but I arrived back at base camp with over an hour to spare. I changed clothes, wiped myself down with some baby wipes, drank as much Red Bull as I could (for fear of sleeping through something important in the sermon) and talked to some of the racers that were hanging around.

While I was getting ready, the crew was devising a plan of action for the water-bucket carry back up to Colton. The boys figured I could carry the bucket, they could carry gallon jugs of water from the pond and I could fill it up at Colton. Laurel set off to ask an official if that was allowed or if I would get disqualified. The man she found said that I was supposed to carry water in my bucket, but if I were to spill some and need some more, I could get it from somewhere, emphasizing that last word.

Along the way to the church, I kept running into racers that I had met previously along the course. When they found out that I was still in, I got huge votes of confidence and lots of encouragement. Thank you, Death Racers. This much needed energy made me so happy when I needed it most.

It may look like I'm smiling, but I'm micronapping.

At church, we listened to a sermon about racing, death and religion but I can’t recall specifics because I really was trying not to fall completely asleep, but I do remember when Joe took the podium and said that there were 7 racers who were finished with the course and many others who were going to be going back out to finish after leaving church. He asked us to raise our hands if we intended to stay and finish. By his count, 22 people were still racing. Then he announced that we had all finished, the race was over.

What was I feeling at that exact moment? Disbelief and excitement. Disbelief that he was telling the truth…surely there’s a catch. Excitement that maybe he was telling the truth and I wouldn’t have to go back up the mountain! When it finally did sink in, I felt pride, relief and overwhelming surprise that I had finished. While finishing or reaching 48 hours (and there was a point on Joe’s mountain where I was just trying to get to 48 hours, the hell with finishing) was my goal, I never fully let myself believe that it was going to happen. And yet, here I was, one of 35 finishers. Out of 155 people that started and over 200 that signed up, I was in a small percent of those who stuck it out and kept moving forward.

There was a lot more talk about staying to finish the tasks if you wanted (and Susan was correct in assuming that the look on my face in one of the posted Facebook pictures was disappointment that I wouldn’t get to prove I could go on for 6 more hours) and I was torn with the idea for a few seconds. Was I really a finisher if I didn’t do the same amount of work as the other racers? But then the thought of going up another mountain sent my muscles into the fetal position so I had no qualms about stopping when Joe said it was okay to do so.

Relief? It's like a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders...oh wait, that was the log.

Back at base camp, there was much rejoicing and much picture taking as can be seen here:

Overall, the Death Race really has been a life-changing experience. I met so many astounding individuals, rediscovered why I love each one of support crew (because they are caring, sacrificing, strong, amazing people), took myself physically and mentally to the edge and did something that few people will ever do (and live to tell): faced Death. I’ve said it many times, but will say it again – I can’t say that I had fun, but it was the most awesome weekend of my life.

Me, my skull and my frienemy, the log.

*********************

Afterword

In the 2 weeks following the Death Race, I would ask myself many times if I was a true Death Racer, having received much more support than most other people there (food and clothes at most checkpoints). Is it really Death Racing if there are people to encourage you, feed you and warm you up along the way? Also, the fact that I did not go up the waterfall haunted my steps. Ricky dropped after an amazing 33 hours 1/2 way through the barb wire after having climbed his way up the waterfall with his 3 ft log on his back. I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have done the same after ascending that treacherous path. A 180 degree turn from that thought is that I did see other racers taking shortcuts. At one point, Anita looked at me after 2 racers clearly did not do what they were told and I said to her, “they have to live with themselves, I have to live with me.” And that is the ultimate stand that I take on finishing the Death Race. It truly is an individual race. No one is watching anyone else, most of us have our heads down and we’re trying to force our bodies to move just one more step. The Death Race turned out to be whatever you wanted it to be and I accomplished what I set out to do: push beyond the reaches of my normal, comfortable life and see how my body and brain react. Regrets? The only semblance of a regret I have is that being a finisher means I don’t yet know where my limits are and that just means pushing farther next time.

