Free Spartan Race Entry

I was the fat kid in middle school who wore a shirt in the pool to cover my man boobs and had love handles that could have been wrapped around into a custom flesh belt. I clearly remember an instance where I was sitting in math class and this chick, Lauren Cathers, poked my fat roll with a pencil from behind me during class, needless to say my Union Bay adjustable waist husky cargo sweat pants needed to be retired or burned. Being fat was counterproductive in my attempt to be cool in school, and definitely hindered any shot I had at a legitimate varsity high school sport, which surprisingly enough was still a goal I had since playing soccer from when I was 6. Ironically enough, playing fullback, because that’s the position the fat slow kids play. It wasn’t until I reached high school and found the sport of wrestling that changed who I was physically and mentally. The sport of wrestling teaches mental toughness, self discipline, importance of pain, strength conditioning, and hard work. I’d like to say the self discipline portion of it helped me shed the pounds, which technically it did, but the whole starving myself to make weight, coupled with the high intensity physical abuse, is really what created an overwhelming physical change. I wrestled 112 pounds as a senior in high school exuding confidence with a true understanding of what hard work was and what the fruits of your labor could produce. Also my senior year I ran cross country in the fall and track in the spring, prompting the start of a long love/ hate relationship with running, and the realization that even though I was once fat, deep down inside I had some talent for something. Upon graduating I decided to move from suburban Pennsylvania to Tampa, Florida. Paradise. I walked onto the University of Tampa cross country team and soon became a part of the “freshman 5”. The group of five freshman who pretty much ran the team, scoring at all the events for the university. I ran two years for the team before the fraternity world got the better of me and I traded in my spikes for a beer bong. I took a considerable amount of time off from running after college and focused on gaining size and getting my max bench up. After some dabbling with performance enhancing drugs and getting my bench to 365 and my body weight to 185, I realized the only people I was impressing were the juice monkeys in the gym grunting and throwing weights around the room in cutoff sweatshirts and spandex shorts tea bagging each other spotting themselves on flat bench. My physique looked like shit and my cardiovascular endurance I spent so much time building in college was totally non-existent. Then my old college roommate, Justin Ferrante, challenged me to a half marathon in Palm Beach. Over confident and under trained I got my ass kicked. However, the beating I received did motivate me to get back on the saddle and it has been a hell of a ride since. In my tenure I have done a tremendous amount of races with a wide range of events, distances, and terrain. I have met some pretty amazing people and have forged lifelong bonds. From 5k road races to obstacle races filled with barbwire and fire, marathons to Olympic distance triathlons I have pretty much done it all. However there are a few things on my bucket list I am still in the process of accomplishing. For instance a full Ironman, the Boston marathon, and the Death Race to name a few. December 29th I run the Jacksonville Marathon where I will qualify for Boston, which I will sign up for and race within the next 2 years (yes I am that confident). And although I am not sure when the Ironman will be, the precursor to the Death Race would have to be a Spartan Race. Which coincidentally enough will be showing up on my home turf on February 15th. Even though I have run 100’s of trail, obstacle, and adventure races in my lifetime a Spartan Race has eluded me. I was even signed up for one in Miami a couple years ago and couldn’t go because I got sick and I had just opened a gym at the time that didn’t afford me the ability to leave in its infancy. Needless to say I am more than pumped for my shot at competing with some of the best OCR racers in the world. To say that Spartan Race has a reputation in the community is an understatement. Any event or organization that people actually get tattooed on their body is pretty legit and with runners like Hobie Call, Miguel Medina, and Hunter Mcintyre within their ranks the race seems borderline mythical. And to add to its badassness as the preverbal cherry on top, it’s now affiliated with the special ops. Although it’s only a sprint, which the elite frontrunners will ensure the pace will stay, this race is slated to be one of the best of the year and probably one of the most exciting spectator events since the Buc’s started sucking and people started dying at monster truck shows. Spartan is really taking the spectator aspect to the next level and have become leaders in the new wave of OCR experiences. They have been able to garner big name sponsors and media attention worthy of professional sports teams and even have the world championships televised on NBC Sports. On December 7th, a date also synonymous with Pearl Harbor, the Spartan Race World Championship will be a battle for the ages and will bring the world of OCR racing right into the living rooms of America. This mainstream approach will ensure the legitimacy of the sport within the athletic community and allow those new to the concept to toy with the idea of one day stepping onto the battlefield and running in the footsteps of the elite athletes they just watched on TV. I know not only am I excited to run the event but I am also just as excited to toe up on the line with those elite athletes I train my ass off everyday aspiring to be like. In celebration for the viewing event and upcoming race liveintheskinny.com will be giving out several free race entries for the event in February. Each comment, like, subscription to our blog, and share on social media of this blog will put you into the running for the free entry. I look forward to standing on the start line, and looking over to see you right there waiting to kick some ass.