What Does it Take: Seattle Hurricane Heat 24 Hour 2017
My back aches. My knees and hips are stiff. My quads are sore. My throat is sore. It must have been a Hurricane Heat. In this case, the one and only 24 hour edition. AKA Hurricane Heat 24 Hour. AKA HH24HR. What happened? Here's the quick timeline of events:
Saturday 4:00pm - Arrive at race venue with 2.5 gallon jug of water and rucksack with ~45lb of gear
Saturday 4:30pm - Disembark to begin our 24 hour journey
Saturday 5:00pm - "Warmup" with SISU 1,000 inspired workout
Saturday 7:00pm - Hauling bleachers
Saturday 9:00pm - Sandbags with gear mandatory
Saturday 11:00pm - Water collection
Sunday 1:00am - Sandbag redux with gear optional
Sunday 3:00am - Campfire!
Sunday 4:00am - Synchronized burpees
Sunday 6:00am - Stretchers full of sandbags
Sunday 9:00am - Learn to walk, use a compass, and grid with Coach Kyoul
Sunday 10:00am - Application of compass, walking, and gridding skills
Sunday 12:00pm - Building a house (out of sandbags, of course)
Sunday 2:30pm - Synchronized burpees, piecemeal
Sunday 3:00pm - Making a bridge and water burpees
Sunday 4:30pm - Get rolling, literally
Sunday 5:00pm - Quitting time
The following is purely my recollection after the event had completed. Although I was wearing a timepiece throughout the event I did not make any efforts to record it along the way so there is a good chance I missed something or mixed up the order of events or gotten some timing incorrect.
What can I say? Spending 24+ hours awake performing physically demanding tasks in adverse conditions can have a negative effect on memory retention.
You may be wondering what a Hurricane Heat actually is. If this accurately describes you, then understand that you are in exactly the same position I was in before this event. Even afterward, I am not sure I could concisely and accurately describe what a Hurricane Heat is. Seeing a group of people completing various tasks only reveals a small portion of the story. Everyone approaches these events with different motivations, and everyone will leave with a different story to tell. My expectations were as follows:
In other words, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
This story begins a little before April 22nd, 2017. I was going into this event completely humble and naïve. In contrast to a competitive Spartan Race during which you have a pretty good idea of what obstacles you will face and how to train to overcome them the nature of a Hurricane Heat is such that you never know what it will entail until you arrive. I did not even have the luxury of previous Hurricane Heat experience.
How does someone train for jumping into the unknown? That is a good question. I made some assumptions about the type of physical fitness that would be needed. Instead of focusing on specific skills I made the decision early on not to overthink it and just work on overall fitness and stamina. There were only a few specific areas of strength work that I thought would be useful. Here are a few staples of my training in the months leading up to the event:
Aerobic cardio and lots of it, mainly running. One thing I was sure of was that this would not be a sprint. I wanted to get used to being on the move for extended periods of time and get used to continuing moving while fatigued. Luckily, long sessions in the pool, on the bike, and running are my bread and butter so I stuck with them.
Staying on my feet. Even when I wasn't running, I wanted to get used to being on my feet for extended periods of time. My work generally keeps me seated in front of a desk, but I piled up books under my PC monitor and keyboard to turn it into a standing workstation. Wearing a low profile weight vest under my shirt while at work helped get used to being bearing a load while on my feet.
Work the hands. Whether it is carrying a heavy load or hanging off of monkey bars, it would be hard to imagine any Spartan event that did not test grip strength in some way. One to two times a week my workouts revolved around dead hangs with weight belts and simply holding the heaviest weights I could manage to test my grip. Improving grip strength was also the primary reason I have never used hand wraps when deadlifting.
Overall strength. Deadlifts, squats, and other large compound movements became staples as well. I occasionally worked isolated muscles, but focused most on those larger compound movements that build overall strength and proprioception.
Core strength. Are there any downsides to having a strong core? Leg lifts help in getting over those cargo nets, planks build that stability to maintain your form on your 100th burpee, and back extensions put the ease in lifting from the knees. Core work is like broccoli; it is not the most fun exercise, but we can all use a little more of it.
When it comes to Spartan events strength and fitness are necessary, but those alone are not sufficient to guarantee success. The fabled gear lists for Hurricane Heats usually contain some odd ball items that leave people wondering how they will be used. When the list was revealed for our event I was a little surprised at how mundane it was. It was, for the most part, a list of items you might carry while backpacking or camping. I won't go into all the details, but here are a few things I made sure to bring with me:
Food. My plan was to stick to slow burning carbohydrate and avoid anything too hard to digest. I packed several Generation UCAN snack bars and a few Larabars for the majority of my calories. I also packed a few energy gels as insurance in case I got desperate miles away from base camp.
Electrolytes. Sometimes it is a good idea to split calories, hydration, and electrolytes. For this event I packed several sachets of Generation UCAN electrolytes and Vega Sport Hydrator with the intention of simply opening and pouring them directly into my mouth instead of mixing them in water.
Supplements. One of my biggest concerns in this event was dealing with sleep deprivation. I stashed caffeine tablets in every conceivable place to make sure some was always at hand; two in each pocket of my ruck, two in my jacket pocket, two in my cargo pants.
I also packed a bottle of essential amino acid capsules in lieu of protein. Digesting protein is slow and energy intensive, and that is energy that can be better used lifting sandbags. The aminos stave off protein cravings and prevent too much muscle catabolism.
Light. Another essential for late night expeditions in rural areas. This was the only piece of gear from the gear list that I doubled up on by packing two headlamps and extra batteries.