*****Disclaimer: This is my account of events as best as I can remember. The nature of the race precludes the recount of things exactly as they happened without the omission of some details and the distortion of others. I only hope to convey the misery and the glory of my time in Pittsfield, Vermont, and to not misrepresent any other persons that may be named in this blog.*****

I’ve already been told by Dawn that one blog account of me seeing her was actually someone else, so who knows what actually happened from here on out but this is what I remember:

It’s late night Saturday when we get back to Amee.  I’ve been up since 7 or 8am Friday morning so it’s been +36 hours since I last slept and +28 hours since we started the race. Rebecca and I find out from Joe that we have more wood chopping awaiting us. We separate in order to change into dry clothes, get some real food in our stomaches and gather up what we need to finish this thing. I go back to the tent, eat, change for the millionth time and remember that I need to get my card punched. This will be punch number 2. 18 to go. When I get to the check-in table, the volunteer punches my card and tells me I’m ready to go up the mountain. I correct her by saying that Joe told me I was on wood chopping duty and she calls to confirm. When Joe comes back down, he tells me that I need to go up the mountain as long as there’s someone to go with me. Me and the crew send Roger to find Rebecca and the staff try and wake another racer who was waiting for a group to join. Meanwhile, Joe directs me to throw my log in the pond by the farm. Once that’s done he gets Daren and Yesel to time my 5 mins under the rushing water of the culvert.

Earlier in the day, they had people crawling through the culvert with their packs but by now, whether because of the dark or the rising waters from the rain, I was to just lie at the exit and freeze to death. Yesel was worried that I wasn’t wearing the right clothes (which I wasn’t) and gave me her thicker jacket. This is the second time a racer has given me the shirt off their back; thank you, Yesel! I get as comfortable as I can on the rocks, lay down in the water without putting my head in (which pretty much equates to doing that ab exercise where you raise your legs 6″ off the ground) and wait for the clock to release me. An eternity later, they tell me that my time is up and I have to go get my log out of the pond. I had thrown it close to the bank but still had to wade in a little to retrieve it. And, yes, it still floated. One more clothes change later and Roger couldn’t find Rebecca and the napping racer was not ready to go, so Anita and I started for Joe’s mountain.

Something things you need to know about Anita are that she’s Dawn’s sister; she drove up from the NY to be on my support team; she has only seen me in person once or twice; and she is wearing galoshes, tights and a jean skirt (this will be important later). Same thing for Roger – Dawn’s brother, drove from NY, I pretty sure I met him only once before seeing him at the DR, but that’s where the similarities end because he was never seen in a jean skirt. So it’s amazing to me that they were 1. there in the first place 2. so confident in my ability to finish this race and 3. willing to do these crazy mountains with me!

Anita's galoshes, which had better traction in the mud than my trail shoes!

We start up the mountain and pretty soon into the incline, come across a log and a pack laying in the trail. Immediately, both of us get worried. It’s dark, it’s late into the race so everyone is tired and we don’t see or hear anyone. We call out for a few minutes and then keep going up. Not too far away, we see a headlamp across a little footbridge. Anita runs ahead and the racer tells her that he’s having hallucinations and plans to quit but can’t get across the bridge. She helps him across and I yell at her to get his name and race number. Several other times during the race, I’ve gotten to check points and have had to tell the volunteers, “yes I saw that guy. It was about blank hours ago. He was around blank and looking tired.” Just in case someone was looking for this guy, I wanted to know his name. She catches back up to me (I didn’t stop, just kept moving forward slowly) and tells me what he said and that he was going to go sit at his pack for a while and head back down. She tells me his name is Ray and my heart drops in my chest. For the months leading up to the race, I had been in the Facebook group, kinda keeping tabs on what was going on, but being too busy to interact too much. About the only person that stood out was a guy named Ray who posted all the time and was generally really excited about this race and really friendly with all the other racers. I hated that he wasn’t going to continue on after having spent so much time preparing and keeping all the people of Facebook excited about coming to Vermont.

