9pm- The last time I would know the time. The group meets at Fountain Square. There are 17 of us, 3 gals and 14 guys. Cadre "Big Daddy" (BD) John introduces us before electing one of the gals to be Team Leader. Cadre John is unlike anyone I have met previously. He always has a smile and positive attitude. He looks out for your best interests. He's got nearly every rank/certification a Marine can get. He will beat you down and make you enjoy it. After formalities of checking bricks, water, IDs, and cash, BD gives us the most important rule of the night:
"Always stay within arm's reach of someone else."
We begin to form to columns and lose shoe privileges. Several of us violate the only rule and we have casualties. We march a short while carrying the casualties before we have to do bear crawls, crab walks, etc…
After a brief march we find ourselves past Paul Brown Stadium looking at the Ohio River. Air temp is in the mid sixties but water temp is only 45 degrees. Soon we are doing bottom samples for 5 and 10 second increments. Many couldn't stay under that long. I did and paid with an instant headache. (that went away nearly as quickly) We did some PT on the beach to warm us back up just so we could get back in. More bottom samples.
Hello log. It was really big. And heavy. Prior to the event I looked forward to the log carry. At Spartan races I typically excel in the sandbag/bucket carries. It's in my wheelhouse. This log nearly crushed my soul. There was a slight curve in the log (it was 15-20 feet long) that made it continuously shift on us. That gave each of us nice moments of bearing incredible amounts of weight. Fun times.
We carried that God-forsaken log over the bridge into Kentucky because BD had never been there. The sidewalk on the bridge was pretty narrow making it pretty difficult to navigate, but we finally made it. Then we carried it some more. And some more. I'm not sure how long we carried it or for how much distance, but it was longer than I (and anyone else) wanted. The log was winning when a drunk guy who pronounced his name as "Roomie" joined us for about an hour and helped lift our spirits (and the log).
Finally we were able to rid ourselves of the log. Unfortunately we didn't get to throw it in the river. We weren't free from burden, though. BD allowed us to trade the log for a pair of boards (Actually, we had to win a ball-in-cup game to do so). These new boards were about 18 inches wide, 3 inches thick, and probably 15 feet long. My guess is they were once used for scaffolding. They seemed so light compared to the log. That feeling was short-lived. Our shoulders ached so after a while we decided to carry it like a suitcase down at our sides. It was a great relief. And also short-lived. BD made us put four rucks on the board making it impossible to carry anywhere but on our shoulders again. Agony.
We went up some giant hill (I had no idea where we were basically the entire time, seeing how it was only my second time in Cincy as an adult). Once at our next checkpoint we got penalized again for violating the only rule, this time with 200 flutter kicks.
Finally we got to ditch the weight. Tired of being punished for violating the rule, we decided that each of us would hold the pack of the person in front of us so we couldn't get more than arm's length away. We headed towards the "Stairway to Heaven" or something like that. It was a giant set of stairs on Mt. Adams that lead to a beautiful church.
The only rule was violated again, so we tackled the stairs with one shoe and no straps. Fun times. Finally up the hill we navigated to a place we could refill our water. While we were at the church the sun rose. It was beautiful!
Our only task left was to return to Fountain Square, but with casualties. Four guys (including the biggest) were casualties. We rotated who carried the casualties, but with everyone beat down, it was short goings. We made it down into the city and I noticed Cadre John turn his back and pull the patches from his sweet java GR1. I knew the time was near.
Once at Fountain Square it was one more round of push-ups. Like always: Down- "Attention to detail!" Up- "Teamwork breeds success!". The BD changed it on us, Down- "GO!" Up- "TOUGH!" It echoed through the square. Moments later BD was shaking each of our hands and passing us our Tough patches. Mine immediately replaced the flag patch on my tac hat.
9am- To the minute, BD delivered the 12 hours he promised. I went back to my car, changed clothes, and headed to Chick-Fil-A. A quick stop at IKEA and I was on my way back to Indiana, tac hat riding shotgun, Tough patch right there, within arm's reach.
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