Timepiece. I was going back and forth on whether to carry a watch. Some people will fixat on the time, others would utilize the information. The tipping point for me was having the ability to measure distances with a GPS watch and decided to wear my Garmin.
Gloves. An eternal debate in OCR is whether to go bare handed or protect them. I brought two pairs; a pair of Under Armour tacky gloves for general use and a pair of insulated running gloves because I am a sissy and hate cold hands. Whether or not you use gloves, bring them. They don't add much weight and they are better to have and not need than to need and not have.
Knee pads. No brainer. Just don't be a chucklehead like me and wear them for the first time the day of the event.
Mind your feet. A Hurricane Heat isn't a race so it simply doesn't make sense to bring light racing shoes. I wanted high ankle support, water proof, and ruggedness in my footwear. My choice was a pair of heavy Asolo hiking boots that had been treated for water proofing with thick wool socks. Protection and cushioning trumped speed and flexibility.
Physical training and the right gear are sufficient to get your through most races and events. A Hurricane Heat goes beyond the physical challenges you'd expect to encounter in just any obstacle course race (OCR). The longer an event is, the more it becomes a test of psychological toughness on top of the physical challenges. My final preparations were meant to put me in the right place mentally.
Be humble. It would be unlikely to be the most fit, prepared person there. It is likely that every person will be at the back of the pack. Knowing when to ask for help or extra direction is of primary importance for team events. I promised not to let my pride prevent me from speaking up when I felt overwhelmed.
Handling sleep deprivation. It bears repeating: One of my biggest concerns was dealing with a lack of sleep. There have been a few recent sleep studies that banking extra sleep in preparation for being awake for an extended period will blunt some of the negative cognitive effects of sleep deprivation.
Abstaining from caffeine a few days prior increases its effectiveness when it is needed most. Plus, skipping that afternoon pick-me-up helps make deposits in the sleep bank. Refer to the previous section for my attitude about caffeine; I was expecting to rely on it more than any other single piece of gear or nutrition.
Single minded. Some things need to get done regardless of how much the process sucks. High emotions can often hinder these efforts. I spent a few days prior putting myself into a mental place of conscientiously setting aside my emotions as much as possible, letting the analytical, mechanical part of my mind take over.
Acceptance. This was going to be a harrowing, difficult experience. Things don't always work out like you want them to. Giving 100% of yourself is all you can do, and sometimes that just is not enough. Walking away without my dog tag and T-shirt would not be a failure as much as it would be an opportunity to see just how far I could push myself.
(Spoiler alert: I'm wearing my finisher's T-shirt as I'm writing this)
The official start of the Hurricane Heat 24 Hour (HH24HR) event was 5:00pm April 22nd. It is my general modus operandi to show up an hour or two early for events, and I'm usually one of the first to arrive. For a change, most of the group was already present and ready to go at 4:00pm. To my surprise, I was greeted by my old team mate Special K. She seemed cordial, politely suggesting I get in line and try to relax. Along with K, our primary coach or instructor or overlord or whichever-title-they-prefer Cookie was also calmly assessing everyone.
For simplicity, I will refer to Cookie, BJ, Special K, and anyone else who was working the event as the "crew".
I'll admit to being extremely wary of them at this point. I had assumed they would be like drill sergeants relentlessly pushing us to go faster, push harder, and do better as soon as 5:00pm rolled around. Hopefully, K would have some pity on me since this would be my first foray into the world of Spartan Hurricane Heat.
When we disembarked it was the first chance to get to know how the team and Cookie would operate. Each individual was hauling a rucksack with 40 or 50 pounds of gear and a 2.5 gallon jug of water (20lb) past a vertical cargo net setup for the race happening that weekend. Instead of walking around, Cookie let the team know we would be going over the net along with all of our gear. He also mentioned there was a time limit, but left out exactly what the time limit was. Climbing with all that gear was simply impossible. It took a few minutes for the team to organize a few haul lines to get our water over the nets before each individual climbed over.
With everyone on the far side of the cargo net we all looked to Cookie for confirmation of what to do next. "Alright then," He said, "That was too slow. Back over. You have half the time." There was no anger, no disappointment or admonition. It was a simple statement of fact. Grass is green. Birds fly. And we would be going back over the net. Luckily, the group was prepared this time. We hauled the water back over, then stronger individuals assisted some of the slower climbers get over the top and back down.
"That was better." Thanks, Cookie.
It was a revealing process. Clearly, we would not have orders barked at us or belittled for failing, nor would we get a pat on the head for getting it right. Cookie went as far as insisting on being addressed by his nickname, Cookie, instead of "sir" or any other honorific to enforce the idea that he was not above the rest of us in any way. We were simply given a task, sometimes with a few specific guidelines, a time limit we would not know until it had run out, and we would have to figure out the rest ourselves. Luckily, everyone was motivated to accomplish our tasks. Once we had a good idea of a strategy everyone organically fell into line where they felt they would be most effective.
It was a relief to see that Cookie, Special K, and BJ, Cookie's other assistant, would not be abrasive. Presumably, the challenges ahead would be intrinsically challenging enough. They would be helping make the experience marginally less awful instead of making it as torturous as possible. All of this information about the crew and the participants to file away.
With introductions behind us we set up base camp. Our camp was more or less a glorified pile of all our stuff in the corner of a field. After a quick inspection of our gear the group engaged in some "easy" exercise to warm up. This was a SISU 1000 inspired workout consisting of 1,000 body weight movements like air squats, pushups, and bicycle crunches. Once again, I took this opportunity to find out more about my team.