The mountain ends up being a lot bigger than it looked from afar. We go up and up and up. We’re following pink arrows that have been spray painted on the ground, but by this time, the rain had washed away most of the rocks. When we came to what used to be an arrow, what remained was a scattering of pink-colored pebbles. Mostly, we could discern some sort of a heading and just kept going up. I’m sure it was more than a few times that we were made to backtrack and after a couple of hours we ended up in someone’s driveway. We both knew that this was wrong, but couldn’t figure out where we took an incorrect turn. Anita runs back and forth looking for more flags but after seeing none, we’re only left with one option, go back. The only good thing I can say about Joe’s up to this point is that it is a definite path and there are no trees to climb over. That’s where the positives run dry. My knees hurt, the trail is steep, we don’t really know where we’re going and I’m dead tired. Anita encourages me by saying that the sun will be up in 3-4 hours and I’ll feel better then. I look at my watch and focus on the new goal: seeing the sun.

Finally, we get to a crossroads and while we’re trying to figure out which way to go, we see 3 headlamps in the darkness. The guys coming down say that they took the wrong route too, went up the mountain but had to come back down because there was no check point. We head up the only direction untraveled and discover the Gaza Strip. Here the racers are met with several lengths of barb wire strung over a small rocky stream. Soon we will be at the top. I worry about messing up Laurel’s nice borrowed shirt in the barb wire and Anita gives me her t-shirt (she’s wearing 2); this is time #3 I got the shirt off someone’s back. Crawling under the barb wire that’s 8 inches off the ground and stepping over the ones any lower, I make it through and meet some racers coming back down. I ask them if they stepped over any and they said only the strands laying directly on the ground so I make a mental note to go under all the wire coming back down. They also tell me that they are allowed to descend on the other side which is just twine…no barbs. I tell Anita that on the way back, I’m crawling under all the barb wire because I want to do what the guys did and feel like I stepped over too many wires. This is also the point where I found out that we took the wrong way up. Everyone else came up via the waterfall: a stream that stepped up the mountain. One guy says that originally they were making everyone stay in the water but after it got dark, they were worried about people cracking open their skulls so were telling racers to stay close to the water. This explains our inability to get up the mountain – we took the wrong route. We vow to find this waterfall on the way back down and continue upward.

In the Gaza Strip

From the Gaza Strip to the Abandoned Shack, things get crazy. We are no longer on a trail; we’re back in bushwhacking country. Again, I can’t recall specific details, but it’s much like, if not worse, than the trek from Colton to Roger’s. The ascent is steep, the ground is still slippery with mud, there’s no definite route, and the pink flags have us zigging and zagging like the creators never learned in math that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It’s getting closer and closer to dawn and Anita remarks how cool it would be to make the summit at sunrise. A rocky slope of some sort of stinging plant (which thankfully had been trampled back by previous Death Racers – I think the only time I was grateful to be in the back of the pack) marked what looked like the last portion of the climb. Surely enough, as I’m clawing my way up, I hear a guy’s voice say, “you better hurry or you’re going to miss this.” Anita and I are standing on the top just in time to witness this:

Sunrise from the top of Joe's Mountain

The volunteer at the top lets me take off my pack, catch my breath and get some fluids before getting on with it. He asks me my name and race number and walkie’s it in to Amee. He asks me where my log is: in my pack. He tells me that there are free pancakes and real maple syrup waiting at the farm for anyone who wants to quit. And quitters get to take the shorter, easier way down the mountain. Upon hearing that I was continuing on, he recited a few things that I needed to remember (and which I wrote down):

Name: Anthony Kessler

Has 6 brothers and sisters.

Parents are Angela and John.

Born in Pennsylvania.

Was attacked by a bear.

And has chewed through a tree.

Got it. The only other thing he tells me is that I have to go down the way I came up. Anita and later have a little pow wow on whether or not to go down the waterfall. Anthony told me to “go down the way I came up” which sounds much easier than going down a waterfall! But, my little voice prevails, telling me that if everyone else came up that way, the least I could do it take it on going back down.

