I unintentionally pitchfork a clod of manure into my mouth. Sputtering—it tastes like brussels sprouts and farts—I spit it out, finish loading the wheelbarrow with dung, drag it out of the barn, and start running and rolling across the field. This is my 14th round-trip, and I'm being timed; each circuit has to be quicker than the last or they start adding laps. I race past the timekeeper, dump the manure at a compost pile, and head back to the barn.
It's June 26, I'm 17 hours into the Death Race, and, all in all, I'm still feeling pretty strong. A barbwire gash on my head has coated one side of my face with blood, but as I told the medic in my best Monty Python falsetto, "It's a mere flesh wound." My back no longer feels as if the vertebrae are being crushed, but the pain in my knees is definitely worse. It's not raining (at the moment), and my one-person pit crew—stalwart wife, Sue—is running alongside me, pushing peach slices into my slack-jawed mouth. I know I can finish this race. What I don't know is that this is the last time I'll feel good for a month.
I fill the wheelbarrow again and sprint across the hayfield, shit flying. En route, I pass Stefanie Bishop, 27, the fastest woman in the event. She's practically skipping behind her wheelbarrow, turd-flecked blond hair bouncing. At age 51, I'm grimacing, huffing like a horse, while Bishop, halfway into her laps, effortlessly gives me a broad smile and shouts, "Yeah! Go get 'em!" It's twisted. The girl's some kind of superhero.
The next task turns out to be a pond swim. (In the Death Race, you never know what each new challenge will be.) I've been ordered to count out 1,250 pennies and put $5 worth in a plastic bag. After running straight through the night lugging ungodly heavy objects, sitting in the grass counting coins sounds almost pleasant. Except I'm so exhausted that my mind's malfunctioning. I keep miscounting. By the time I get 500 pennies into the bag, the Vermont weather has changed its mind. It's drizzling and I'm shivering.
I stand on the edge of the dimpled pond and watch as the bag of pennies, plus two bags of rocks thrown in as decoys, sink into the chilly water. My job is to go in and retrieve the pennies. Bishop got ahead of me during the counting, and I watch her perform this task with ease—diving in, bobbing back up with the correct bag, and then tearing off for the next mission.
I slide into the water, nuts shriveling, heart momentarily halted by the shocking cold, swim out to where I think the bag sank, and go down. I try feeling my way around in the foot-deep mud but find nothing. I surface for air and then, like a duck, flip ass end up and dive again. I do this five times, holding my breath as long as I can, blindly groping in the billowing muck, and still I don't find the damn pennies. Ten times—no pennies. Fifteen times—no pennies. By now my lips are blue, chest constricted, joints rigid, jaw so stiff I can no longer speak. I'm reaching the point of hypothermia but refuse to give up.
That's always been my problem, of course. I've viewed DNF-ing a race as a fate worse than injury, so I've straggled in with broken bones on more than one occasion. Not reaching the summit of a mountain kills me, so I've almost died trying a dozen times, returning with frostbite or torn tendons or a triple hernia.
Obviously, I don't know when it's time to say uncle. But I have a sick feeling that this race may teach me when it's time to scream it.
Comments
Amazing article and amazing race! I'm in for 2012, it's my main goal in life at this point. I'm going to spend 2011 training... a few ultra marathons and a lot of strength. I'd like to do 2011, but i'd rather go into 12 ready.
Flag ThisMark, I really enjoyed this well-written and thought-provoking article. I wondered what happened to you, as you were going gangbusters with the wheelbarrow and I never saw you after that. I hope your knees and IT bands are rehabbed and you are back to cranking hard, but not destructively so. I am signed up for more pleasant punishment in 2011 and every workout I do is done with it in mind.
Flag ThisIncredible...writing and experience
Flag ThisBest article I've read about the Death Race so far! Congrats on showing up, racing, and stepping outside of yourself. Your description of the mental battles going on in your head is exquisitely written and insightful. Thank you! I'm signed up for 2011 and can't wait. I'm going to stick with Crossfit mainsite and midnight landscaping projects for training for this thing. I love having no clue of what to expect. Not knowing helps to take some of the anxiety out of training.
Flag ThisGreat article. As someone on the scene, I saw some of the competitors use their post hole diggers as makeshift ovens to cook their onions to make them more palatable.
Flag ThisMark you have successfully made me feel like a complete wimp.
Flag ThisThe recruit obstacle course at Royal Roads Military College in Victoria Canada was like that, but shorter at about 2 hours and much more team-oriented. We had no idea what was next and had to blindly trust that each obstacle was safe. We all got soaking wet, and sand in our runners within the first 5 minutes, so our feet were raw and we were shaking uncontrollably by 30 minutes in. But we coalesced as a team and each fought through our own pain. Congrats to you for sticking with for 19 hours!
Flag Thisgreat article! i wish Outside could bring back Mark and the Hard Way. always my favorite part of every issue.
Flag ThisI really enjoyed the article. Sounds like a hoot. I am training every weekend with a wheelbarrow in Snoqualmie Pass, WA trying to beat the snow. I am guessing that the winter version of this race would be a bugger. They probably make you construct an igloo and eat onions in it.
Flag ThisI really enjoyed reading the article about the Death Race. Mark Jenkins is one part physical phenom, one part madman. Kudos to him for pushing himself through exercise. Not to be rude, but I thought the Figure 1C shot of him in the barbed wire looked less like Laocoon and more like Vincent D'Onofrio's character in Men in Black. Both very attractive men who were temporarily disfigured by their circumstances. Sincerely your faithful reader, Kay
Flag ThisAs one of the finishers in 2010 (17th out of 19), I can attest that your article is spot on. I went delerious at 2am leaving the Onion Shack. Screamed at one co-racer (I apoligized later) and thought another co-racer was a vampire, all while we were on the wrong trail in the roughest steepest terrain possible. Physically there were times where every step you took made your muscles burn like fire. I'm signed up for 2011 and this time, no more delerium! Kudos to you Mark!
Flag ThisIt is great to have Mark Jenkins back. Nobody knows how to tell a tale like him, specially when it comes to mixing up suffering and humor. Wellcome back Mark, we're missing you.
Flag ThisMark, your article is great from the perioeci point of view. Great actually up untill you dropped out of the last 1/2?,1/4 ? part. You owe Outside Mag and Outside Mag owes its readers the full story. To use language like, "run up and down a mountain", "paddle down a river" and "straggling in" truely miss the hoplites point of view. Mr Jenkins and Outside Magazine , You are conspicuosly absent from the 2011 list of participants.
Flag This