A volunteer was asked to step up and lead each exercise. Two individuals stood out as exceptional leaders; Rachel, a cheerleader with a powerful build and booming voice (she also had a fabulous sparkling bow in her hair and a fabulous bedazzled ruck); and Nick who clearly had a military background and became our de facto leader anytime someone needed to step up to demonstrate or lead a workout. The latter may not seem substantial, but anytime we engaged in simple exercises the entire team, all 33 of us, needed to execute every movement in perfect synchrony. This required someone who could easily demonstrate each movement, then perform every rep while belting out commands for everyone else to follow.
Imagine doing 20 air squats. Easy enough. Imagine doing them while yelling "Down..! Up..!" in perfect rhythm. Again, fairly simple for a fit individual. I was most impressed with Nick during one movement called "monkey f&%*ers" in which he was able to maintain a strong voice while his torso was completely collapsed. There is no way I would have been able to duplicate his effort with more than a whisper.
Side note: whenever I hear of a new exercise I usually stick it into an internet search engine to see what it looks like. I would strongly discourage doing this with "monkey f&%*ers". I can't guarantee it would even work with SafeSearch enabled. Suffice to say it is a bit like an air squat while you're doubled over.
Our "warmup" also gave a good idea of everyone's relative level of fitness. I was able to complete each movement with ease. This was true of only a handful of others. A majority of individuals were clearly under duress at some point. Short jogs between each movement reinforced this with a few people sweating and breathing hard.
I'm not saying this out of surprise or to disparage the ability of anyone else; seriously, you try doing fifty squats and fifty pushups, then see how easily you can cover 200 yards while wearing heavy boots. It isn't easy for anyone. It was simply more information about the group to bear in mind for helping others out during subsequent tasks.
Once everyone was warmed up (who calls 60 minutes of body weight exercises a warmup, you might ask? People who intend on moving continuously for 24 hours, of course) it was on to the bleachers and our first introduction to the fire road. The task was simple. The fire road was 1.7 miles of undulating muddy track barely wide enough for a vehicle to pass through. It was the kind of surface that guaranteed rolled ankles and thick mud that promised to swallow shoes if they weren't properly tied.
The task was simple. The bleachers were at the edge of the field near our base camp. Our task was to get them to carry them to the other end of the fire road. Then, we had to bring them back. All while carrying our bulging ruck sacks. This is a perfect example of how something can be simple, but still excruciatingly difficult. It was no small effort for eight people to heft a set of bleachers onto their shoulders and simply stand with straight backs. Getting eight people to walk in a synchronized fashion in a straight line under such duress seemed insurmountable.
Hauling those bleachers was the perfect way to combine strenuous work with the need for constant mental acuity and group coordination. One careless step could send someone sprawling in the mud and suddenly slam others with an overbearing weight. As a group we eventually found a rhythm with individuals jumping under the bleachers to take the place of those who were tiring. Despite the continuous rotation of bodies, the weight that was bearing down during the time I spent carrying left me with massive bruising and abrasions on both shoulders.
It would be impossible to accurately estimate how long we had been on the trail, but the sun was well below the horizon by the time we had returned to base camp. We were battered, physically and mentally tired, but triumphant. The group pulled together and succeeded as one in a way that would have been utterly impossible if a single individual had been any less than 100% determined to succeed.
We were given just enough time to set our rucks down before Cookie announced the next task: Fill two sandbags at a gravel quarry and return with them. Of course, the quarry was at the far end of the fire road 1.7 miles away. And, of course, we were required to bring our full rucks with us. This time there was no team aspect, no grouping or coordination required. Each person was free to pursue the goal at their own pass.
The group set off into the dark, an eerie parade of bouncing headlamps and glow sticks stretching into the inky night. Sightlessness was only the most obvious hurdle introduced by the setting sun. When surrounded by darkness our bodies interpret that as a signal that it is time to wind down and go to sleep. Body temperature drops, cortisol production slows, overall metabolism becomes sluggish. This results in the same tasks feeling more difficult, and can provoke dower moods and even mild depression. This would be a psychological feat just as much as it was a physical one.
As previously stated, it was already clear that I was one of the fittest individuals, if not the most fit individual, in our group. I also do a majority of my training before sunrise so dealing with the oppressing darkness was something I am familiar with and could manage. However, this task revealed my primary weakness which was, well, being kind of weak. I had cruised to the quarry with most everyone else and filled two sandbags up with 50 or 60 pounds of gravel (the ladies in the group were allowed to fill up bags with less weight because …. [indistinct mumbling]). Some people simply threw their bags onto their shoulders and trundled off. Others lashed sandbags to their rucks with duct tape before waddling away. No matter how I tried to situate those bags it was simply too much weight for me to bear. The ruck plus the two sandbags added up to roughly my entire body weight and I could only manage a few awkward steps at a time before collapsing in a miserable heap. I simply was not strong enough.
I watched the ghostly parade of lights filter away in front of me while trying to devise some method of moving all that mass. It was clearly impossible to carry everything with me. By the time I had decided it wasn't even worth trying there were only a handful of lights left behind me. Who was I kidding? I was too weak, unprepared, inexperienced to succeed at this. Clearly, the quickest way for me to get everything back to base camp on the far side of 1.7 miles of muddy road would be to make multiple trips. Making a time cutoff with two trips seemed impossible, but the only alternative was a single, infinitely slower trip a few steps at a time.
