Click here if you are unable to view this gallery on a mobile device.
Fourteen years ago, Lisa Mitchell was nearly bedridden by arthritis. Despite fatigue, pain and anxiety, she resolved to push herself out of bed and chase her lifelong dream: running an obstacle course race.
“I realized I had two choices. I could stay miserable and medicated or I could strive to be better,” says Mitchell, an iron-willed 47-year-old mother of three. “So I did it and it was life changing. As a result I now take no medications and I am nearly pain free. That’s why I’m hooked.”
Convinced that if she gives up her bone-crushing fitness routine, her arthritis will flare up again, she spends most weekends testing her mettle with Spartan Obstacle Course Races, a kind of high-intensity endurance training where she scrambles up eight-foot walls, runs up and down stairs lugging sandbags, and swings through rings with fellow race fans who range from former pro athletes to pregnant women eager to challenge gender stereotypes.
“The growth in the sport’s popularity is largely due in part to the need for people to be human,” says Joe De Sena, CEO and co-founder of Spartan, which began in 2007 and puts on hundreds of races every year in 30 countries. “We’re not meant to sit behind desks all day; we need to move, and with the right training and nutrition routine, anyone can become a Spartan. It provides people with the opportunity to unplug, step outside, push their limits and have some fun.”
Popularized by TV shows like American Ninja Warrior and citing roots as old as the Olympics, Spartan is one of the best known franchises in a crowded universe of obstacle course racing that includes Savage Races, Tough Mudder, Rugged Maniac and Bone Frog, which was started by Navy Seals. In a society weaned on “Survivor” and “Naked and Afraid,” the obstacle course craze is hotter than ever. More than a million people participate in Spartan Race events every year, the company says.
“Extreme sports are very popular right now. TV shows glorify them and they are now even included in the Olympics,” says Thomas Plante, professor of psychology at Santa Clara University. “Pushing yourself in an extreme way is appealing to many in our achievement oriented culture.”
Competitors must conquer a grueling series of obstacles — crawling through mud, throwing spears, scurrying under barbed wire and running long distances. While every race is different, each forces participants to push their bodies further than they thought possible. Rain or shine, they battle their way to the finish line, dripping with sweat and glory.
“It is incredibly empowering. You go on a personal journey where you overcome your fears and doubts,” says Mitchell of Menlo Park, who is the cheerleader and drill sergeant of her training group, which has about five people.”And you feel like a badass.”
A personal trainer who holds mini obstacle course workouts in her driveway twice a week, Mitchell often races with a crew of friends. They recently spent a Saturday vanquishing the Spartan Stadium Sprint at San Francisco’s AT&T Park and the next day ran a marathon in Sacramento.
But that pales in comparison to a recent September weekend, when they swam in a 42-degree alpine lake near Tahoe. Without wet suits. They also grunted their way through the “Herc Hoist.” Named after Hercules, that event has you anchor yourself to the ground, grab a rope with an iron grip and lift a 70 to 90-pound weight high into the air.
Laura Blaich, who is five months pregnant, refused help on that one, stubbornly yanking and pulling at the rope until she was lying flat on the ground.
“I didn’t want to let the team down,” says Blaich, 35, who lives in San Carlos. “I felt like I failed. How would I show my face?”
Whenever Blaich has doubts about doing burpees (full body squat thrusts) or hopping over hurdles, Mitchell assures her it’s doable. Mitchell also did obstacle races while she was pregnant.
“All you ever hear when you are pregnant is what you shouldn’t do,” says Blaich, who has faced her share of judgment from onlookers when she goes running. “It makes you feel helpless.”
Sure, there are a few obstacles she can’t maneuver right now, like the rope swings, and friends help her climb walls when she needs a boost. But one of the reasons she refuses to quit is her two-year-old daughter Lily.
‘”Girls get a lot of don’t do this, don’t do that,” says Blaich, whose baby kicks up a storm when mom has an endorphin high. “I want her to know that she can hold her own with the boys. I can’t change society, but I can change me. I don’t hold myself back anymore.”
Many participants credit obstacle racing, which they say is part therapy, part exercise, with giving them a new sense of purpose.
John Conomos, 46, got recruited a few years ago, after his father died and then his divorce.
“At first I was like, I have no business being here, but I stuck with it,” says Conomos of Menlo Park. “Why do you do it? To prove to yourself that you are capable of doing more than you think you can. It makes you mentally tough.”
Once a wide receiver for the Green Bay Packers practice squad, Mike Marker got sidelined by a knee injury. For him, obstacle course racing was a way to get back into peak condition. He lost 30 pounds getting into shape for last month’s AT&T sprint.
“You train so hard you want to puke or pass out and I’m not sure anyone thinks that’s fun,” says Marker, 37, who lives in Sunnyale, “but once you get to the event, it’s like game day, that’s fun.”
He’s still learning the ropes of the obstacle course racing world, such as the best ways to carry a sandbag on your shoulders or shimmy under a barbed wire obstacle. “What kind of shirt do you wear for that?,” he says, only half-joking.
Joining a community of racers, and being part of a team that watches your back when the race gets tough, is also part of the appeal. “In an increasingly isolated world, people are looking for connection,” says Plante. “They want to share an experience in an intense environment where everybody feels like they win.”
For Mitchell, who has a 17-foot training rope hanging in her backyard, it is, as Spartan likes to say, a way of life.
“It makes you feel invincible,” as she says.
