The Hardest Hyrox Race of My Life
Writing these words 36 hours after my race is giving me nervous shakes. Everything hurts.
Everybody wants to know their limits. Few are willing to find them. I discovered mine on Saturday.
I showed up at the park in Mexico at 3:45 pm for a 5:00 pm wave. The hybrid race simulation was being sponsored by the best gyms in the city. 350 athletes, sponsors, vendors village, the whole 9 yards.
I saw so many of the volunteers that I recognized. It’s incredible how great it feels to give a big smile, a “buenas tardes” and a big hug. You see them twice or three times a year and tell them how grateful you are for the opportunity to compete.
I started my regular pre-race ritual at 4:30 pm. I ate a gel, tightened my shoelaces, and did the same 15 minute warm up that I do before every workout for the past 1244 days.
At 4:45 there was a huge gust of wind that shook me out of my mental bubble. The sky was a purple-black color, thick as cotton candy. July in the jungle. It was 42C with the humidity.
There was a second gust, bigger than the first. I heard a scream, then a crash.
The huge yellow ENTRADA arch, 12 feet tall and metal, had just blown over. Hundreds of people started sprinting off the field, searching for cover.
I saw a few people get to the vendor tents. Imagine 2 dozen people under a single tent, holding onto the aluminum frame for dear life so it wouldn’t go airborne. Now times that by 10. It was raining sideways!
I made it to the bathrooms and about 80 people piled in. It started raining through the doors. We all squeezed in as best we could. One of the head guys in the media team was beside me with a walkie talkie, ear bud, and 2 huge cameras with long lenses. He was getting side spray from the impact of the rain on the wall. I had my massive gym bag between my legs. I fished out a full-sized towel and covered his gear with it. You never made a friend so fast in your life before. You could see his relief. His livelihood was safe.
I could see out the concrete lattice of the wall at the field. All of the tent covers on the field were gone. The station signs were all blown over. The DJ tent somehow was still there. But the rowers and ski ergs were drowning.
We got 15 millimeters of torrential rain in 40 minutes. By the time the masses emerged from hiding it was 5:30 pm. The field was a lake. There were actual rivers with currents flowing down the sidewalks, vendors village, and on the running areas.
The 2 head guys found a working microphone. Somehow we still had a DJ!
They announced that all the rowing machines were dead, but somehow the ski ergs survived. They thought about postponing until 5 am the next day but decided to offer a modified course to the men's solo waves of 7 km runs and 7 stations.
I thought, “what the heck, why not? I’m here, I’m already damp, let’s have some fun."
They announced Wave 1 would go off in 30 minutes. I did my best to warm up, again. Everywhere you looked was mud and water. I got my heart rate up, core temperature up and headed towards the start line.
Then another announcement. Wave 1 was pushed to 6:30.
I had a big lunch at 11:45 am. I had a banana at 3:30 pm. A gel at 4:30 pm. No water, no nutrition for a couple of hours. Looking back, it might have been a factor in what happened that evening. (foreboding music insert here <wink>)
6:25. A familiar face is organising the wave. She smiles, I smile. She says, "Listo David?". I reply "Siempre listo Jefa". She writes my race number “21” on my forearm in a giant magic marker.
10 seconds…3…2…1…go!
My third step was SPLASH!
The field is artificial turf, and has great drainage. But with that intensity of storm, with that much volume of rain that fast, it's impossible to expect an area the size of 3 soccer fields to be race-ready.
NEW CHALLENGE UNLOCKED - TUFF MUDDER!
We ran the first kilometer splashing and weaving looking for higher ground. But the entire invisible layer below the astroturf was saturated. 5 men had re-raised the giant ENTRADA arch. We ran in and did the skiing. I was fourth or fifth off the ski in my wave, feeling soggy but in high spirits.
The spectators lining the runs and the volunteers were absolutely amazing. I guess none of us had really seen a Hyrox run in a flood before. I smiled and waved at people as I jogged past. No speed, nothing crazy. This event had a different vibe.
Then reality set in.
SLED PUSH FROM HELL
My “lane” was submerged. There was a solid 4-5 cm of standing water.
I could write 5 pages just on this part of my life. A normal sled push for me is about 4 minutes. I’ve been training with 440 pound sleds, so the 330 pound sled is very comfortable…usually.
I could not budge this thing. I tried 3 times in the standard Hyrox sled position. Nothing.
Eventually I did a stiff-arm alternating shove. It was like I was “walking’ the thing, one inch at a time with the front corner just barely moving.
I remember a feeling of panic, then a sense of calm. I’ve been here before. The carpets at Hyrox Cancun were wet and super sticky too. Just figure it out.
It took me almost 2 minutes to get my sled 2 meters over the start line.
For a moment the sled seemed to find a bit of higher ground. I assumed the "position". Biceps on the poles, head over the weights, chest low. And the sled started to go!
I had a wake in front of my boat. The front of the sled was parting the water. It felt almost normal for about 8 steps. Then the sled grabbed and seized. My foot slipped, and my face hit the center pole. I could taste blood through my fat lip. It was at this moment I started to chuckle.