The decision had already been made. It was not about beating some arbitrary time or proving that I was better than anyone else. It was about doing the best I could. I had already decided that. The quickest way I would be able to accomplish this task was hauling bags one at a time. Twice the distance, half the burden. I dropped one of my sandbags on the side of the road. My headlamp happened to have blinky (a red light that blinks periodically meant to be highly visible to others as opposed to providing illumination for me to see) that could be detached. I left that on top of the sandbag I'd be leaving behind and tottered off with my ruck on my back and a sandbag hugged to my chest. It was a long, depressing walk back. The entire way I had come to a peace with the fact that I would miss the cutoff time. Clearly, it was impossible, but I would still do my best.
At some point Cookie must have asked others who had already completed their rounds to get back on the trail to assist others. About 100 yards from camp someone came out of the darkness and offered to carry my ruck and lone sandbag back to camp. It was a metaphorical and literal weight off my shoulders to receive help. After a quick thanks I turned and ran as fast as I could manage back to the quarry where my other sandbag still lay on the ground. It is hard to convey how great it felt to be free of the extra weight and move with relative agility and speed along the fire road. It didn't matter than I had already failed, I still wanted to get it done as fast as possible.
Without the ruck on my shoulders the second traverse with a lonely sandbag was much quicker. I was surprised to even pass a few people still on the trail. It looked like a few had fallen with twisted knees and ankles; they would be pulled from the event due to injury. "At least I'm not failing alone," I thought as I trotted into camp. As I dropped my sandbag in resignation I expected to hear how many minutes (hours?) had passed since the time cutoff. Instead, Cookie informed me that my mysterious helper was the fabulous cheerleader Rachel and suggested I thank her for making sure I got back on time.
Despite promising myself to put my emotions into a proverbial box for those 24 hours it was impossible not to feel incredible relief as I wrapped my arms around Rachel's neck mumbling incoherently about how she had clearly saved me. I was sure of my place as the fittest weak guy, or maybe the weakest fit guy, at the event. The incident also reinforced that no single individual could expect to last all 24 hours on their own grit and determination.
We had about 20 minutes to recuperate before embarking on our next task. I sat next to a campfire the crew had started and used a breathing technique to try to calm my nerves. Hauling a cumbersome set of bleachers and two excruciatingly heavy sandbags across that trail had filled my system with adrenalin and cortisol. In other words, it was extremely stressful. That might be good for a sprint, but not for the long haul. Taking in short breaths and exhaling very slowly (think of a meditating monk taking a deep breath and chanting "ohmm", except I forewent any mantra and stayed silent) a few times helps clear cortisol from the system abating stress. It was a technique I returned to any time I had a few minutes at base camp to grab a drink and something to eat.
I am convinced that our next objective was meant to be a reprieve more than anything else. Once again, we were tasked with traveling to the far end of the fire road. This time we were to fill cooking pots with water from a specific mud puddle and return with as much liquid as possible. It was a gift to learn we were allowed to leave our rucks at base camp. Continuing with the opaque limits, we had an unknown time limit to gather an unknown amount of water. I believe this task was meant to challenge us in a different way, but I found it a nice chance to relax and get to better know my teammates.
The reprieve was short lived. Shortly after my third trip to deposit water into the bucket Cookie announced we had succeeded in his low key manner I had grown to expect. Next up was another pair of sandbags from the quarry. Cookie announced the rucks could stay at base camp. And repeated that carrying rucks was optional. And reiterated that we were free to do whatever we wanted with our rucks. Just to make sure no one missed the hint he mentioned he was hinting at something.
A few people took off immediately with only their headlamps and cooking pots which they used to fill their sandbags. Given the difficult time I had previously with the sandbags I took a moment to strategize. Instead of trying to muscle my way through I emptied out the main compartment of my ruck, then took off at a run as fast as I felt I could comfortably maintain. Even though I had been one of the last to leave base camp I ended up being the second person to reach the quarry. Did I mention I was the fittest weak guy there? I wanted to make up time where I could since the trip back was sure to be much slower.
As mentioned, others employed their water-carrying pots to fill sandbags, but I found simply sweeping gravel in with my arms was fairly efficient. To each their own. After filling my sandbags I wrestled one into my ruck, firmly locked the other sandbag in a bear hug and began the long waddle back to camp. I was astounded to find that I was the third person to arrive with more than an hour to spare. That was even enough time to take a nap by the fire! Wow! It turned out having a little room to strategize could make a lot of difference.
So I snoozed. People started strolling in taking seats around the fire. It was really pleasant. What a change. It turns out that even Hurricane Heats aren't entirely punishment. One thing to remember is that every Hurricane Heat is a team event regardless of how individual the challenges are. As the time cut off approached Cookie and Special K asked everyone who was feeling up to it to head back out onto the trail to assist the stragglers. Of course. Why not? I was rested. I like helping people. A few of us jogged off into the darkness.
A few of us jogged down the fire road looking for the four people still struggling in the dark. The official cutoff time had already elapsed so we were simply trying to make sure everyone arrived safely back to camp. A few hundred yards down the road I turned a corner and spotted a bobbing headlamp headed my way. "Oy, this guy is not going to like the news I have," I thought as I approached. My jaw dropped when I saw who it was walking my way; it was one of the last people I expected to see still on the trail after the cutoff.
Since that walk back to camp is his story more than my own I won't go into too many details here. I offered to help carry some weight and mentioned the elapsed time, but it was clear that it was his weight to bear. He was getting himself and his weight back to camp under his own power. It was clear the only help I could truly give was to offer my ears to listen on the long, dark walk back to camp. This was a real lesson in differentiating between doing everything I could to help and providing the most effective help to those in need. Sometimes trying to do more only makes things worse. Of every task we undertook in those 24 hours simply walking, listening, and not insisting on doing any more was one of the most challenging parts of the day.
