Selected as one of the NBA’s greatest photos, this 20-year old image of Dennis Rodman has always fascinated me.    

The single-mindedness on display here is simply staggering. There were no other players around him to throw the ball to even if he was somehow able to capture it. It was not game 7 of the NBA finals nor was it even a playoff game. It was early May and the 53-7 Bulls were playing a .500 Pacers club in a run-of-the-mill regular season game. 

Rodman clearly had not completed a risk/reward analysis and you could argue even that it was not a smart play, risking injury, for a single rebound this late in the season. He isn’t thinking about anything except getting the ball. 

There are certainly times when we need to engage our brains during our athletic endeavors (land navigation, for instance) but there is something beautiful and important to be learned when watching an athlete reduce themselves to a single-purpose machine that rebounds (or runs or carries or rucks). Being able to focus on the single task at hand is what allows us to block out pain, doubts, impending time hacks or whatever other horror is ahead. 

One of my teammates is taking on his first Spartan Ultra Beast and asked me about planning for the transition area. While I have only one Ultra Beast under my belt, I think I handled the first one exceptionally well. So I’m going to declare myself an expert on Ultra Beast transition area planning and execution and share what I know.

The Container

First thing you will want to do is select an opaque, medium-sized, plastic box to put your stuff in. If you are thinking about a box with wheels then you are probably picturing something too big. If you think you’ll need help carrying it–again, too big. Maybe something in the 10 to 20 gallon capacity range.

The container needs to be waterproof since weather could be an issue and you won’t want to go into the transition area to change out of wet clothes and into wet clothes. Your transition box is also going to be sitting in a taped-off section that may not be as secure as you would hope it would be. Therefore, it will be best to stick with an opaque box. No sense advertising to the world that your box contains a $250 Lenser headlamp.   I’ve never heard of anything being stolen from a transition box but there’s no sense you becoming the first victim. Your transition box should have your name on it, a phone number, and something to make it easy to find among the rows of other plastic bins. I spray painted mine neon yellow for easy identification.

The Contents

Everything breaks. Plan for it to be a shit-show and then maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised if it doesn’t turn out as bad as you expected. Some types of equipment failures will result in you being removed from the course. For example, if your one and only headlamp fails, you are done for the night. I once had that happen before an event even started. Had another racer not offered me their spare, I would have been completely screwed. Two is one and one is none so have a spare of everything. A second CamelBak (or at least a replacement bladder) is great as well as spare batteries and a second headlamp. Last year my CamelBak leaked water onto my jacket for the first 5 hours, leaving me partially frozen until I swapped it out at the transition. A complete set of replacement clothes is smart too–shoes included. You may even want those spare shoes to have a little extra cushion and be a half size larger if your feet tend to swell or if they get tender after hours of stepping on rocky terrain.

The transition area is also going to be your best chance to take care of some minor medical issues as well as to apply some preventative care. If you want to reapply your sunblock and chapstick, this will be the spot. Pack your stuff for fixing any blisters and apply skin lube to your feet and other tender spots. I included an Ace bandage and an instant, single-use, ice pack in case I picked-up a sprain along the way. Pack any meds you might need—Advil, I’m looking at you!

Since you’ll mostly be living on gel packs, jerky, Shot Bloks, or other forms of so-called food, this is going to be your one chance to eat something that won’t fit in your CamelBak. Personally, I was craving Zingers. Make sure it’s something you’ve tested out in advance. This would be a bad time to experience your first taste of Ethiopian food if you aren’t already certain your stomach will love it. If it is cold then a thermos of hot coffee would be nice.

Keep an eye on weather reports in the days leading up to your event. These races are long and conditions change fast. At Tahoe last year I enjoyed the sun on lap one and a blizzard during lap two. Your transition box should contain clothing for weather related contingencies. I’m a big fan of chemical hand warmers and the Super Size Hot Hands were awesome. I didn’t even need gloves.

How to Transition

I wasn’t sure how clear-headed I would be at the transition so I taped a checklist of instructions to the lid of my container. The first instruction was to “MOVE WITH PURPOSE”. If, for example, you have some meds you need to take, then be sure you’ve got that as a checklist item. I also put some quotes on the lid that have provided inspiration to me in the past. But above all else, DO NOT get comfortable! You are going to be tired and you’ll see people sitting around talking with one another looking like they are about to start cooking s'mores over a campfire. Resist that siren song! If you rest you may not get back up again. Also, depending on the weather, if you stop moving for a minute or two your body temperature may plummet and you could end up getting pulled from the race for hypothermia. Besides, you do not know what is ahead. Despite whatever the advertised course cutoff time is, conditions change and the event may end earlier than advertised. That’s what happened in Tahoe in 2016 and I guarantee you there were some people who were pulled from the course, just missing the cut-off of being allowed to finish, who spent 30 minutes or more in the transition area. Don’t be that person.

