Spartan Race

I signed up for the New England Spartan Sprint a few months ago with (at the time) a group of "new friends". Some I had known for a little while longer, but they weren't the group of people I was hanging out with a lot (now I love them all dearly). I was hiking a decent amount at the time, but my running was still not that great. I said "sure, why not" and signed up on a whim. I quickly realized the team name was their Fraternity name, meaning it would be all boys. I pleaded with the other girl in the room to please, please sign up so I wouldn't be the only girl. I knew at least two of the people on the team were military veterans, and I assumed that meant they could whoop my ass. I didn't want to be the only girl.

But alas, I was the only girl, and I was determined to show I could keep up with the boys. My preparations started about a month before the race. I knew I couldn't just rely on being a quick runner and relatively light, I had to be strong. I started adding weights to my workouts and tried to get the gym as often as possible. I told myself I would get in a few sessions with a personal trainer at my gym, but work got in the way. I started working around 50 hours a week, usually 7 days a week, so it was tough to find time to get to the gym at all. I was nervous, but I found myself getting excited. I kept talking to my family about it, boasting that I was the only girl on a team with all boys.  My cousin was also running, and it happened that he was the heat after mine. We kept up a friendly smack-talk in the weeks leading up the race, and though he threatened to "bring a broom to sweep me off the course" I felt better knowing I would have a family member there.


I kept drifting back the Spartan website while I was at work. I came across the video above and I must have watched it five times in a row. It almost brought a tear to my eye... half inspirational-tear, half oh-shit-you're-an-idiot tear. A wave of self doubt crashed over me - why in the HELL did I think I was qualified to do anything like this??? I found solace in the fact the website said almost everyone that starts the Sprint finishes. Still, I hadn't been in a "race" since my days of track & field many years ago, and nothing this "tough".

Another big change I made during my preparations was say goodbye!!!!! to my scale. I had been so focused on the number that hitting a certain weight took priority over my overall fitness. I hit the plateau and I had to have been gaining muscle, therefore losing no weight and gaining a few pounds from time to time. Finally, I realized it was stupid to be getting so frustrated over the number. I quit the scale cold turkey and focused on my overall fitness and strength instead. I weighed myself this morning after not having done so for over a month, and I gained five pounds but I feel much stronger.

I was not as prepared as I would have liked going into the race, but one thing I could do was carb-load. Jaime and I went to Sweet Cheeks for BBQ the night before, and I ate my weight in pulled pork. I was uncomfortably full for the rest of the night and had to force myself to drink water. I waddled into bed around 10pm and noticed my throat was burning. REALLY, I thought, I'M ACTUALLY GETTING SICK. REALLY. I was on the verge seeing my pulled pork in reverse, and seriously thought that between my throat and full stomach I would not make it to the race. I drifted off into a meat-coma and had a very restless, uncomfortable sleep. My throat was still aching in the morning and it was tough to get in a satisfying breath. I thought there was no way I could race like that. But the rest of me felt fine, I was a little tired but I didn't have the telltale fatigue or pains of being sick aside from the throat. I decided it was "just allergies" and pulled myself out of bed. No way was I going to pay $100 for a race and then lay in bed all day instead. I would not let a group of boys say "oh, what a girl" (I doubt they would have seriously been mad at me, but I let it serve as my motivation).



I was meeting my teammates at their place to drive up, and before I left I watched the new video on the Spartan website for some last-minute inspiration. I mostly watched in terror at some of the obstacles I would inevitably face in a few hours, but one line stuck out to me: "Nobody will hit you harder than life, but it ain't about how hard you're hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward." I've had emotional "hits" in my life, as everyone has, but it's rare that I'm faced with a physical challenge that really beats me down. The adrenaline overpowered my inability to take a deep breath, and I thought yeah, I'm gonna rock this today. It's gonna hurt, but I'm gonna rock it.

Our drive up was marred with bouts of serious traffic, and what should have been less than an hour turned into a two hour trip. We arrived with only a half hour to spare before our heat, which left me frantically taping my knees with KT tape and sports wrap (my cousin would later say "I thought I saw you when you walked in, but I wasn't sure. Then I saw your legs were all sorts of taped up and I knew it had to be you"). We dropped off our bags and headed to the start line to stretch for a few precious moments before our heat began. There was a customary get-hyped-up speech, and just like that we were off.

Up, Under, Through

We were off. Uphill. Our team split into two and I stayed with my friend Dennis and Chris, both military men that I was confident were experienced enough to guide me through the course, and could throw my ass over a wall if necessary (it was). Our first obstacle was three walls, over one, under one, through one. Not too bad, I thought. We continued into the woods for some technical trail running, which proved tricky with some very muddy sections, rocks, and roots. We came to a split in the trail; left promised to be shorter but more technical, right was easier but longer. We went left. My cousin told me that going left meant navigating down a near vertical descent, so I started to worry for the old knees. I realized at this very early point in the race that I had an ability a lot of people did not, the ability to be unphased by hills. Of course there were people smokin' me left and right, but it seems like the hills really killed a lot of people. It was challenging, no doubt, but being a hiker gave me a huge advantage in that area. The "difficult downhill section" was no more than a little 5 foot hill that was easily navigated by a controlled slide on the butt. I chuckled thinking about descending Mt. Lafayette's loose rock for miles and miles, now THAT was a difficult descent.

Just as unpleasant as it looks.

After some more hills we popped back out of woods and to one of my most feared obstacles - the rope climb. Spartan Race is unique in each failed obstacle requires a set of 30 burpees. I was determined to only do one set at the javelin throw (more on that later). I tried to channel my inner-gymnast that could scurry up a rope like it was nothing. Starting a pool of murky, muddy water was not helpful, and I was sure that the spectators standing nearby would get a lovely show of me flailing backwards into a pool of brown. Before I knew it I was somehow halfway up the rope with only two more knots before the bell. How the hell did I just manage that? I thought. I took a breather and noticed a woman beside me struggling make the last push to ring the bell. She gave up just a few feet from the top. I wondered why, then I looked up and realized there was no knot that high up, and getting to the bell meant free-climbing the last few feet. Thankfully I was able to dig deep and pull myself up.

Look at how much fun they're having!