Back at camp we found that five individuals had missed the official cutoff, but would be allowed to continue if they wished to be unofficial finishers. They got the chance to experience all the burpees, all the sandbags, all the mud and cold, and they'd receive none of the finisher's medals or shirts. I could not say with confidence what I would have done in their shoes, but every one of them decided to stick it out to the end. Ever need a good example of showing real grit? Look no further than those guys.
Luckily, it was time to relax next to the fire. Our next task was to boil some water and eat dehydrated meals we had brought with us. Yet another example of comradery and kinship present in a Hurricane Heat. The dark mood immediately lightened as we did our best to arrange 28 pots of water on our campfire. It does not matter who you are, gathering around a warm campfire on a dark night simply makes you feel warm and cozy inside.
Before this event Cookie had mentioned we should think about what we might be doing with dehydrated meals and strategically choose what to bring. We would be eating them, of course, and we would be very active so it makes sense to get as many calories in as possible. Right? Right..? Since we also brought our own nutrition on the side I was not buying it. Instead, I opted to find a smaller, lighter meal that wouldn't sit too heavily in my stomach. When our next activity was announced I was very glad to have avoided anything too heavy or calorie dense.
What is the first thing you think of when you think of Spartan Race? What is the currency of Spartan Race? Burpees, of course! We had been at it for almost 12 hours and had yet to do a single burpee and that was about to change. The plan was to spend the next 75 minutes doing burpees in perfect synchronization. In a rare show of compassion Cookie had pity on us and awarded our alacrity with the previous challenges by reducing it to 30 minutes. I also suspect the coaches anticipated watching us wriggle and bounce around for over an hour would be horribly boring for them.
Nick stepped up to keep everyone synchronized while we all counted off our progress. Despite the relatively light meal I had at our campfire the bouncing up and down still caused me to belch up some of the contents of my stomach. Oddly, I was not feeling particularly fatigued or out of breath or under much physical duress. Feeling the contents of my stomach in the back of my throat was a complete surprise. Despite the minimalist nutrition plan I may have eaten too much immediately beforehand. I am glad to say I was able to keep everything in.
Dawn and a Change of Pace
After our burpees interlude Cookie threw yet another curve ball of a challenge. Our task was to break up into groups of four and find several suitable sticks of certain dimensions. The sun had fully risen and we could hear distant music booming from the race festival area as they were winding up for the elite race at 7:30am. It was around this time that it occurred to me that I would have already been done if I had signed up for the HH12HR, but we would continue gallivanting around this equestrian park for the entire duration of the Spartan Race that was just beginning. Once again, I simply put any emotions, positive or negative, into my proverbial lockbox for the time being.
Instead of worrying about the time of day we split up into teams of four to find adequate sticks. It was only after we had returned that we found we would be constructing makeshift stretchers. As expected, the purpose of the stretchers remained mysterious. Being kept in the dark about the future was a blessing and a curse; on one hand it could create a sense of anxiety like I had experienced in believing I had failed the first sandbag carrying event, but it also allowed us to give 100% of our focus on what we were doing at that very moment without giving any brain-time to what we would be tackling next.
My group was doing our best to create a functional stretcher, but we were clearly out of our element. We were meant to lash four sticks together to create a roughly 2' x 6' litter with a cross-hatched net constructed of paracord. No one was terribly confident in our knot tying abilities so we asked for some oversight from another team that had finished more quickly. One of our group, Tessa, had some extra cordage and rubber straps that we were able to utilize to improve the structural integrity of our stretcher. Once finished we carried our stretchers to, where else, the quarry at the far end of the fire road.
Along the way it was clear that Tessa was running on empty. At the time there was not much the other three of us could do to lighten the load, but she stuck it out until we arrived at the pile of gravel. It did not take a psychic to know what was coming next; we each filled up two more sandbags, loaded them on the stretchers, turned around, and headed back to base camp.
It is important to note that we had been awake and pursuing strenuous activity for about 15 hours at this point. We were physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. No one was feeling up for the equivalent of bearing the weight of two more sandbags, plus our full rucks, all the way back to camp. Frankly, we were surprised that our ramshackle stretcher was even able to stay together when loaded with 200-250 pounds of sandbags. We were only able to make it a few steps before Tessa cried uncle and we dropped the stretcher on the ground. I am a little ashamed to admit that I was glad someone else had insisted we stop before me.
While the team convened and strategized I took a moment to wrap the corners of our stretcher, where each stick crossed another, with several turns of duct tape. It turns out duct tape doesn't stick to wood at all, but wrapping it entirely around the corners seemed to help because the tape could stick to itself. We also discussed our carrying strategy. Our weak point was our hands; holding onto something so heavy is strenuous enough, but the awkward grip of the tree bark made it exponentially worse. We contemplated different strategies while agreeing to carry the stretcher 10-20 yards at a time simply to ensure we were make some progress. After a few efforts we decided to try hoisting the stretcher over our heads to carry it on our shoulders. It was awkward and difficult, but we managed to lift it over our heads and we rested the cross-sticks on our shoulders. There was no question it was easier to carry, but it took a Herculean effort get it situated on our shoulders. There was only one team slower than us previously, but we were suddenly leading the entire pack!
We were all still incredibly tired. Hoisting the stretcher onto our shoulders was extremely awkward, extremely difficult. I wasn't sure we would be able to do it again, and we were clearly only going to be able to make it about 100 yards at a stretch. Despite our determination the team needed to stop for a rest. Tessa looked ready to quit, completely and absolutely. Not just with the stretcher, but with the whole ordeal. Our other two team mates expressed similar sentiments. Despite my spirit to continue, my body was broken and too tired to continue. We agreed we needed to stop to catch our breath and perhaps break for a good cry.
