2024 Utah Spartan Beast

The race was scheduled for Saturday, July 20, 2024.  I ran the same race--and presumably the same course, though small changes are always possible--on July 9, 2022.  I knew what to expect.  I knew  how hard it was.  How hard it *is*.  In 2022 it took me 6 hours 29 minutes to finish (in the Open division).  This time, in Age Group, I planned for 7 hours, maybe longer if I ended up doing a lot of penalty loops.  With a 7:15 AM start time, 7 hours meant finishing by 2:15 PM.

I started out walking, following the advice that my friend and trainer Orlando gave me at my first Beast in Seattle in 2019.  It was a brisk walk, and as the slower runners reduced speed and transitioned to walking, I passed several of them  So far, so good.

Note that the goal is to finish, not to beat anyone in particular.  However, I learned early on that I can't compare my results at one venue to my results at another, because the venues are different.  I can, however, compare my performance to that of my peers at the same venue.  It is one thing to consistently come in last or near last.  It is another thing altogether to gradually move up in the rankings as my strength, endurance, and skill level improve.

Eventually I changed from a walk to a run.  As is my habit, I walked the uphill sections and ran the downhills, and some flat ones.  This day was no exception.  I have pretty much always worn sunglasses while running, especially in Spartan races.  This year, though, I had my earliest start ever, and I learned that, in certain light, I could see the trail better with the naked eye.  Long stretches of trail, especially in the first few miles of this course at Snow Basin, were very narrow and had tall-ish grass on each side.  The low-angle slanting rays of the sun did not reach the ground, instead leaving the most important part of the trail obscured by shadows.  Many times I saw large rocks and other trip hazards just as I reached them or passed them.

After running for some time, carefully studying the ground, I emerged onto a different trail section.  It was several times wider and had no grass on the sides.  There were trees instead, so we were running in shade.  I was still consciously looking for rocks to avoid, when Bam! I tripped over one about 2 miles into the course.  Many times when I stumble over a rock, I am able to regain my balance and avoid a fall.  Not this time.

It was only a step or two of attempted recovery before I hit the ground.  After a quick Starsky-and-Hutch roll, I came to a stop on my feet, in a crouch, on the left side of the trail.  My gear was in good shape (nothing went flying), and nothing hurt too bad.  I did have some pain in my right thigh and my left forearm.  My left pinky finger hurt the most, and my first thought was that it hurt bad enough that it could be broken.  I tried to move it and was able, so I figured it was probably just jammed.  I turned to look behind me just in time to see another runner trip at the same rock, although he fared better than I--he stumbled, but did not fall.  With a couple miles until the next obstacle, there was nothing to be done except continue on, so I did.

After a few miles, I reached the next obstacle, the Tyrolean Traverse.  After failing this in a previous race, I had been looking forward to trying it again.  I approached one of the ropes and grabbed it with my right hand; however, when I next reached out and tried to grab it with my left hand, pain shot through my left little finger.  I knew right away that it was broken.  I tried a second time, just in case it was possible to get an adequate grip with a relaxed pinky finger.  No way.

I knew then that I would have to walk the penalty loop on nearly every obstacle, all day long.   There were two exceptions.  The "armer" consists of a large, heavy ball that has a handle attached to a chain.  You pick it up, then walk about 20 yards, turn around and come back.  It is easy to do with two hands.  I wondered if I would be able to do it with one.  It was a struggle, but yes, I could.   The other obstacle that I completed was the barbed wire crawl.  I did not want to do it, but there was no penalty loop.  Burpees might or might not have been an option, but my mindset at the time was that I had to do it or be disqualified.  I asked the volunteer attendant if there were any other options, given that I could not put much weight on my left hand.  He said no, but he also suggested that I roll.  I did go ahead and roll nearly the whole length of the obstacle.  It was quite painful due to the fact that in keeping the weight off my left hand, I inevitably put weight on my left forearm--which had also been injured in the fall.  But I got through it.  No way did I want to go through all of that and not even get the T-shirt.

Fast forward to mile 12, and I was quite worn out, and eager to reach that finish line . . . but I had to go to the bathroom really bad.  It seemed like an episode of explosive diarrhea was in my near future, and I thought it would be better to deal with that in a real restroom than a port-a-potty, so I decided to go to the clubhouse.  From mile 12, that was a decent run--but it was far more direct along the access road  than along the winding race course route.  So I briefed the volunteer attendant at the obstacle and took off running down the road to the festival area and on to the indoor restroom at the ski resort.  While making that run I was impressed by my pace and sudden energy . . . and amused by the power of impending diarrhea to energize and motivate a tired old man.

Several minutes later, having taken care of that nasty business, I started walking toward the race course.  Before I got far, I thought of visiting the medics quickly before returning to the course, and I did so.  Maybe they would be able to help me out somehow.  Big mistake!

The medics agreed that my finger was broken.  They said there was little they could do other than put a splint on it.  There were no splints around that would fit, so they rigged one up from tape and a tongue depressor.  Worked like a charm!  I dreaded the straightening of the finger, which had been curled up for hours, but it turned out to not be that bad.  When they finished up I was finally ready to return to the course, finish it, get my medal and shirt, and take my leave.  What happened instead was that the medic collected my timing chip, explaining that any interaction with the medical staff was automatically disqualifying, and I simply would not be allowed to continue.  Begging seemed unlikely to change the situation for the better, so I went off in search of the race director  to see if an exception could be made.  She was sympathetic, but no.  Rules are rules, and there would be no return to the course, no magical blessing saying that I was deemed to have completed the race, even in last place.  Just 7 hours of pain and fatigue, after which I had no choice but to leave empty-handed.

But the day was not wasted.  I may not have finished this year's trifecta, but now I have good reason to go to Dallas in October; I learned some things; I saw some beautiful views; and I got stronger.  Not a finish, but still a win.