I got to the water station and to the next obstacle before my teammates, but I figured I should take the head start since our next task was to carry a bag full of sand up and down the hill. The boys undoubtedly had a heavier bag than I, but my hiker-legs really helped me again. It was certainly a lighter weight and much shorter distance than some of the packs I've hiked with. I waited for the boys to finish and started scoping out our next obstacle, the traverse wall. I immediately cursed myself for underestimating how hard it would be, and the failure rate seemed quite high. I decided to wait for my comrades and not tackle this one on my own.

Damn you, traverse wall.

The boys went before me and did it successfully. They told me to keep three points of contact on the wall at all times, hold my body as close the wall as possible, and keep my weight in my legs. I spider-manned my way onto the wall and it became a game of Twister as they told me where to move each body part. "Okay, left foot now"... and the hold my left foot was going to seemed impossibly far away. I knew I couldn't just sit there, so I went for it and made it. This continued for most of the wall; I was about halfway when my arms started to burn. I knew most of my weight should be in my legs, but all four limbs were clutching on for dear life and my arms turned into wet noodles. I fell with only one or two moves left before dinging the bell. I heard Chris and Dennis praise my attempt, but I went into a rage, punched the wall, and dropped a very loud F-bomb (sorry, kiddos). Burpees it was. I was mad at myself for not being able to physically complete it, and for underestimating the obstacle, but in the midst of my burpees I remembered it was more important to brush off defeat and keep going despite my noodly arms.

We immediately came to a steep but easy climb up a 30-ish-foot ladder, across the top, and down the other side. Those with a fear of heights would not appreciate this much, but I scurried up and down pretty quickly. We jogged uphill to a muddy wall with ropes (not as big as the one to the left, but the same idea). I had seen people do it before and knew I had to keep my feet in front of me, lest I fall and smack my face on the wall. Surprisingly I made it up in one shot and once we were all over we climbed the rest of the hill and went back into the woods for a quick run to a field that held the muddiest obstacles.

No one came out this clean.

We slid downhill to meet our first "big mud obstacle", a series of dirt mounds and dips into brown, muddy water. There were four pits of the murky water, each one deeper than the last. Between each mini-mud-lake was a pile of wet dirt and mud to climb over. By the last pool of water we were up to our stomachs in the stuff. I pulled myself out and realized I had no hope of clearing the muck out of my shoes or shorts; I would just have to deal with it for the rest of the course.

Ours was much higher!

I jogged over to the next obstacle while my teammates tried to clean our their shoes a bit. It was a wall, and I figured I might be able to get over it without their support. The closer I got the more I realized that was not the case - it was an inverted wall that I couldn't even see over. There was no way I was making it over alone. "Hey, you guys have to throw my ass over this", I yelled as they jogged over. My teammate Chris went first and made it to the top with a helpful shove from Dennis. I spider-manned myself onto the first hold for the second time that day, and once I was off the ground Dennis quite literally shoved my ass the rest of the way. Dennis made it up and over on his own (what a beast!). I stood there cheering him on and eagerly bouncing around, and he told me I had way too much energy. Not bad for someone who seriously thought they wouldn't even make it to the course. There was a water station in sight, but first we had to do our first crawl under wire. Thankfully, this wasn't barbed wire and it was high enough that you didn't have to be on your stomach. It was more of an inconvenience than a challenge, but it did get us a tad more muddy. After stopping for water we jogged back into the woods for a very, very muddy, slippery, rocky, and hilly trail run. I was as careful as I could be, because I didn't want my future to include a twisted knee or ankle. I ran as much as I could, but traffic and slippery conditions slowed everyone down until our next obstacle...

Up and over the 8 footer!

...pulling a giant rock. It was unpleasant, but not considerably difficult. I heard that it was a much shorter distance than years past, and I wasn't complaining! We dipped back into the woods for a bit before our next challenge - the 8 foot wall. I was once again thankful for having two teammates much stronger than I. There was a "girls" section, and females were allowed to use two red blocks on the wall to help themselves to get over. Dennis looked at me and said, "uh uh. You are not using those." I attribute my getting over that wall to him, though, because he threw me on his shoulder like we were playing chicken which allowed me to reach the top of the wall and haul myself over. I dropped down the other side and hit the ground a little harder than I would have liked, but thankfully my joints held up just fine. Once we were all over we hopped on the trail again to our next obstacle, hauling a concrete block up in the air via a pulley, then lowering it back down. The girls one was almost too easy, and I pulled it up and down quite easily. The boys one, on the other hand, was apparently much heavier than years past. I watched as ten very muscular men struggled to haul the block up with their entire weight on the rope.

Damn monkey bars.

After the boys defeated the blocks we were greeted with what I'm convinced was mud-quick-sand. It was thick, nasty black mud that claimed many shoes and sufficiently annoyed us for about 100 feet. The more you struggled to get out the quicker it sucked you in. It was, in short, disgusting, so I was not happy when Dennis came up behind me with two handfuls and rubbed the stuff down my back. He reminded me that I was already covered in mud, so I let him give me some "war paint" on my face with the mud as they had done to theirs. I was ready to go on a date. My good spirits fell as I saw our next challenge - the monkey bars. I used to be able to swing around monkey bars like... well, a monkey. But it had been years and my arms were spent. I saw burpees in my future. My gloves were caked in my dried mud, and I slipped off on the first one. I took my defeat much better this time, I managed to not punch anything or scream expletives. After my burpees we started our last leg of the journey with about 1/4 mile or so of uphill trail. The boys certainly had me beat in strength, but I think I had them beat in uphill endurance (to be fair, Dennis was coming off of a sickness and was carrying a CamelBak, which added weight). I valued the team atmosphere and I certainly didn't want to do it without them, but I wanted to challenge myself. I ran up the hill just to see if I could - turns out I could.