The hardest part of our strategy was getting the stretcher up onto our shoulders. Or so we thought. It turned out to be even more difficult to get it off our shoulders without haphazardly dropping it. We were all struggling and wriggling and straining to get our handles over our heads. I glanced over my shoulder at Tessa to see if she needed a hand, but she simply turned around and her corner of the stretcher fell into her hands. "Holy smokes!" I thought, "We just need to pick it up facing the wrong way, then each of us rotate in place to get our handles on our shoulders! We don't even need to hoist it over our heads." Despite physically being the weakest of the four of us, Tessa ended up being the hero of our group. The extra lashing material and accidentally stumbling upon the best way to pick up and carry the load made her invaluable. It just goes to show that no one should ever be discounted on a team.
It was still absurdly heavy. It turned out too many teams were having too much trouble, and some stretchers had even collapsed with the load. Word came up the line that we were to empty half our sandbags to lighten the load. It came as great news since we had only managed to travel about 200 yards in 20 minutes. With the newly lightened load, our unusual carrying method, and a great deal of grit and determination we slogged our way back toward camp. Our destination ended up being a few hundred yards away from camp where we ditched our stretchers and made a pile of our sandbags. I started to wonder what we would be doing with all those sandbags we had lovingly filled with ballast.
As everyone trickled into camp we gathered around the campfire to await our next instruction. One aspect of this HH24HR I had taken for granted up to this point was Cookie's stoicism. He had remained matter-of-fact and implacable despite managing 28 of the 33 individuals we began with. Now he looked as haggard as I felt. We all gathered around and when Cookie finally raised his head to address the group he simply nodded to someone behind us. We all turned and were introduced to Kyoul.
Introducing Kyoul and Learning to Walk
Kyoul had lead the HH12HR which had recently finished and would be taking over for Cookie. I'm not one to make assumptions, except when I do, so I assumed Cookie was spent and needed some time to recuperate. Along with whatever challenge Kyoul was bringing to the table we would need to learn to work with a new leader.
Before heading out I asked Special K about Kyoul in case there was anything to be wary of. Calm, rigorous, just like Cookie, but he wouldn't hesitate to let his disappointment be known if anyone failed to accomplish a task up to his standards. Right, file that away for future consideration, and thanks Special K for the heads up.
Kyoul introduced himself as a hotshot, a member of a fire crew specializing in suppressing wilderness fires. He would be teaching us to use a compass for basic navigation and how to grid out as a group to search an area. Step one was to learn to walk in a consistent manner in order to accurately measure one chain (66 feet) of distance. I made a joke to one of my comrades about how I was an expert at measuring distance with steps already since I had seven years of marching band experience from middle and high school, thus instantly earning my nickname "marching band". Fair enough, I've been called worse.
After getting a primer on distancing, finding true north (as opposed to magnetic north) with a compass, and gridding we set out as a group to find a series of markers hidden around the area. At each marker we were given a bearing and distance to follow to get to the next marker. It would be easy to say that this was an easier task than previous ones, but sleep deprivation and exhaustion were catching up with us. My mind was in a fog; it took intense concentration to try to spot the telltale orange tape representing each new marker.
One marker took us by the spear throw on the race course, and what would a Spartan event be without hurling at least one spear? Each individual took a turn at the spear with a promise of 30 burpees for everyone for each person that missed. That meant that if a single person missed we would all be doing 30 burpees. There was a collective groan as spear after spear failed to hit its mark. When I stepped up I mumbled my usual pre-spear mantra ("guaranteed burpees"), reached as far back as possible, carefully aimed wildly high and to the right, and flung my whole body forward to get as much force behind the spear as possible. My technique would look more appropriate for throwing a javelin, but I have never claimed to be particularly good at the spear throw. That is why it was such a surprise when the spear landed solidly in the lower left-hand corner of the hay bale. After the obligatory celebration dance I took my place back in line. By the time it was done I estimated we all owed Kyoul roughly 450 burpees. "Worry about burpees later. Worry about navigation now," I thought to myself. Kyoul had yelled for "marching band" to take the lead so I needed to concentrate on calculating declinations and counting footfalls.
Out of all the challenges, I felt like learning to use a compass may have been the most practical bit of experience I took away from the HH24HR. Compasses are almost ubiquitous, but few know how to use them to differentiate between true north and magnetic north. There was more to it than I had previously assumed. Wandering around looking for markers was not nearly as physically punishing as most of our previous challenges, nor would I put it in the "funishment" category most people use to describe Hurricane Heat events. It was just plain fun, like a scavenger hunt you would have at a picnic or group camping trip. For that reason, the two hours we spent with Kyoul turned out to be a great time, even if we received a haranguing for missing our final marker and a promise of more burpees than anyone cared to do.
After the navigation exercise, we reconnoitered back at camp to learn what would be done with the gigantic pile of sandbags we had accumulated. Some of the HH12HR finishers also met us there with a load of donuts. No tricks, nothing clever, just donuts for everyone. Most of the group rushed in to grab one or two, but I decided to stick with the slow carbs and UCAN bars. We may have been nearing the end of our 24 hours, but there was still enough time left that I didn't want to risk a sugar high and sugar crash. So far the minimalist nutrition approach had kept my stomach feeling great, my energy levels steady, and my hunger at bay (occasionally swallowing ~20 amino acid capsules may have helped with the latter) so there was no need to change anything up.