We get back to the Gaza Strip and I have to wear Laurel’s long-sleeved shirt through the barb wire this time (sorry, L!); the mosquitos are swarming like crazy and though I have bug spray in my pack, they still come for blood seeing as how I’m a slow-moving, easy target. Anita refuses to use my big spray and later will have a million angry red welts all over. Down I go, in the mud, in the water, over the rocks, dragging my pack behind me as I clear each wire. It’s tiring, but rewarding and as I’m coming out, we run into some other guys on their way up and Ray is with them! Anita chats with him a little and he tells her that after seeing us, he regrouped at his pack and decided to keep going! This makes me so happy and I’ll smile every time I see Ray from here on out, all the way to the finish.

Those guys tell us how to get to the waterfall and we follow the flags down what seems to be the entire mountain and then back up what seems to be the entire mountain. The little burst of energy I got from seeing daylight is long gone, I’m moving like a snail and Anita can’t get me to eat. My jaw is tired, the food she has sounds completely unappetizing and the thought of chewing wears me out. I take 2 or 3 5-Hour Energies and they do nothing for me. I don’t get even a hint of the promised energy. Maybe I’m so far past the point of caffeine being able to help, but in any case, I can’t get ahead of my utter tiredness. I’m talking to Anita about Everest (I spent the previous month reading and watching everything I could about Everest to fuel my obsession) and I can’t tell if she’s being polite or is genuinely interested, but I feel if I stop rambling, I may also stop moving. I also tell her that coming up the mountain, I knew that I COULD do this race, but that it was going to be a matter of wanting to do it that would tempt me to stop and now I’m questioning whether or not I physically CAN do this. I don’t know that my body will keep going. Anita saves the race for me at this moment. She tells me that, yes, I can do this race. I can finish. And that we’re going to get back to base camp, get some dry clothes, get some hot food and see what the next task is. From this point on, I don’t doubt myself, I keep plugging on no matter how bad I feel or how impossible it seems. I never let it enter my mind again that I can’t finish.

We run into a couple more people heading up and one of them is Rebecca. She tells me that she was worried when she couldn’t find me but is glad that I’m okay. I’m sure that I look a mess, but she looks great! This is a true testament to endurance athletes owning the Death Race. They tell me that they just came from the waterfall and it’s not too much farther. When we finally get to the waterfall, my jaw drops. It’s not a stream that people were calling a waterfall, it is a gushing, steep-stepped, menace of a torture-chamber. Had Andy and Joe looked at this thing? If they had, were they thinking that the mere sight of it would cause people to drop out – the entire goal of the race design? I can’t fathom how people climbed up this, especially in the dark. And I can’t fathom how we are going to get down it in my deteriorating state.

Much deliberating later, we decide that to stick to the bank. The guys said that Joe told them to stick close to the water and if that’s what they did then I don’t feel bad doing the same. Unfortunately, we quickly discover that the bank is not much better that the water itself. It’s muddy (what’s new?), falls right off into the water, and most steps are spongy causing me to lose balance under the weight of my pack and fall. I’m falling a lot. I’m crawling on my hands and knees to prevent falling a lot. I’m getting physically tired as well as nearly falling asleep on my feet. And I seem to be worrying Anita because she stops, looks dead at me and says, “I need you to dig deep.”

We spend a lot of time along the water and some time in it before it gets too dangerous to keep going. The falls drop make a dramatic drop, we can’t get to the water and the ground ends. We have to veer way off course and can’t get back. Eventually we run into a trail. This is new territory and we wander round and round. We are definitely lost. All we can do is head down. Anita seems worried about me because I’m moving in inches but I tell her that I’m okay, even if it takes us another 8 hours, I know we’ll get off the mountain and we’ll be okay. Yes, I’m tired in all different ways but one thing that prevents my pace from picking up is that I’ve got some wicked bad chaffing going on. When my pants got wet in the barb wire they became heavy and baggy and had been rubbing my thighs raw. An epiphany hits Anita, and she tells me not to think she’s crazy but that I should wear her jean skirt. I do think she’s crazy, but when I get the skirt on, I feel a million times better and we start moving faster.

Everything before me is in a haze but the lack of concentration is also a gift because I’m no longer thinking about how much longer I have to race or how much my shoulders, back and knees hurt. It’s kind of like being in a dream, or an out of body experience. There have also been points on this mountain when I knew that I was in pain, but couldn’t necessarily feel it or it just didn’t bother me.