SUCCESS (that's not me, though)

I was greeted with a tire pull, which required us to drag a big tire out until the rope was taught, go back, and haul the tire back in. Not so bad. But out of the corner of my eye I saw our next obstacle, the dreaded javelin throw. It wasn't very physically challenging, just throw a spear at a bale of hay, but I only had one chance and I figured there was no way in hell I could do it. It also looked incredibly badass in 300, and I knew I couldn't be that badass. There was a special section roped off for people to do burpees. Great. I looked back to see my teammates catching up after their tire pull, and I realized I wasn't going to fail in private. I picked up a javelin (really a glorified pointy broomstick), stepped up to the front, and tossed it. I watched it glide effortlessly through the air as in in slow-motion and stick firmly into the bale of hay. If ever there was a Hulk moment in my life, it was me cheering (manly screaming) after that javelin stuck. I went into this absolutely 100% sure I would fail at that, and I didn't. It was not the most physically challenging thing by far, but it was the most satisfying. Take that, bale of hay.

Misery.

I went down the "non-burpees" path with a spring in my step, but the spring was quickly diminished by the sight of our second-to-last obstacle - the barbed wire crawl. It didn't look too bad, I thought, but from what I had seen online it seemed like it would be miserable. I shouted back to my teammates that I would start since it might take me longer, and leapt over a huge bale of hay into the mud. Ah, not that bad, it's kinda short! I thought. I got on stomach and army crawled under the wire to a little mud hill. I should mention that it's not just mud, it's mud and rocks.... lots of rocks. Lots of tiny little rocks scraping you with every movement. Lots of big rocks to knock your elbows on. Lots of rocks. I pulled myself up on the hill, and what seemed "not that bad" was suddenly "oh shit, are you kidding me?"  I heard through the grapevine that the total thing was 1/4 mile long. It. Was. Miserable. One of the best ways to do it is turn sideways and roll. I did that after getting my hair caught in the barbed wire and having to get it out with my face in the mud. I bad to flip back onto my stomach a few feet before a deep brown, murky water pit. The last few feet were filled with hundreds of tiny rocks just below the mud. It was like pulling myself across a cheese grater. I slid down into the water towards a big wall - a wall that you could only get around by full immersing yourself in the mud-water and swimming under it. I stood there for about 30 seconds simply because I knew how disgusting it would be when I got to the other side. Disgusting, it was. I emerged on the other side in complete darkness - my sunglasses were completely covered in the brown water (as was my whole body). I took them off and staggered around blindly for a minute before finding a discarded shirt. I found a small clean patch that was just enough to clean the crap off of my sunglasses and allow me to not finish the race blind as a bat.

Fire jump! 

After regrouping for a lovely mud picture, we proceeded to our last big obstacle - the fire jump. The path to get there was short but very muddy, and I was taken out by a guy who tried to run down it and fell. Thankfully I was already practically on my ass, because I would have ended up there anyway. The jump over the fire looks pretty badass, but it's not a huge jump. The difficulty came from running through water to get up to it, and from the unfortunate winds that blew all of the smoke into our faces. Only one or two people could get over at a time, so standing there trying to find a good time to go meant inhaling much more smoke that I would have liked.

With the last major obstacle complete, there was just a downhill slope and three burly men with oversized Q-tips standing between me and the finish line. The three burly men are tasked with knocking you down one last time before you reach the finish line. OH NO, BURLY MEN, YOU AREN'T KNOCKING ME OVER. I took a few seconds to check back and see where my teammates were and amp myself up to plow through three men that were triple my size. I ran full speed and got past the first two guys. I saw the third coming at me with his giant Q-tip, dropped my shoulder, and put my full weight against him. I ended up hitting him much more than the Q-tip thing (though Chris Douglass told me my weight probably didn't move him much... whatever), and I sprinted happily across the finish line.

HORRAH!

My cousin Chris (there are a lot of Chris's in this post) crossed the finish line not far behind me, so I was able to reunite with him and my whole team there. We walked over to the showering station caked in mud from head to toe donning our finisher medals. I hosed myself off for probably ten minutes straight and got nowhere near clean.

Badass runs in the family

Finished!

I hadn't experienced a true runner's high since competing in track many years ago, and I definitely had a huge runners high after this race. I felt great. I was all smiles and had tons of energy. One free beer and free t-shirt later, we hopped on a bus and reminisced about the tough course the whole way back to the car. I was driving back home with my cousin for a night in NH, and about halfway through the ride the adrenaline started wearing off and I noticed some of the big scrapes I had. My parents met me with a Sam Adams Octoberfest (too soon, in my opinion) in hand. We went out to the beloved King Kone. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I was hunched over devouring a taco, corn dog, and ice cream like a barbarian. 

Thanks, rocks!

My muscles started to ache by the time we got home, and I immediately jumped into the shower. I still had what seemed like endless amounts of mud, rocks, and grass stuck in very random places on my body - in my ears, running down my legs, in my shoes, in my bra, etc. It wasn't until I got out of the shower that I realized how badly my body was beat up. My arms were covered in tiny scrapes from crawling through the rocks, and my legs and stomach suffered the same fate. I looked like I got into a fight with a rabid cat. I sat on the couch around 9:15 and was asleep within 15 minutes. An eleven hour slumber wasn't enough to totally re-energize me, but I was used to the feeling. I equated it with how I felt after a day of hiking, but with considerably more wounds to attend to. The hardest part has been the soreness in my arms and shoulders, which are definitely the weakest part of my body. They feel like bricks. I hobbled outside after breakfast and several cups of coffee in an attempt to clean my clothes, which I had just left rotting in a bag. It took me four rounds of hosing to get the water coming off the clothes to be somewhat clear. Who knew that much mud could fit into spandex shorts?

Overall, this was such a great experience. I owe a lot of my success to my teammates, Dennis carried extra weight in a CamelPak so we could stay hydrated on the course, and both were vital components of getting me through certain obstacles. I literally could not have done several obstacles without them there. I know I could have made my time faster by using my adrenaline fueled energy and running the entire thing, but I'm glad I didn't. It was as much about team spirit as it was about finishing. 

I can shamelessly say I am really proud of myself. I went into it thinking there was no way I could keep up with my male teammates, that I was grossly unqualified to do something like this. But I came out of it feeling pretty tough, and feeling really proud that I completed it with a smile on my face. As I sit here aching, trying not to scratch my itchy, healing wounds, still beat, I can't help but get excited to do it again. My teammates have the same mindset - we're already planning our team for the November Spartan Sprint at Fenway Park. My cousin Chris and I are planning on tackling a Tough Mudder next year together, too. I'll do a fist pump about that later... because right now it hurts too much to move my arm like that.

