Beyond the Finish Line

Conquering the Beast

Digital Art Collage by Stella Kalaw

The Spartan Beast obstacle course race, a challenge I've eagerly anticipated for six months, is finally upon me. Standing at the starting line alongside 300 competitors, my determination is to secure first place in my age category this year, building upon my second-place finish the previous year.

The atmosphere is tense, nerves palpable in the sweltering heat, unusually hot so early on this otherwise beautiful summer morning. The gun goes off. Bang! We surge forward in unison.

An obstacle course race is like any other race, except it usually takes place on a ski hill, so the entire race goes uphill and downhill, then uphill again and downhill again. And again.

There are four versions of the Spartan obstacle course races. The version called the Spartan Beast is the second longest, about twenty-five kilometres in length. The racers take anywhere from four to twelve hours to complete the ordeal.

You can imagine that running uphill is demanding, but downhill has its risks. It’s all too easy to slip or trip and fall down the slope head over heel, likely spraining a muscle or worse. It’s common that an ambulance or two is called to the venue during the race to tend to the most serious injuries or to speed the victim to hospital.

In addition to the tortuous running, every seven or eight minutes, an obstacle appears that must be overcome before continuing, thirty in total. It may be a rope you must climb forty feet, ring a bell at the top, and then let yourself down. Or a seventy-five-pound sack of sand, you've got to haul four hundred feet up a slope and then back down. Do you lug this weight uphill on your head, on your shoulder, or try to hold onto it against your hip or belly? My solution is all three, in turn, as the weight of the sack will quickly tire whatever muscles you choose to engage after only a few seconds.

Then there is my favourite obstacle: crawling military style on elbows and knees in the dirt under a horizontal trellis of barbed wire strung about eighteen inches above the muddy ground. It’s easy for a T-shirt to get jabbed and snagged, slowing down your progress.

As the hours pass, I'm making excellent progress, even surpassing racers from earlier waves who started the race a half-hour before me. Four waves of racers, for a total of over 1,000 runners, are up for the brutal challenge. About one-fourth will abandon the race and never finish.

At the four-hour mark, fatigue hits me like a brick wall. Exhausted, I sit, my head in my hands, suddenly delirious, unable to focus, unable to continue. Out of the blue, a stranger offers me some jujubes, reminiscent of childhood treats. I refuse, and then I change my confused mind and accept a handful. Miraculously, my energy soon returns. A minute later, I resume the race, feeling invigorated.

Somehow, I had only lost six or seven minutes during the whole calamity. Maybe I can still come in the first place!

At some point, I encounter a fellow racer sprawled on the slope, white as a sheet. After stopping to ask if he is OK, he replies that he’s giving up, he is out of energy and wants to quit and go home. I convince him to walk with me, offering words of encouragement. Soon, he's back in the race. This pattern repeats with another participant, a young woman. I find myself motivating others who are on the brink of giving up. By the five-hour, twenty-five-minute mark, I cross the finish line, physically fatigued beyond description yet mentally elated.

I make my way over to the leaderboard to see the standings. Although I didn't clinch first place, the real victory lies in the gratitude of those I helped. One by one, during the next hour, many of them find me in the crowd of racers who have just completed the competition, expressing thanks, even some hugs and kisses, for inspiring them to finish. It dawns on me that, despite not receiving the gold medal, the impact I've made is immeasurably more valuable.

Even at this stage in my life, I appreciate the reminder that taking a moment to uplift someone in need can yield profound and unexpected rewards, perhaps fostering connections and leaving lasting impressions far beyond the finish line.