When we get down the mountain, finally, it has been 10 hours. Coming into Amee farm, I declare to some people that I’ve had a wardrobe malfunction when they look at my skirt in disbelief. The energy at Amee is infectious, or Red Bull is a miracle drink, but in no particular order, I get changed, check in, eat some real food and find out what the new day holds for me.

Battle damage: feet and fingertips – still numb. Muscles – still tired. Joints – really achy. I’m going to give myself another week to heal, even though I’m chomping at the bit to get back outside and do something! I may be swimming this week. I hate swimming, but it will be a good way to get in some movement without hurting myself.

*****Disclaimer: This is my account of events as best as I can remember. The nature of the race precludes the recount of things exactly as they happened without the omission of some details and the distortion of others. I only hope to convey the misery and the glory of my time in Pittsfield, Vermont, and to not misrepresent any other persons that may be named in this blog.*****

This may be the only point in the entire race where I am by myself. I follow the flags through some rising, but easy-going woods, out to a nicely open road and come to Colton Camp. I see a guy doing burpees (uh oh), get my name put on a check-in list and am sent on to Roger’s. Chris catches up to me at some point between Colton and Roger’s (I think when I am on the ground trying to stuff my log into my pack with all my gear…thankfully it works) and the trail gets very difficult to navigate. I have a hard time remembering just all what we had to do, but I know there were trees laying in the path that you had to climb over, very steep mud hills, bushwacking, switchbacks and all other variety of obstacles. From Colton to Roger’s is a nightmare. Someone had way too much fun putting up these flags. (Later, Andy would post on Facebook that Everest guide Noel Hannah helped mark the course. Explains a lot.) Several times, I find myself saying outloud, “these guys are crazy!”

When Chris and I first met up, he asked me what I needed and I ordered up a PB&J sandwich and some Aleve – my knees were getting very achy. He called Roger and I set my sights on Roger’s Farm (not the same Roger). Just make it to the farm and you’ll have some food. Chris tutors me on what kind of footing is good and what is bad. I become quickly skilled in taking the safer route, avoiding some parts that have been so trampled by other racers that they are like an oily slip-n-slide of doom.

Chris wants me to say, "Because I'm a mother f@#$ing bad ass," like I mean it!

I would love to give a more detailed account of the suffering that went on during this portion of the race, but whether I was too tired to pay too much attention or my subconscious is protecting me from the pain of reliving that traverse, all I can say is that the log was heavy and I was slow. I took it a few steps at a time and told myself this was good training for Denali.

Things get a little fuzzy around here, but I think that right before we came out of the woods, Roger met up with us with my Aleve and PB&J. I had assumed he would drive the car to the checkpoint and meet us there but he came from behind, from the mountain. I asked him if he did that whole mountain just to bring me a sandwich and then found out that he, indeed, did trek the whole mountain and did so barefoot! Amazing. Thank you Roger We run into Ricky, I guess coming from Roger’s and I think this is the last time I will see him before he comes to cheer me on the next day.

At the next checkpoint, I was greeted by volunteers and sent to get my card punched by Roger (Roger’s Farm Roger, not support crew Roger). Here, I had to throw my log into their pond (this is where I discovered that my log floated! Yeah, log!); do 60 push-ups; fill and sort through a wheelbarrow of wood, separating out the good kindling from the trash; retrieve my log from the pond; carve “1 RO” into my log and then I was sent back to Amee via the mountain. I had a deadline to meet; buzz on the walkie-talkies was that anyone not on the way out from Roger’s checkpoint by 6pm was going to be taken back to Amee, put on the Unoffical Racer’s List and would be allowed to keep going, but wouldn’t get an official time since they didn’t do the mountain going back. I was horrified at the thought of coming all this way and putting in all this effort to not get an official time. I rushed through Roger’s tasks and was out of there by 6:10 at the latest.