I DID IT!!
* The photos used are not my own, and are not from my race.

Mt. Monadnock Revisited

First dance with Monadnock in March

The Monadnock's are like old friends to me. Pack Monadnock and North Pack Monadnock are quite literally the little siblings of Mt. Monadnock ("pack" is the Native American word for "little"). Pack Monadnock is the first mountain I hiked that renewed my love of the outdoors. North Pack Monadnock was  my first winter hike after my big "real hiker" purchase of micro-crampons. These two mountains were the last of my Wapack Trail traverse. They hold a special place in my heart. Their older sibling... well, we haven't had the best relationship.   Mt. Monadnock is the biggest of the three, and therefore inherently more challenging. I could always see Mt. Monadnock from the summits of the smaller two, and I had made it my goal to get up it. After getting a few good hikes under my belt and feeling my endurance increasing I decided I was ready. My homework turned up mixed reviews. Some people raved about hike, some bitched and moaned about how difficult it was. I realized I was in for a more serious climb when I read that a man had to be rescued from the mountain after breaking his leg about two weeks before I went. In short, it was miserable. It was a warm, clear day in late March. Most of the snow had melted in the surrounding area, but the trail still had a considerable amount of snow-oh wait-I mean slush. I was hiking through an Icee. Even worse, I realized when I got to there that I did not have my micro-crampons... or my hiking poles. Even worse, I didn't realize I was on day 1 of a respiratory infection... well, I did realize that I was getting sick but I refused to accept it. My descent was skiing without skis. Kurt the Hottie would have been horrified. Not only was I skiing without skis, but no boot is truly waterproof. I was walking on two slushie sponges.

Mt. Monadnock is one of the most hiked mountains in the world. I've seen some sites say most hiked, second most hiked, third most hiked.... so I'll just say it's in the top 5. To put it simply, it can be a zoo on a nice day. There's a mix of serious hikers, day-trippers, families, and idiots (more on that later). I have only been on the White Dot and White Cross trails (the two most popular and direct routes), but there are easily over 20 trails to the summit, as well as campsites and a park store. The trails I have been up are very rocky, which can make for a precarious trip. Any athletic person or hiker could get up no problem, but not without breaking a sweat. The mountain is the highest peak for 30 miles; "Monadnock" loosely translates to "mountain that stands alone". On a clear day you can see the Green Mountains in Vermont, Mount Washington, and the Boston skyline.

White Cross Trail

I felt great starting the trail. I could feel my workouts paying off, because my endurance was much better. The lack of a respiratory infection and 6 inches of slush helped, too. I was passing groups left and right. Go you! I thought.. then I realized many of these groups were families. Not that impressive. Then I passed a group of young men that didn't look like hikers but weren't necessarily out of shape. I was patting myself on the back for losing the group when one of the guys popped back into sight. He seemed to be trying to keep pace with me, but it wasn't long that I heard him huffing, puffing, and groaning. I don't think he was happy that he was being smoked by a girl.

My speed came to a slamming halt when I hit the rockier parts of the trail. The picture to the left is an example of what I mean. There is usually traffic on the steep, rocky areas, because people who didn't do their homework are tripped up by how strenuous it gets. I passed a lot of groups sitting down trying to catch their breath. Don't get me wrong, I was sweating. A couple that had been behind me up one particularly steep rock scramble kept saying "we must be getting close, it's not that far away." I didn't have the heart to tell them they weren't even halfway yet. This is where a lot of people turn around.

The trail levels out after several big, rocky, climbs and leads into a few false summits. The first half of this mountain is the most physically challenging, but the second half is more mentally challenging. The first time I hiked it I would round a corner thinking "okay, that has to be the summit" (it wasn't). It can be daunting to finally see the sizable summit, which is entirely above the tree line and all bare rock.

Summit of Mt. Monadnock

I had been leapfrogging a pack of pre-teen boys almost the entire way, and I got unreasonably frustrated when they disappeared from my sight. I passed them just as I was about to start the final push to the summit. They were all sitting there on their phones. It was immensely depressing. I wanted to shake them, and their dad, and say "LOOK AROUND YOU! IT IS AMAZING! PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY!" I made it my goal to reach the summit before them. They started off right after I passed by, so I was trying to tap into my "lightning pace" from earlier. All was going well until my body reminded me that I had barely stopped to rest and rehydrate on the way up, and it was about 75 degrees out. My need for water won out, and on my 30 second stop I realized it was a foolish goal. It wasn't a race. BUT - in my defense, they only beat me by about 30-60 seconds... and preteen boys have an inhuman amount of energy.

Conquered. 

There were good views at the summit, but the last time I was there it was much clearer. The wind chill made it feel about 10-20 degrees cooler, so I started looking for a sheltered area to enjoy my snack. The top was a little bit of a zoo. I greatly appreciate families being active together, but sometimes crazy, screaming kids take away from the serenity of a mountaintop. I gravitated towards two men that looked like "real hikers", and they invited me into their little alcove. I can be socially awkward at times, so I sat there silently envying their talks about hiking out west in preparation for Mt. Kilimanjaro. The older man said "I feel like I need to do it within the next few years or else I will never do it". A little smile crept across my face, because it's exactly how I feel about the AT. I took out my knee brace to prepare for my descent, which immediately sparked the interest of the older man. It turns out he was my kindred-knee-spirit, though probably 30 years my senior. We swapped injury stories; he had a brace on his left knee as well because he injured it walking down an aisle in Home Depot. "It's not the sexiest story to tell, so I just started making up lies." I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not the only one in the world that had messed up their knee in some stupidly mundane way, made up random, untrue stories as to how it happened, and continued to hike after the injury! Hurrah! I desperately wanted to keep talking to them, but they were heading back down the mountain and I still had a Gatorade to finish.

Descending the White Cross Trail

After about a half hour at the summit I began my descent with horrible flashbacks of me sliding on my ass through slush a few months earlier. The White Cross Trail promises to be less steep than the White Dot, so it's been my go-to trail. It may have be less steep, but it was still steep, rocky, muddy, and wet in many places. Although my muscles were slightly fatigued, I was able to keep a great pace and passed several groups on the way down. I caught up to kindred-knee-spirit man and his buddy, and for some reason it was ridiculously rewarding. They were planning a Kilimanjaro traverse and I was able to catch up to them!.... going down the mountain, but whatever. Right after passing them I felt a huge weight bear down on me. I realized I had to go back to Boston, back to work, back to life, that night. I had always thought an office life would be fine, but I'm realizing how much I don't want that. The thought of sitting inside at the computer for a good portion of my day was just so depressing.

