By Seth Sjostrom

More than 4,000 participants tested their physical and mental toughness Saturday at the Pacific Northwest’s first Spartan Race held in Washougal. The Washougal Motocross track formed the ideal setting for the mud-obstacle course with its hilly landscape and winding trails.
The Spartan Race crew set up a course encompassing four arduous miles, twenty muscle ripping obstacles, and gobs of thick mud. Sound like fun? As a participant, I can tell you it was!

A strange thing happened as I arrived at the park. A feeling washed over me reminiscent of stepping on the baseball field before the first pitch (a long, long time ago) – my chest felt tight, a pit welled up in my stomach, a mild anxiety took root through my veins. For whatever reason, I was nervous. To be clear, I wasn’t entirely sure why. A fellow racer nearby echoed the sentiment. As did another.

When the DJ tossed out the smoke bomb and a staffer dressed in full Spartan garb took the mic, we knew it was time, nervous or not we were about to launch. “Who are you?” the Spartan asked. The racers chorused the response “I am Spartan!” No looking back, we were off.

The first ¼ mile of the race was a long, winding ascent. As more of a hiker than a runner, I endured a string of fleet-footed racers streaking by me. Working our way up the course, I was actually glad to see the first obstacle – a rib-high wall to vault over – we were entering the meat of the course.

Another wall and uphill climb later, we faced our second challenge. A series of heavy cement blocks were strung through pulleys. One by one, the Spartans hoisted the blocks in the air. As mine hovered at the peak of its line, a drill-sergeantesque voice called out, “If you drop my weight, you’ll owe me thirty burpees!” I gingerly let my block lower to the ground, it actually lifting me momentarily off my feet. A burpee, the Spartan Race penalty for a failed task, is a military derived exercise involving a squat which lays into a push-up and ends in a jump-squat (more or less). On this trail, you did not want to exhaust yourself with burpees.

The next challenge had us climbing up and over a high wall, slipping under a wall with a small gap at the bottom and through a windowed wall. This would be repeated three times before we were sent on our way to face another challenge. A pile of sandbags stacked at the ready, we were to hoist the 40lbs over our shoulders and march them up a circuit and back. At this point, the challenges seemed to regulate the athletes. While I am sure a few studs (and studettes) continued their dominance, most of the group I had started with seemed to be generally clustered. Pure speed was not the answer, neither was strength, or endurance. Somehow, the mix that the Spartan race had unfolded tested the whole of the participant and it began to become clear that it was so much more about digging deep and soldiering on than its pure physical elements.
While there had been sections of mud to either run or crawl through, the series of mud pools we encountered next added an entirely different muddy component to the course. I found the neck-deep pools to be quite refreshing after the sandbag exercise, though I did find I had to stop and squeeze empty a pocket full of water an – unusual feature of my hiking trousers.

Sufficiently introduced to the mud, we met a section that would up the ante considerably. A seemingly endless line of undulating hills were completely laced with barbed-wire hovering a scarce ten inches off of the ground. On our bellies, we slithered through the mud army-crawl style through the sea of hills. Adding to our enjoyment was a pair of the Spartan crew spraying us and the course sadistically with a fire hose. With the crest of each hill, I would hear fellow participants groan as they were met with yet more wire-covered knolls. Elbows and knees dug in, they would set back to work, determined to drive their way through to completion.

Pushing on with renewed vigor, I tackled the next weighty challenge. Our task was to drag a heavy cement block tethered to a steel chain around an uphill circuit and back. As I was lugging my shackle up the slope, I felt for some of my fellow Spartans. This was one of the more physically demanding tasks that the course was to offer. As I and a few of my fellow Spartans returned to the pen which housed the blocks, we drug them a little further to set up the next Spartan so that they didn’t have to fight the weight over the edge of the corral.

Saturday’s Spartan Race at the Washougal Motocross track.

As we rounded the next bend, we were met by the most impressive obstacle yet – a daunting hill climb latticed in barbed wire. Once more in the army crawl position, we pushed along on our bellies fighting a deep layer of mud, gravity and thousands of barbs tearing at our backs. This ascent coaxed the most groans, stalls and contemplation from racers to bail out and accept the punishment of burpees. If any voiced their concern, a steward would promptly warn the penalty had raised to sixty burpees. Stacked tight under the daunting barbed wire, we urged each other on. If someone faltered and began to slide, we would catch their foot or grab a hand and pull them along or stabilize them. Gutting it out, the procession pushed ahead. As we reached the final stretch, the slope steepened. Mud soaked ropes lined the bank offering our exit strategy. Hand over hand, we made our way to the top.

My elation was tempered as I watched Spartan after Spartan fail to stick a spear into a hay bale mounted high on a pole. “Aim high,” one fellow Spartan offered as I took his spot. I did, hitting the target square in the center! I watched as the spear sailed through the air, finding its mark. I slumped as the weapon turned sideways and fell harmlessly to the ground. My first set of burpees.

I raced towards the final obstacles. An innocent looking line of posts dotted the trail. Leaping on one of them, I teetered as I found the posts were loose in the ground. Holding my balance I centered myself. Carefully, I made another step. Balance. Another step. My pulse quickened, I was going to make it. Another step. My knobby mud shoes fought for grip on the wooden post. Step….down. More burpees.

Attendants were immediately at my side, honoring me with a Spartan badge, providing me with much needed water and a banana. I made my way to my son who grinned as I crossed the finish. I threw my arms out, but was met with resistance. Hayden eyed me suspiciously, noting the thorough coating of mud, he was not taken to my offer for a hug. Relenting, he leaned into me, his now Spartan dad.

Pleased with my accomplishment and the overall experience of the Spartan, I am left with one final question, how can I build one of these in my backyard?