Coming into Roger's Farm

Chris and I pick up another racer on the way back, Rebecca, who has no one to go back through the mountain with. We’re all agreed that no one should be out here alone and we stick together through what will be the scariest part of the race for me. The three of us are racing against the clock now, not Andy and Joe’s, but the sun’s. We definitely don’t want to be on this mountain when darkness hits especially since Chris is wearing his prescription sunglasses and does not have his regular set. At several points, we lose track of the trail and Chris heads out in a spoke pattern to re-establish it. We’re looking for little pink flags in the darkening woods and I’m panicking that we’re going the wrong way. I’m reassured that we’re going the right way and I follow Chris even with my doubts because I trust his sense of direction more than my own. He gets us out of some hairy situations even though he’s working in the dark and can barely see. Again: Thank. You. Chris. My pack is heavy, I’m tired and my knees are really sore.

We get to the top and start to head back down. This is a relief because the going down should be easier than going up. Then it starts to to rain. But not only does it rain, it thunders in loud claps and lightenings in proximity closer than I would like. If you don’t know it, here’s where I should say that I hate being cold. The wet doesn’t bother me so much, but it is making me much colder than I was when dry. My morale gauge is heading south, fast. Even though up to this point I’ve been tired, achy and maybe even doubted myself, I’ve tried to keep at least a semi-positive attitude or found something to look forward to or set my sights on a goal ahead. Now that we’re lost on the mountain (not true, Chris does know exactly where we are going, but at this time I feel lost), wet and cold, in the dark with lightening happening all around, I start to freak out. I’m expressing my fears a lot, probably, but I only vividly remember 2 instances where I verbalize the internal breakdown that’s happening:

1. I look at Chris and I say, “I am so scared.” It is a declaration, not a plea, and said very matter-of-fact, but I have never meant those words in a I’m-scared-for-my-life context before this moment.

2. I totally freak out on Rebecca and ask her, “I don’t want to be DQed from the race, but if our lives are in serious danger, isn’t stupid that we’re still carrying these logs?! Shouldn’t we drop them and get down faster?!” Luckily, Rebecca is calm, or hiding her fear very, very well. She tells me we are not in danger. I’m very susceptible to peer pressure (how do you think I got talked into the Death Race? Ahem, Ricky.) and so her telling me this, though not making me less scared, keeps me forging on, down the mountain.

I know that the trip took forever. I know that I don’t remember the trip up taking so long or having this hill, or that gravel, or going down then up like this. There are so many things that I know that turn out to be false. The trip didn’t take forever and we did end back at Colton Camp, just like Chris said we would. I’m freezing and I’m sure Rebecca is too because she’s got less body fat on her than I do and we huddle up by a bonfire before asking about our next tasks.

Before moving on, we find out we have 50 burpees awaiting us (guys had 100). We start on that, 10 at a time, and at some point, my entire support crew arrives and asks me what I need. I’m coming down, hard. Even the volunteers running this check point look at me and worry. They tell my crew, “She needs protein and caffeine. Now.” They race off to get me what is needed and Jerritt stays behind. This is the first time I’ve seen him since leaving Tallahassee on Wednesday. Knowing he was flying in that night, I was a little scared to see him because I thought that all the emotion would come pouring out and I would start to cry. When Dawn told me to see who was here, I hugged him and then started my burpees. When he offered me a banana, I snapped back, “I’m doing something right now.” Whether this was a defense mechanism or I was too exhausted to care, I’m not sure, but I did find myself apologizing later. Not only do I hate being cold, I also get very cranky when I’m food or sleep deprived. At this point I’m all three. Jerritt didn’t stand a chance.

Me and Jerritt

The support van comes back, I’m made to eat and drink both a 5-hour energy (my first ever) and also a Red Bull (also my first ever). I was scared that they would make me sick because I’ve never had energy drinks before but after much insistance, down they went. Chris goes back to the crew and Jerritt is our new guide. He gets me and Rebecca down the rest of the mountain, which, thankfully, is much easier to navigate than the previous section. It’s still slow going, but I’m feeling a little better and at least it’s not thundering and lightening anymore. I apologize to Rebecca for freaking out on her and she’s so nice. She shares her experience with ultra-distance events, gives me some tips on nutrition to keep from getting dizzy (as I have been getting dizzy on and off) and offers to stick with me for the rest of the race. We arrive safely back at Amee Farm and separate to prep for the next task.