I promised an explanation of the "idiots" on the trail, and I met two groups of them on my way down the mountain. Maybe "idiot" is a strong word. They were overly ambitious and definitely uninformed. The first group was an older couple struggling up a seemingly easy portion of the trail. It seems they had severely underestimated the difficulty of the hike, because the woman looked at me like she hated the fact I was in my 20s. I'm all for getting outside and exercising, but not doing your homework and getting so fatigued at the halfway point (really only 25% of the way) makes for a very dangerous descent. The second gang of uninformed people were wearing jeans, cotton shirts and sweatshirts (have fun swimming in your sweat), and what may have been running shoes at one point. Through their wheezing they asked me how far they had to go. I had to inform them they were not yet halfway. "Oh....." the guy said "....... okay", and then sullenly looked at his feet. You could make it up in running shoes, I wouldn't want to, but coming down would be miserable. Someone I will classify as a true idiot was the girl I saw in Converse back in March. My hiking boots didn't help much, I don't even want to know how she faired getting down. 

High-tech "hiking" poles I found at the dump. 

I'm glad I revisited this mountain. It may not be as grandiose or difficult as the 4,000 footers in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, and it's certainly no Mt. Washington, but it's been a great stepping stone for me. It was a reminder that I still have a ways to go if I want to have any hope of the bigger mountains up north this summer. My total time was around 3 hours, including a half hour at the summit. Several websites say that the average hiking time is 3-4 hours, so I thought, "look at me! An average, dare I say even ABOVE AVERAGE, hiker!" I finished on a good note, unlike last time when I was exhausted and miserable, waved goodbye to kindred-knee-spirit man, and drove home with a smile on my face.

BRACE YOURSELVES.. or Maybe Not.

Before I even start this I have to say that I am not a licensed medical professional. Do not take my words as such. I have got to the point where I'm calling my doctors by numbers because there's too many of them for me to remember, though (I'm meeting # 10 tomorrow, an otolaryngoloist).

To brace or not to brace? That is the question. The jury seems to be out on whether or not braces help or hurt during physical activity, especially knee braces. But first, let me take you back to why my knees need bracing in the first place.

I was blessed with hideous bone structure in my knees (back and hips, too, thanks mom). Doing a lot of high-impact sports during my youth was not great for the 'ol joints. I have pretty prominent Osgood-Schlatter disease lumps under my knees that have been painful my entire life. I had to brace my knees on and off for years, especially during track, but overall I had no major problems...

How I feel anytime I recall this story

...until one fateful night at a club that I hated with all of my might. Okay, to be fair I didn't really hate this place at the time, but it's an after-hours club that is open until 6am. I often spent at least one weekend night there at a party my friends and boyfriend-at-the-time were running, meaning I was often there until some ungodly hour of the night (or morning, I suppose). I don't remember why, but I was asked to go get one of my friends who was DJing. I was about to open the the swinging door to the DJ booth when the owner of the club came bursting through. I tried to twist and get out of the way of the door quick enough for him to pass by without running me over. The next thing I knew I was on the floor literally seeing stars and trying not to pass out again. As I tried to piece together why exactly I was on the floor I realized I remember feeling a huge pop in my left knee, and the pain was coming back with a vengeance. Thankfully this took place in the lounge, so I was able to haul myself up onto a couch. I sat there writhing in pain for a few minutes, unable to get up and get help. I could already see my knee swelling through my pants. After a few minutes one of my friends passed by... I have no idea what I said but it was something along the lines that my knee was broken (it was not). I had always wondered why the bouncers had ignored me while I sat there grasping my knee, rocking back and forth, on the verge of passing out. It turns out they thought I was having a bad drug trip and I was trying to ride it out. A+ service, dudes.

Look at my insides. 

I went to the Massachusetts General Hospital ER. MGH is rated # 1 overall best hospital in the country, and # 4 best orthopedic hospital in the country, but somehow didn't have a knee brace or any pain killers to give me (NOT EVEN AN ADVIL). They said I dislocated my knee cap, gave me crutches, and sent me on my way. An orthopedist ordered a MRI thinking I had torn my ACL. The results came back, and his exact words were "Molly, you see the white stuff? That's not good." I had a small tear my in my mensicus, a partial dislocation of my kneecap, a strained MCL, and a sizable bone bruise. ALL FROM MOVING OUT OF THE WAY OF A DOOR. I hated the story so much that I started compulsively lying when people asked me what I had done. People that ask about your injury are typically doing so because they want to tell you their own story. "Are you a dancer? Because I had a knee injury when I danced." Why yes, I was a dancer. "Are you a runner? Looks like you did the same thing as I did!" Ah, yes, Molly the cross country runner. Whatever, all of it sounded better than "I got out of the way of a door a club."

I had weird tan lines for a while.

I spent that summer home in New Hampshire, which was great timing since getting around the city on Vicodin and crutches was not the most fun I've ever had. Thankfully surgery was not part of my recovery plan. My orthopedist thought I was young and healthy enough that the tear would mend on its own. I started my recovery with "Kurt The Hottie", a local physical therapist that my mom had seen for her own knee injury. Kurt The Hottie was a man shrouded in mystery. My mom always spoke affectionally about him, his "Hottie"-ness, and his kind disposition, yet no one ever met or even seen Kurt The Hottie. I almost fell out of my chair when I found out he was going to be my physical therapist. To clarify, he was a handsome and kind man who often brought me homemade popcorn to eat while he tortured me, but I wouldn't put him in the "hottie" category. My biggest hurdle in PT was simply getting my leg straight. My knee had been so swollen that I hadn't been able to straighten it for weeks, and my hamstring completely locked up. Getting a leg message for an hour sounds nice, but I promise you that I was pouring sweat and fighting the urge to punch Kurt The Hottie the entire time. Once my leg could straighten, he introduced me to Kinesiology Tape, or KT tape, and taped my knees (shown above) in ridiculous ways all summer. Despite looking like an idiot, KT tape did wonders for me. More on that later.