I packed everything with the intention of moving quickly to my transition box, dropping my initial CamelBak into the box and wearing a pre-packed second CamelBak out of the transition area for my second lap. I stopped only long enough to eat my Zingers and switch those packs. I knelt for a moment but I never sat down and I was still chewing as I started lap two. Had I needed anything else out of the box, it was all neatly arranged in labeled ziplock bags. Note also that you won’t be allowed to get help from spectators. So no giving them gear or taking food or drink from them. You are on your own so plan well.

I just completed Ashley Seeger’s 4th “I AM A BADASS” 5-hour event and, as usual, had a fantastic time. We typically start with some P.T. and some teamwork challenges and this event began in much the same way.  In the past, the first teamwork challenge always involved hoisting a tractor tire onto our shoulders and then moving with purpose up into the hills. The smart teamwork move here is to rotate tired team members out from under the tire at intervals throughout the trek. Fresh team members jump in to relieve as needed, no single person gets exhausted and the load is efficiently moved. 

A new twist for this event was to move buckets of water, along with some awkward jump ropes and slam balls, up into the hills to a checkpoint within the allowed 30-minutes. This was a team timehack but each person would operate independently, carrying their fair share of water or extra gear or both. No longer operating as small teams orbiting around tractor tires, how would this giant team accomplish the task?

I can tell you how I have approached this challenge in the past. I would have done my best to up near the front, killing it. RAWWWRRRR! Must. Destroy. Challenge. Of course, after reaching the checkpoint I would still come back and help my team members still out on the trail. There’s nothing wrong with that approach--after all, it still benefits the team but I learned something new this time out.

It was an unexpected lesson but also one that is embarrassingly obvious to me now. What I discovered is that there are opportunities to lead that only occur at the back of the pack.

First off, when your team has a timehack (assuming no other parameters), the ONLY time that matters is the time of the last person to arrive at the checkpoint. Any effort spent to propel a middle-of-the-pack team member to the front won’t accomplish anything. Similarly, the front-runner pushing hard to arrive even earlier rarely produces a benefit. However, time spent with the slowest among your team goes straight to the bottom line--improving your team’s finish time.

Just in case one of my pals at the back of the pack reads this, know that I am absolutely NOT knocking you. We all have our strengths and weaknesses and depending on the task at hand and the makeup of the team, any of us might find ourselves the slowest team member at that particular moment. Challenge me to a crab walk race sometime and I’ll prove my point.

The back of the line is where I met people with the least experience at these types of events. The picture, above, is of Laura. She was carrying two buckets--both with cracks in them. Laura silently put up with the awkward load and was doing the best she could but the water was still draining away as the team advanced up the hill. Eventually, we ended up dumping her water in my bucket. (By the way, I’m not bragging about carrying a double load of water--CAW CAW! As soon as I had opportunity, I distributed some of that extra weight among other team members up ahead).  

At the back of the line I saw a lot of offers to carry packs and extra gear to lighten the load of team members who were struggling. I saw Ryan carrying two water buckets for long stretches during the first ascent. Someone even suggested that the bucket handles were wide enough for two people to share. Sure enough, that worked too. There was also plenty of encouragement being shared as the heat and the hills made many question their preparation and training.

All of this early teamwork paid off at the end of the night. It took four events to get to this point somehow everything clicked. We had a final timehack which involved the entire team getting themselves and their gear back to Marie Kerr Park by the deadline or suffer a horrible penalty. (The penalty last time was an agonizing elephant walk which I hope never to repeat.)

We set a timer and away we went. I noticed immediately that the team was running as a tight pack--no stragglers and no one sprinting ahead. We checked in frequently on the time remaining and were confident of the pace we set. We took shifts carrying the heavy gear, keeping it out of the hands of our more tired teammates. Our lines stretched a bit once we exited the trails but we arranged to re-group at the final traffic signal leading to the park, ensuring that we would cross the finish line as a team.

At the regroup point, I believe it was Brandon Grazer who suggested that the slowest team members from the most recent run should move to the front and set the pace. Brilliant! THEY would be the ones to lead us in. 

Time was short so Rachel Beardsley abruptly stepped off the curb and marched into the street with arms waving to stop traffic. The team followed and poured into the crosswalk. All extra equipment was now in the hands of those most able to carry them all the way to the end--there would be no time left to switch carriers mid-run. 

Our weary team members led us into the park at an impressive pace. You could see how much effort they were giving and it was the most inspiring thing I saw all night. Timekeeper Beardsley called out that we had less than two minutes remaining which resulted in a quick change of course. The flat dirt running path was instinctively abandoned to cut a direct line through the park towards our destination. We saw Ashley and the volunteers in the distance ahead. We knew it would be close and gave it one last push. We reached the finish line and were relieved to find that we had succeeded--and with 40 seconds to spare. Victory!

Looking back now, I wonder if our slower runners would have had enough energy for that final sprint if we had left them to struggle under excessive weight earlier in the night. Or if we had not earlier shown care and concern for them, would they still have even been willing to push themselves to the point of collapse to ensure the team’s success? Maybe instead they would have said “screw you guys” when we asked them to sprint for the finish.