What about the sandbags? There were certainly plenty of sandbags. The crew made sure they wouldn't go to waste. Instead of some oddball challenge, it turned out the plan was to construct a hut using the sandbags as walls and our makeshift stretchers as roofing material. The idea was to make a shelter that would become part of the natural surroundings and could be used by wildlife.
At that point I was beginning to feel extremely drowsy and the idea of cramming more caffeine into my system intuitively felt like a bad idea. Falling asleep on my feet also seemed like a bad idea so I forced myself to swallow my 6th caffeine tablet of the day. My body was screaming at me that it needed real sleep. The jolt of caffeine was not welcome; a half hour after taking it my heart was racing and I started feeling extremely spaced out. Special K noticed and asked if it was an anxiety attack. In retrospect, that was exactly what it felt like, but this was self-induced and passed before too long. Give how my body reacted to the caffeine I made a pact with myself that it would be the last I would take before getting some actual sleep.
Even in the depths of a Hurricane Heat it was great to take time to do something with a tangible benefit instead of being difficult for the sake of being difficult. Once our small building was complete we covered it with moss, sticks, and other forest refuse so it would eventually meld into the surrounding scenery. We were all proud of our makeshift hovel. There was a feeling of companionship among everyone as we recognized our time as a team would be coming to an end before too long.
However, it was not over yet. Kyoul reminded us we owed him a truck load of burpees. How could we forget? Except, as mentioned previously, doing burpees would be exceedingly simple for us and horribly boring for the crew to watch. Our sentence was reduced to a series of perfectly synchronized exercises based on each part of the burpee (e.g. a set of squats, then a series of movements from a squat to a plank position, then a set of pushups, and so forth). Besides, it we attempted to completes hundreds of burpees I expect it would have soaked up the remaining time and Cookie would not get to have his final bit of fun with us.
With Kyoul appeased we lined up and disembarked across the field. This time there were no obstacles. I was curious where we were headed. A few Hurricane Heat veterans had already guessed. Cookie mentioned that the group had yet to get soaking wet and we had little time to change that. I grimaced when I saw the running river and surmised what was coming next.
"Into the water. Everyone out to the island," Cookie announced in his mild-mannered way indicating an island in the middle of the river. We waded through waist deep water, the stronger team members keeping an eye on some of those who looked more worn down to make sure no one was swept away from the current. When the water hit my skin a thermometer appeared in my imagination jumping between 55 and 59 degrees. Quantifying the suck is one of the coping mechanisms I have developed from my experience with open water swimming. For those who have never experienced open water consider that heated pools, the ones that feel chilly when you first jump in, are heated between 80 and 84 degrees. Water that is in the mid-50's feel significantly colder than air of the same temperature because heat leaves the body much more rapidly through a liquid medium (i.e. water) than a gaseous medium (i.e. air). The same principle applies to heating things like cooking; this is why it takes about six minutes to deep fry chicken in liquid oil, but 45 minutes to bake in the oven.
This is all to say that 55 degree water is unpleasant. Extremely unpleasant. Like a slap in the face or putting your hand on a hot stove kind of unpleasant.
With everyone sufficiently freezing, our next task was to move a fallen tree that was waterlogged between the island and the edge of the river. I assume Cookie did not want the next person who wanted to get to the island to get wet. I am not sure if that was kind of him to think of others or cruel of him to induce hypothermia in all of us.
In either case, once the log was in place Cookie got us in a grid formation in some shallows for, what else, burpees in the water. At this point my hands and feet had gone completely numb. The blood had drained from my fingers and I could feel the paralysis of my muscles traveling up my forearms. Raynaud's phenomenon. Put that in your internet search engine. It would be difficult to describe how it feels to become so completely helpless this close to the end of the journey. I would not have had the strength to grasp a door handle let alone carry a sandbag at that point.
Luckily, burpees require absolutely no manual dexterity. My hands could remain useless, flapping paddles at the end of my arms. "24 for 24 hours," Cookie announced.
Nick took his place in front of the class one last time and shouted "Down!" to signal the start of the first repetition. There was a collective shout of pain and horror as everyone plunged their torso and faces into the freezing water. A few managed to return a weak "One!" to keep track of our reps.
"Down!" Once more we dropped to the river bed. There was a tightness in my chest as the last part of my body that was somewhat dry was enveloped in the cold. I gritted my teeth and remained silent as we plunged into the water a third, fourth, fifth time. There's something to be said for understanding and anticipating pain. I have received three DNF's ("did not finish") in my race career and each time was caused by exposure to cold water in triathlons. My experience does not make cold water any less painful. It simply means managing the suck is a little easier. We kept moving inexorably toward our goal.
"One more! For twenty-four hours! For all the pain and suffering! For the glory! Down!" One last burpee. Perhaps Nick was being a little melodramatic at that point, but I can't blame him. Those in the group that had level enough heads to keep count jumped up and shouted "24!" in triumph. That was it. We crawled up the river bank knowing we had beaten the HH24HR.
Except we weren't done yet. The only benefit of jumping in the river was that it cleared away most of the mud and dirt from our clothes. Cookie was not about the let us off that easily. He stopped us on our march back to base camp and ordered everyone to lay in the grass field that had served as a parking lot for the race venue. The same grass field that had been torn up and turned into a giant mud pit by countless sets of car tires.
"Start rolling." There was no specified destination, just a direction. My mind was a fog, similar to feeling drunk. My body was shutting down from the cold and exhaustion. I was not shivering. All of this added up to moderate or severe hypothermia. A few minutes of rolling made me glad to have skipped the donuts. That was the first and only time in the 24-hour event I pulled out an energy gel I was keeping in my pocket for an emergency and sucked it down. Those fast acting sugars and carbs forced some energy into my failing limbs and cleared my head just enough to focus on which way to keep moving.