Once I was recovered enough he suggested a specialized brace for patellar subluxation and patellar tracking, my two biggest problems. I'm prone to knee injuries because the structure of my knee joint forces my kneecaps to track to the sides, not straight like a normal human being, which makes it very easy to dislocate, sprain, or tear something in my knee. Well, the brace cost me $80. Kurt The Hottie suggested buying another one for my right knee, since the same problem was just as likely to happen to that one. I decided to take my chances. In our next session he told me to leave my $80 knee brace off for my exercises that day, because "the jury's out on bracing, it can actually make your knee weaker." Kurt The Hottie, I thought, if you just had me spend $80 on a knee brace I don't need I will slap you.

Fast forward to today and I still have a significant amount of knee troubles. I can't fully straighten and lock my left leg without my kneecap popping, and that knee cracks about 25 times a day. My right knee is okay for now, but occasionally it riots against me and reminds me that I have the joints of a 90 year old. I'm terrified of injuring my right knee or re-injuring my left, so you can imagine my terror in skidding down rocky mountain trails.

It seems that there's two schools of thoughts on bracing. One is that it keeps everything where it should be, can prevent injury, and, in a case like mine, forces you to strengthen the appropriate muscles. The other is that braces limit your mobility and cause the muscles, tendons, and ligaments to essentially go to sleep since they don't have to work, eventually weakening the area. So what to do?

No one looks this good using this machine. She is a lie.

I've found what's best for me is to only use braces when I feel I really need it. I've worked a lot on strengthening my leg muscles, and I think it's really helped. I had my kneecap pop out of place while I was running recently and thankfully it immediately corrected itself. I attribute that to what I call the prostitute machine (pictured left). Why call it the prostitute machine, you ask? Because you spread your legs as far apart as possible and squeeze them together. Your goods are really out there on display unless you're wearing XL sweatpants. But the real point is that the inner thigh muscles are what hold my kneecap in place and prevent it from popping out to the side, and I think it's what saved me from another dislocation. I do almost all of my exercise without braces, but occasionally I do use them if I'm in pain. I have two full knee braces, the expensive one, and a knee strap that helps alleviate Osgood-Schlatter's pain.

Go, bionic knees, go!

The problem with braces and hiking is that they can get really uncomfortable really fast, especially if it's hot out. This is where KT Tape has come in really handy for me. I don't know KT Tape works, but it's been great for me, especially when I don't want to have a big bulky brace on in 80 degree heat. That being said, I never go out on the trail without at least one brace in my bag. I usually end up putting one or two on before the end of the trip. My rule of thumb is to put them on if I'm getting tired or descending. A huge number of injuries occur on the descent; you're often tired, going much faster, and sliding around more. One misstep can end in disaster. So, I strap on my "bionic knees" and hope for the best!

Bracing versus not bracing versus KT Tape versus a combination of all three is really up to the individual and their needs. I will always need some sort of extra support, but I've found that training without the braces has really helped. Brace or no brace, I'm ready for someone to just give me their knee joints and call it a day. Happy bracing, everyone!

The Wapack Trail

I often get crazy ideas, like withdrawing all of my money (I say that like I have any) from the bank and moving to the Bahamas to sell seashell necklaces on the beach. I usually get these ideas when I'm bored, looking at my school loans, unsatisfied with life, or feeling overly ambitious. Unfortunately, I have yet to disappear to a remote island to sell jewelry. Sometimes these crazy ideas do pan out, though, and one of those ideas was to hike the Wapack Trail.

The Wapack Trail was developed in 1923 and is one of the oldest interstate trails in the Northeast. The trail starts in Ashburnham, MA, ends 21.4 miles later in Greenfield, NH, over seven mountains and through several state forests. There are about seven miles of side trails. A volunteer group called Friends of the Wapack maintains the trail, as well as organizes volunteer work days and various hikes (and much more!). Private property owners continue to allow hikers to trek through their land.

I concocted this plan almost immediately after the first time I hiked up Pack Monadnock last summer with two friends and saw the trail marker. My research on the trail quickly led to a moment of self-doubt, followed by bizarre justifications that did not apply to my life. It went something like this:

Ohhhh, 21 miles... that's a lot.
But I've hiked Pack Monadnock, and North Pack Monadnock (the last two of the trail), and I'm pretty confident over those mountains.
But seven mountains... damn.
But they're not that high.
BUT, 21 MILES.
People run marathons every day.
You do not run marathons. You do not run, period. Who the hell is going to do this with you?
Probably no one. I will do it alone.

21 miles is a lot. I don't know why I made the comparison to a marathon, because hiking 21 miles is a lot different than running 26.2. Just because people, freakishly fit people, can run 26.2 miles does not mean I am qualified to hike 21.4 miles over seven mountains, but I decided that I could. And after a few months of mulling over the idea, I also decided I was suited to hike it alone. In my defense, I did post a few general invitations via Facebook... apparently I'm not much of a saleswoman. With decent weather fast approaching, I made the decision that hiking alone was not a big deal. I'd done it plenty of times before, so what was the big difference? (Spoiler alert: it was a big difference).

I chose the second weekend in May, thinking that the temperatures would quickly start rising after that (though who knows with New England. It snowed in NH on Memorial Day). The week before was filled with giddy anticipation and mild dread. I had never been on a hike that required much thought or planning; I was used to just driving to the base, hiking up, snapping a few pictures, eating some trail mix, hiking back down, and going about my day. But, as any committed hiker knows, an all-day excursion warrants much more thought. How much water did I need? How much weight would I be carrying? What were the best foods to bring? What do I need to wear? How can I coordinate being dropped off and picked up? How much mileage can I actually cover in a day? Did I actually need that ridiculous pocket knife that my parents were insistent on me bringing? (Yes) Etc, etc, etc.

