WOW...what a race. Can't believe how difficult it was. I try to explain to my friends what we went through and how much we struggled, but it's impossible to convey all the pain, emotion and effort that went into this race.

Coming into this race, I really had no idea what to expect. I had watched a couple of videos and seen pictures of last years race so i knew it was no conventional race but as far as how it all would go down and what the conditions would be like, I was clueless. My preparation consisted of lots of trail running and a little bit of yardwork to get used to my saw, but that's about the extent of it. But then again, how exactly do you prepare to lug a bucket of sand along 7 miles of river over treacherously slippery rocks or drag a 60lb cross with a bucket of sand up a mountain stream? Being a 24 hr race, I envisioned a slow pace with stops for food and maybe even a nap (HAHAHAHA......if only) but on the day, i was surprised at the swift pace of the events and even shocked myself in how we all were able to keep it up.

 The first half of the race (everything before the cross bearing) went well and as I headed up the mountain, bucket in hand and cross on my shoulder, I was slightly disappointed that I hadn't been pushed harder. The river walking and wood work were all tough and difficult but i didn't feel stretched. I didn't feel exhausted. I wanted a taste of death and i hadn't had it.....yet. I got my wish.

The race really started with final ascent of the mountain. Brutal is one word to describe it. Tangled, itchy, slippery, stingy, and humid are some more. We fought, climbed, slipped, and forced our way up along the stream, through thick brush and trees. I became expertly trained at spotting stinging nettles after only several hundred encounters with them. What a terrible idea for a plant. As we neared the peak, I began to see the logic in the name of the race. When we finally erected our crosses and learned about the other tasks, I truly understood the sadistic nature of Joe's mind.

I began to test the limits of my fatigue and my muscles ached from the constant strain of carrying weight for the past 12 hours. The stones exhausted my body while the water bucket exhausted what was left of my mind. Mercifully, snacks and water were brought to the top of the mountain and I wolfed down pretzels like it was my last meal (for all i knew, it may well have been). I pounded water and food into my body in an attempt to restore even the smallest bit of fuel and energy; anything to keep me going. I knew I wasn't going to quit so it was just a matter of finding a way, somehow, to keep going.

Once we brought the water up (and watched Joe dump the water out.....i mean baptize our death markers) we were told all we had to do was get back to the farm......with all our equipment.....and our bucket.....filled with rocks.....without breaking our egg.  Awesome, simple as that. All we had to do was retrace our steps down the mountain, along the slippery, steep stream, carrying arguably the same weight as when we came up and, oh yeah, without breaking the egg. I was on tenderhooks the entire way down, trying to avoid breaking the egg. As I had no room in my bag and since i carried my bucket on my back, I couldn't risk putting the egg in there so the only other place was in my bucket.....with the big, heavy, egg-crushing rocks. Every time the rocks shifted or made an egg-breaking like crunch as they bumped into each other, my heart stopped dead in my chest. My mind couldn't face the idea of coming all this way only to  break the egg on the way down. And since we had already made it to the top, what would happen if i DID break the egg? would I have to go to the bottom, get an egg, and then come back and get my stuff and continue down? would i have to go to the top? I didn't know and I wasn't about to find out. I pushed the issue out of my mind and focused on just getting home.

I swear, the stream is about 3 miles longer going down it that coming up. It just kept going on and on. Trying to guess where we were was like trying to guess how far away the wall is in a dark room. But we finally made it and knowing we were just that far away from the end was the only thing keeping my legs moving. There was nothing i wanted to see more than that muddy, cramped, cold culvert. I thought, once i get there, i'm basically home free. We made it to the culvert, waded through the marsh and found ourselves staring up at the backside of the barbwire crawl. As we ascended the final hill of our torturous day, I could hear the voices of the race directors and support crew cheering us on. We made quick work of the final stretch of barbwire and as I crawled out, dragging my gear and bucket with me, i half expected Joe to say, "ok, last task. disassemble the entire farmhouse and move it 18 inches to the right".

But, thankfully, it truly was the end. And as we stood there, muddy, stinking of god-knows-what, aching in muscles that we didn't know could hurt, we knew we had survived. We had conquered the challenge and it felt good.  SO good. We all felt proud to have our friends and family there watching us but all thoughts of happiness and graciousness quickly vanished as we spotted the pizza and beer on the table. We stuffed ourselves with pizza, chasing each bite with a deep gulp of beer, reflecting on what we had just accomplished. 17 hours and 15 minutes ago, we stood here, clean and fresh (comparitively speaking), surrounded by 30-odd other hopefulls and now here we are: physical and mental wrecks, clutching pizza in one had and our finisher's medals (massive hammers engraved with DEATH RACE  08 on the side) in the other. It was a good day...a very good day.


I truly count myself lucky to be among the 8 finishers because these guys were such phenomenal athletes and fantastically strong of mind.
Thanks to all the directors, support crews, and volunteers. I wouldn't have made it halfway without all your help and encouragement.

See you again next year

-Thomas