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Asheville Spartan Super

Asheville Spartan.

It didn’t start off well.

We met up at 7:30am. And Rogue promptly crawled into the trunk of her car. While we waited for JC.

Sooooo how’s your plague doing?

Ok. Since Rogue was half-dead, JC was coming straight from working an overnight shift, and Tiny Brazilian’s feet wouldn’t touch the pedals of JC’s truck, I drove.

We managed to force some food into Rogue on our way through Statesville.

So that felt promising.

Rolled up into Spartan, and reconvened with my babies a solid 30 minutes before our start time.

Before hopping into the corral, my son taught TB some gangsta poses so we’d be prepared at the finish line.

Saw J-Vicious, B-Major, and the crew as we were waiting for our Spartan Speech Send off.

Where B-Major advised us to just cut out and not do this.

But we were so doing this.

So we were off.

And we started off strong.

My boy casually hopped the hay bales that the rest of us had to climb over.

No one in our group pussy rolled through the barbed wire. We army crawled through that mess like you’re s’posed to.

Handled the first several obstacles with no issues.

Then we got to the first wall. And here is where it all kind of starts to fall apart.

My son. My baby boy. My two days of induced labor damn near 9lb first born, threw me off of the wall.

For reals.

He earned my trust by offering his hand to boost me up the wall. Then, when he was standing at his full 6 foot something ridiculous height, threw my foot straight the hell up. Where upon I went flying backwards. Landing straight on my back.

We’ve been here before.


Our first Spartan.

Where the boy held me straight up over his head at the monkey bars. And then dropped me.

It’s cool. I’m a Spartan. Let’s try this again.

My Future DIL apologized for him after the race.

Rogue was starting to look a little peaked at this point. But she was still pushing right along.

And carrying folks through obstacles.

Because that’s what Spartans do when they’ve been too sick to eat or exercise or exist for an entire week.

She assisted TB through one of the monkey bar obstacles. And at the end, stepped away. So TB could drop down.

TB did not drop down.

She just hung there.


“You’re gonna have to drop down, baby.”

Rogue’s southern mama comes out extra in times of struggle.

When she realized that TB was not letting go, Rogue went back and pulled her down.

Saved her damn life.

Lots of water walking in this Spartan. During one of the stretches, there was a spider the size of my head just chillin on the bank watching us all trudge past. He may have been smoking a blunt. I’m not sure. He was just super chill.

My son, upon seeing him, was not super chill. He took off in a sprint. Which is not easy to do in waist-high water. Throwing women and small children out of his way. Until he was a good fifty feet past the spider.

So I guess this led to what happened at the sandbag carry. Maybe he felt the need to redeem himself. Maybe he’s just a dumbass. Maybe he’s just my child.

But while the rest of us were picking up our sandbags. Our ONE sandbag each. And trudging the fairly extensive loop around and back again.

This dumbass was hearing the words “the elites carry two.” And so…

Now, my phone was nearly drowned at this point. So you can’t hear me calling him a dumbass. But you may be able to see it on his face. The regret. Of being my child.

But when the dude at the end called him a damn elite, that was all he needed to make the pain disappear.

So. Much. My. Child.

Another water walk. And for reasons I cannot explain. I fell over. Just fell over. With force. Onto a sharp rock.

When I came back up out of the water and looked at my right thigh, it was dented.


The skin on my thigh was dented.

What in the actual…

And it stayed dented for a good ten minutes. Until the swelling started.

It’s now the size of a Volkswagen.

So that’s good.

By mile 7, Rogue was on her way down. A few miles back, she’d thought a banana might be a good idea.

It wasn’t.

I think maybe if she’d been able to throw up, she’d have been in a little better shape. But she didn’t. She just got paler. And shakier. With every mile.

Until, coming off one of the climbing obstacles, her leg cramped up.

She went straight to the ground. And I grabbed her calf and started massaging.

Now, I imagine to anyone not within visual range of this, it probably sounded fairly erotic.

But to anyone actually witnessing it, it was probably a little terrifying.

Because homegirl was laid the hell out, arms spread wide, not really screaming, but also not not screaming.

So when we got her back on her feet, she shifted into this kind of shuffle trot in an attempt to keep her right leg straight.

We made it through most of the obstacles. I spent a lot of time talking to my lord and savior Jesus Christ. Loudly. And kind of panicky. On the inverted climb. But you’ve never known terror until you take your 44 year old only mildly strong self onto some upside down monkey bars and try to hoist yourself up and over. At one point, I just wedged my foot in at a viciously awkward angle for some sense of security. I was fully prepared to sacrifice that bitch to keep from falling flat on my back. Again.

Once we hit the dunk wall, things had already gone pretty far off the rails. The wall was an inflatable. Which was probably good. Since Rogue came slamming face first into it. Which led me into fits of laughter. Until I saw the look on her face and the odd position she was in and realized that her foot was stuck in the mud a good two feet behind her. At a really bad angle. And Tiny Brazilian was also standing on it.

She got it out without it snapping in two.

But the image was already set in my brain.

So all I could see as I stood there with my right hand reaching under the wall to the other side was me getting halfway under the wall and my feet staying stuck in the mud on this side of the wall and me just running out of oxygen right there.

As I was standing there trying to decide if this was really how I wanted to go, I felt TB grab my hand from other side and start pulling.


Ok. I guess I’m doing this now.

Luckily she’s a forceful little thing. Because I just took a breath and put my life in her tiny little hand. And she pulled me right on through to the other side.

Where Future DIL was waiting with a jug of water for us to rinse the mud paste out of our eyes. And restore our vision.

By the end, we were pretty much done.

We stood around for a few minutes debating our fire jump pose.

I told y’all, there were only four things we needed to be prepared for. And this was one of them.

Screw it. Just run.

It won’t be excellent.

But I couldn’t even care.

I just needed to be in front of food at that point. And showered. And lying on a bed where my right leg didn’t have to bear any weight.

And because Rogue’s body was super pissed about what had just happened, and JC was finally about to pass out from lack of sleep, and we didn’t have a booster seat for Tiny Brazilian, I drove us home.

Around an hour from home, I advised them that I could mostly make out shapes and lights. But that my glasses that I need for driving at night were in my car. Back in Rocky Mount.

Apparently that caused a little concern. Because everyone woke the hell up then.

But it’s cool.

I got us back to our cars.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

I mean, probably not happily.

Rogue has to work today.

And JC has to drive his kid somewhere.

And I’m over here trying to figure out how to gain access to the coffee without having to walk to it. Because walking isn’t really an option right now.

But we got a new shirt, so…

These people. Badasses. Every damn one of them.



Just reading and writing and running and looking for my happy place.
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