The night before the hike I read the hard copy of the trail guide, which luckily my parents had stashed away somewhere. One of the first lines was never "never hike alone". I said "oops", and then disregarded the suggestion with youthful, reckless abandon. Reading through the Flora and Fauna section brought up the topic of bears, and my youthful, reckless abandon was abruptly interrupted. In 18 years of living in southern NH, and 4 more spent back and forth between there and Boston, I had never seen a black bear. When my mom told me they had seen a black bear on Pack Monadnock, a mountain I frequently hike, my eyes bulged out of my head. I KNEW black bears were in our area but for some reason I never really thought about running into one in the woods.. which is absolutely foolish. I had watched video of black bears casually batting bird feeders around in people's yards in much more populated areas, why the hell did I never consider coming across a bear in its own habitat? Immediately, I flashed back to earlier in the day when I was buying a new rain jacket at Columbia. I asked a saleswoman for her opinion between three jackets I had picked out. She suggested the blue one I was holding "because it's so cute!". I did end up getting that one (not just for the color), and joked to several people that my hiking rain jacket was not a fashion statement, but maybe a bear would decide not to rip my face off if it saw I had fashionable rain gear. I had a discussion with my parents about what I would do if I saw a bear, and I concluded that I would die.

Beginning of the trail

I set out with my mom the morning of May 9th to Ashburnham, MA. I was feeling good from my favorite pre-strenuous day activity - carb loading. From my research and own experiences, I decided to load up on complex carbs (pasta) and protein the night before, which break down slowly and give you lasting energy. I brought a mix of food that would provide instant energy (simple carbs, PB & J, Snickers) and was easily packable (beef jerky, trail mix, energy bars). I also carried my camera, sunscreen, bug spray, light sweatshirt, trail guide, another map, knife, emergency first aid kit, water/Gatorade/VitaCoco totaling about 5.5 pounds, cell phone, license, pedometer, and enough knee braces & KT tape to open up a physical therapy office along the trail. As we pulled into the parking lot I realized I forgot my "trekking" poles, which are actually just old ski poles I found at the dump. It wasn't a trip-ruiner, but someone with my joints really benefits from the extra support. My mom got out of the car, swatted away a swarm of black flies, looked around, and said "I'm leaving you HERE? Alone? Oh... boy...." I responded "yup", left her with a detailed map and estimations of where I would be and when, snapped a picture, and headed off confidently into the woods. My poor mother. I think watching me trek into the forest alone shaved a few months off of her life.

I headed for the summit of Mt. Watatic, a modest but decent ascent. I was plodding along, enjoying my surroundings, feeling good, but suddenly I was filled with dread. The internal conversation went something like this: "What do you think you're doing? Why do you think you're qualified for this? You tore your meniscus trying to get out of the way of an opening door, why do you think your body is fit for this? What are you going to do if a bear mauls you? You're out here alone..... what's that noise? ........... IS THAT A FUCKING BEAR?!"  Indeed it was. Just as I was contemplating my fate, a pretty sizable black bear went galloping through the woods about 100 yards away. Thankfully it was running the opposite direction. I knew I was supposed to stand my ground when facing a black bear; give it space and respect but also make myself look big and imposing. Instead what I think I did was freeze, stare blankly, and think "well, this is how I'm going to die". I say 'what I think I did' because it's all a blur, really. Ever seen someone get tased? Their body locks up and they fall to the ground. That's essentially what my brain did, and I'm surprised my body didn't follow suit. The rush of adrenaline had my heart beating out of my chest, so much so that as I continued walking I thought the bear could probably hear it. I was so consumed by my imminent death that I slowed enough for a woman to catch up to me, and thank heavens she did. She heard the bear, too, but thought it was my dog. I wish. Talking and hiking with her to the top calmed me enough to avoid cardiac arrest. As soon as I got to the summit I took out the ridiculous knife I didn't think I would need and clipped it to the waist strap for easy access. It was a foolish sense of protection, but a sense of comfort nonetheless.

Lost on some logging road.

I wish I had enjoyed Mt. Watatic more. The black flies were so constant that I couldn't stand in one place for very long. The views were great, but I had to keep moving north to stay on schedule. I consulted the trail guide, which said the trail continued north via an unmarked footpath to the right of a fire tower, crossed under an abandoned ski lift after about 100 yards, then linked back up to the woods after about 1/2 mile. Easy enough, I thought, but as I looked around I realized there were about 5 unmarked footpaths and the fire tower did not exist anymore. Every map I looked at seemed to have the trail continuing down another side of the mountain, not doubling back on itself. I picked a footpath, followed it, second guessed myself, doubled back... picked another one, wound up in overgrown brush, doubled back.... found what looked like an old logging road, crossed under what could have either been an old ski lift or a power line, couldn't find the trail, doubled back...... well, you get the idea. In all I probably hiked up and down that mountain three times. I consulted the trail guide about 50 times. I turned on my phone to look at the website and see if I had missed something. I had not. I added about an hour and a half of time and ~4 miles. It was exhausting. I was waiting for the bear to pop back up at any moment. I wished I had someone with me just to bounce my thoughts off of. It was hot, I was constantly second-guessing myself, my muscles were already tiring, and I forgot to keep hydrated. I finally sat down, took a long drink of water, and decided to go back down the way I came. I trudged angrily down the mountain, but came to the conclusion that maybe today was not my day and I had to be okay with it. Maybe I had not done my homework well enough. Maybe I wasn't meant to hike today. Just as I was ready to admit defeat I saw a sign indicating Wapack North. I think I actually laughed out loud. I'm not sure if the trail guide is outdated (though there's updates on the website, and nothing about Mt. Watatic), or if the trail was rerouted, but I was not off to a great start.

The trail continues into New Ipswich, NH, through an area that looks like it's being cleared for construction. I thought there was no way they would be building anything out there (there's no roads! Literally, no roads!), but I saw a building permit on a tree. My success at finding the trail again combined with being in an open area with good visibility had me feeling good, but as soon as I re-entered the woods dread creeped up on me again. The mind can play amazing tricks on itself. Every tiny movement I heard in the woods caused my body to seize into a fight-or-flight response (or in my case, apparently, just stand there dumbfounded). I never did see that bear again, but the thought of it haunted me all day. I coped by singing one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs out loud.