"How long will we keep this up?" I wondered to myself. Moments later Cookie called to everyone to stand up. He announced we were done. For real this time. After all the false finishes and with my compromised state of mind it felt almost anticlimactic.
We formed a line and drunkenly staggered in the direction of base camp. Cookie asked the group if there was anyone who wasn't familiar with the warrior's ethos. It would not do to forego humility at this point so I raised my hand while staring fixedly at the ground in front of my toes. Seriously, the ground would not stop moving around so staying upright required a great deal of concentration. It also meant that I did not notice that my hand was the only one that was in the air.
"Perhaps someone could fill in the one with his hand up as to what the warrior's ethos is," Cookie announced. There were a few chuckles and I grinned at the slight. It might have been the kind of incident I would have been embarrassed about earlier in my life, but humbly admitting ignorance is no longer the kind of thing I would be ashamed us. Besides, lightening the mood of others makes me feel good, even if it is at my expense.
We gathered back at camp to receive our finisher's medals and t-shirts. The weight of what we had accomplished started to settle in as Cookie said a few heartfelt words to the group. Kyoul, Special K, and another crew member named BJ who had been present the entire time stood in front of the group offering their congratulations. There were hugs and shaking hands and tears of joy from some. I was mainly concerned with getting back to the campfire as soon as possible to try to raise my body temperature back to a decent range.
Reflections and Aftermath
Everyone who was present received a dog tag, t-shirt, a small metal wedge, and a patch to sew onto a garment. After a harrowing event like the HH24HR the minimalist awards seemed appropriate. It was much more about the experience than what we received afterward. Cookie and Kyoul decided that even the handful of individuals that had missed the cutoff during the second sandbag haul would be considered official finishers. Someone out there may believe doing so would diminish the accomplishment for everyone else, but no one who participated in the HH24HR, either as a participant or as part of the crew, felt that was the case. Every single person accomplished something great that day, and every person deserved to be recognized for it.
Was it the most difficult thing I have ever done? No. It was difficult. I am sure some others would say it was the most difficult thing they had ever accomplished. It is certainly up there, but there are a handful of previous ordeals that still rank a little higher.
Would I do it again? No. Maybe. With the right motivation I might. As of the writing of this it does not matter since it appears that the Seattle HH24HR will be the only 24 hour Hurricane Heat event Spartan hosts. The pain and suffering from an event tends to fade faster than the feelings of glory and accomplishment. Ask me again in a year and my answer will likely change.
What would I have done differently? My training for this event closely mirrored training for a Spartan race, except that there was a heavier emphasis on aerobic training and less emphasis on strength training. One aspect of strength that I have never trained is an overhead press. This would have been extremely useful for the bleacher carry, the stretcher exercise, and hoisting sandbags onto my shoulders.
There was much more heavy carrying involved than I had anticipated. Despite the time I spent wearing weighted vests I would have benefitted from practicing farmer's walks with large weights. Combining a farmer's walk with awkward weights like sandbells would have helped with grip strength and staying upright with awkwardly encumbered as well.
What went right? For any event lasting longer than 90 minutes I will continue to espouse the benefit of slower carbohydrate based fueling over fast acting sugar and carbs. Spiking blood sugar may feel good at the moment, but it is taking a loan that the body will have to repay eventually. When you are moving for 10 hours or 24 hours or multiple days it is better to maintain even energy instead of riding the highs and lows of fluctuating blood sugar.
I also made use of my favorite brand of base layer, GHUnders, to great effect. The only chaffing I had on my upper body was on my shoulders from the huge weight of those bleachers. Likewise, the only chafing on my legs was a small part of my thighs in the gap between my GHUnders shorts and my knee pads.
Dehydration post event was the most pronounced physical toll I had taken. It took several days of carrying around a gallon jug of water and filling up on electrolytes before I started to feel normal again. Muscle fatigue and DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) were not as bad as one might expect. My hips and quads got the worst of it, but even then it was comparable to a day of heavy squatting at the gym. It took almost a week before my shoulders started feeling normal again, but this was due more to acute blunt trauma from the bleachers than anything else.
The Spartan Hurricane Heat 24 Hour was unlike any other event or race I have ever participated in. It required a unique combination of physical strength, mental toughness, interpersonal awareness, and determination. Completing on one's own strength, physically and otherwise, would have been impossible. Each individual needed to be strong, but also rely on those around them for support.
For each person it was certainly a different experience. Even our leaders, Cookie and Kyoul, showed amazing perseverance that day. BJ was a frequent companion to anyone who needed an extra bit of encouragement and I like to think Special K had kept an eye on me to make sure I did not mess up too badly at any point. Nick demonstrated being a leader and a peer at the same time. Adam and Tessa showed true grit when the going was tough and stuck with the challenge long after others would have thrown in the towel. Jazmin, Dave, and Zane made it looks easy. Rachel was awesome, and determined to look sparkly and fabulous the entire day. I would list every person that was part of the event, but there simply is not room in my head to keep track of them all.
Every person came to the event with their own story, their own motivation for being there. Some simply wanted to add another feather to their cap. Others wanted to prove to themselves that they were greater than a simple list of adjectives and attributes. I saw this as an opportunity to push myself to a new limit in a way that I had never experienced before. I have accomplished great physical feats (have you heard of this company called Ironman?), but this was a different experience altogether. It would be difficult to imagine taking such a task with a better, more driven group of individuals, each of whom are great in their own unique way.