Binney Pond 

My next landmark was Binney Pond State Forest. Looking at Binney Pond felt like looking into the past. It was very secluded and I was the only one on the trail in the area. I got a sense that it had been unchanged for a long time. Unfortunately, I could not stop to enjoy it because I was behind schedule and being attacked by black flies. The climb up Pratt Mountain, the second of seven on the trail, was short but strenuous. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't hike up and down Mt. Watatic about three times, but it did give my legs a good burn. On the way up I was cursing myself: "This sucks. YOU did this to yourself. You can't even be mad. You're putting yourself through this on your own free will." The summit of Pratt Mt. is underwhelming. There is a viewpoint but I was too angry to take extra time for a viewpoint. I regret it.

Instead, I trudged on to New Ipswich Mt., a much less steep grade but essentially touching Pratt Mt.'s base. I descended Pratt Mt. and immediately ascended the next. New Ipswich Mt. had better views, so I stopped to let my legs rest for a few minutes. I recently saw a quote that said "summer is fun until every bug comes out of the 8th circle of hell", and it was quite fitting for this situation. I constantly had flies/mosquitos/who-knows-what buzzing in my ears, and staying still only made it worse. They persisted no matter how many times I coated myself in bug spray. Despite being eaten alive, I finally had a moment of peace that so often comes with getting to the top of a mountain. It was an absolutely beautiful, clear day, which made for great views. It was impossible not to appreciate. For a moment I forgot about how frustrating, and at times, scary, the morning had been up until that point. Then I looked at the surrounding area, realized I barely saw anything for miles and miles, and continued on before the thought of "I better not get injured out here" came back.

A few miles later came Barrett Mt., where I stopped and forced myself to eat my sandwich. I noticed I had zero appetite, which was the opposite of what I was expecting. Nevertheless, I knew with the constant movement, four mountains, and near 80 degree heat that I was burning a lot of calories (I burned about 3500 calories that day). After Barrett Mt. the trail crosses into the Windblown Cross Country Ski area, where several trails cross cross over the Wapack. Thankfully everything is extremely well marked, so it was easy to follow. I began to experience what I call balloon-brain. Balloon-brain is when I've been doing the same thing for a while and my brain seems to float out of my head and detach from the task, but my body continues to do it. I had been walking all day, and eventually I didn't even need to think about doing it anymore. My body took over and my brain was off somewhere else. I hadn't seen another soul for hours. I've read several books about long-distance hiking, and it seems I'm not the only one who experiences balloon-brain. It is oddly peaceful.

Blissfully horizontal

Popping out into civilization is always a weird phenomena when you've secluded in the woods all day. I knew I was getting close to the crossing of Rt. 123/124 because I began criss-crossing powerlines. I started to debate whether I should call it a day and have my mom pick me up there. I had done about 12 miles of hiking, more than I had ever done in a day. I turned on my cell phone, plopped down next to a powerline (ahh, nature), and called my mom. During our conversation I decided to push on to the next major road crossing. It didn't look that far... and it wasn't that far. But, damn, it felt far. I believe the trail was re-routed here, because the blazes disappeared for about a mile. Thankfully they popped up again and I was able to get back on the trail. It was ~4 miles of walking through wide, wet, and leafy trail. I reached the road I was meeting my mom on and to my dismay it was a hill. Not a particularly big hill, but after 16.81 miles of hiking it looked like Everest to me. My mom doesn't have a cell phone (hold your gasp), so I couldn't tell if she was already waiting for me at the parking lot. I agonized over the two options: I either walk up this stupid, annoying hill and hope she's already there, or wait where I know she has to drive past and avoid this stupid, annoying hill. I walked up the stupid, annoying hill. Thankfully she pulled in the moment I reached our meeting spot.

I spent a good portion of the day frustrated. I spent all of the day sweating bullets, aching, being attacked by bugs, and cursing my decision. I had no appetite. But the second I got into that car and ripped off my boots I joyfully recounted my day and ate an entire bag of beef jerky without realizing it (there's that balloon brain again). I've never experienced being sore BEFORE finishing a workout. 'Ol Faithful, my recurring blister-within-a-blister, was out in full force and accompanied by a few friends. I was happy, accomplished, and thinking "how the hell am I going to wake up and hike again tomorrow?". Thankfully for my muscles and 'Ol Faithful there was severe thunderstorms in the forecast the next day and I couldn't get out on the mountains. I was thankful for the rest but also incredibly frustrated. Going back to Boston without finishing the last section ate at me. My mom tried to reason with me ("you can finish soon, don't worry"), and I was only able to respond with disapproving grunt.

Summit of Pack Monadnock

The next weekend brought another bout of bad thunderstorms, and the next was my graduation. I was itching to get back and finally got to 18 days after I started. I decided to skip a small section (Burton Peak and Temple Mt.) and start at Miller State Park in Peterborough, NH. The mileage I hiked would have put me further than Miller State Park had I been going the right direction the entire time. Pack Monadnock and North Pack Monadnock are two mountains I have hiked many times, but I never hiked the two together. They are both easy mountains with moderately strenuous sections, which makes it very crowded in the warm weather. I was glad I got an early start so I was not overwhelmed by tons of families.

The end!.... almost. 

A pleasant, 6 mile hike on a warm, clear day was a great end to this experience. I didn't finish it within two consecutive days like I planned, but I was happy to accomplish my goal. I posed with the trail marker and gave myself a pat on the back... then promptly gave myself a punch in the face. My mom offered to drop be off and pick me up, but I thought "nahhhh, I'll just walk back to the car, no biggie." I had done a particularly strenuous workout earlier that week after about 2 weeks of being a couch potato (damn you, allergies), so I started the day on sore legs. 5.5 hilly miles after hiking 6 miles over two mountains was not the best idea I've ever had. I did not reach my blissful, balloon-brain state, but instead was quite bored and annoyed with myself. I jogged sections of the road, much to the dismay of 'Ol Faithful, out of pure boredom. Finally making the loop back to Miller State Park was a beautiful thing. I actually gave myself a few fist pumps.

The Wapack Trail was my first true long distance hike. It was at times frustrating and intimidating, and at times beautiful and rewarding. Most of all, it was a learning experience. I had a moment when I was hot, dehydrated, sweaty, sore, and being eaten by bugs, and I said to myself "if you ever want to do this shit again, remember how you feel in this moment". I've already disregarded that and am looking forward to hiking this trail again in its proper form.... maybe this time with a friend.