I released all the arguments. I had trained so hard. It wasn’t fair. Stupid weather. Stupid rain. Stupid no PR. All that mental chatter was dissolved. It was just me outside in a field at night in Mexico splashing around.
I finished that frigging sled push. 11 minutes. When I went to run out the SALIDA arch, my legs were completely smoked. My back was on fire. I was running like Rusty The Tin Man.
The run loop was 330 meters, so I had to run by the stands where my dear patient wife was sitting twice every kilometer. I would smile and wave so she hopefully wouldn’t know that I was already in Damage Control Mode.
The Station 3 sled pull was tough, but manageable. By run 4 I had gone from Damage Control to Survival Mode.
I got to Station 4 and did my first burpee. SPLASH!
I rolled over and looked at my poor judge. I laughed out loud. Relieved, he chuckled, “Es fresca, si?”
The weight of my shoes and socks and drenched clothes were immediately noticeable. I had practiced a ton of burpee broad jumps for this event. All of that went out the window. This was a small river. Every rep was like a max effort. I started landing funny. I felt a weird fire burning in my right hip
After 10 minutes I was done the burpees, but completely spent.
My runs got slower and slower each lap. I’ve watched a few video clips and I can’t recognize myself. My posture was so erect, so stiff.
Survival Mode, ENGAGED!
Farmers Carry became station 5 with the rowers all destroyed. It was smooth and familiar. 200 meters with the 50 pound dumbbells. Obviously there was no chalk, since it had been turned to pancake mix by the flood. I went 100 meters, then 5 second rest, then 50, then 5 second rest and sprinted the final 50. My mood was good. My body was not.
I had thought that nothing could be tougher than that sled push. I was wrong.
I got to sandbag lunges and did 5. I could not get up from the bottom. I was hunched over, the 20 kg weight pinning my chest to my left knee with my right knee in 4 cm of water. Now what the hell do I do?
I’m a big believer in standards because of Crossfit. The sandbag standard as I understand it in Hyrox is the sandbag can’t touch the ground or you get disqualified.
I carefully slid the bag around my shoulder and onto my left knee. I could get my torso upright and breathe a bit with one knee on the ground, and the bag balancing on the other.
This wonderful young lady judge just stood patiently beside me, soaking wet standing in water. She kept telling me in Spanish “tu puedes” and “venga”.
After 30 seconds of rest, I stood up and hoisted the bag back on my shoulders. A searing pain was going through my right calf, hip and back. I could go about 8 lunges, stand, rest for a bit, and do 7 more. I needed to take a knee and rest for a minute every 15 lunges.
I was getting through the lunges in 5-6 minutes in practice. Today was 13 agonizing minutes.
On my final run I kept telling myself that this was it, enjoy it, soak it in! (pun intended)
I was limping badly. I’ve seen countless intagrams of people cramping at races. I honestly never thought it would happen to me. As I came in the ENTRADA arch my right calf was locked in the UP position. I couldn’t run, so I kind of teeter-tottered over to Station 8.
I got to the wallballs and did 2. Then I collapsed on the right side. I grabbed the rig to balance.
I did 2 more. Same deal. Fell over. I felt like Connor McGregor in his last fight.
I did 3 more. The ball slipped out of my hands. I remember taking off my shirt, my muddy, saturated shirt to wipe the ball. It was like I was drunk. Every cell in my body was flooded with acid and waste materials.
I got off a huge set of 5 unbroken. <grin>... I turned to my judge and her iphone calculator app was showing 6. I had more no-reps than reps. Why?
I have very limited night vision. My glasses were coated with mud and grime. The target was black and it was night, and the field flood lights were shining on me, not the target. It was a hilarious recipe for blind wall balls.
I remember crouching down a few reps later, and I fell back. I stuck my legs out in front of me and grabbed my toes, trying to unlock my calf and hip. After 10 seconds of stretching I lay back down in the grass. 3 judges were watching me. I was dizzy. They were concerned.
I got back to my feet and hit my 30th wall ball. Every rep was agony on my hip and calf. I turned to my judge and her calculator said 21.
21. The same number written on my arm in a magic marker. I took a deep breath and looked at my Garmin.
6:36. I was almost 7 minutes in and on rep 21.
Mental math was hard, but I calculated I had to do another 25 minutes of max singles.
That's when the real emotional argument began.
Let me explain.
I was fully prepared to stay there until it was done. But at what cost?
I knew I would be so pissed off at myself for quitting. But why?
I have nothing to prove to anyone about toughness or grit. Yes, I could keep grinding. But at 58 years old, real physical damage takes so long to recover from.
So at rep 21, I tapped out. As I was limping out of my station, the media guy who I lent my towel to in the banos appeared out of nowhere. He walked me to the end zone where I turned in my timing chip. The smiling volunteer handed me my patch. I limped slowly off the field and followed the fence around to the exit to the stands.
I found my dear patient wife, who handed me my gym bag. I limped over to the banos where I had sought shelter from the storm and sat outside on the curb. I was changing my shoes and socks when a fellow cautiously approached me.
He asked me if I spoke Spanish. I said “mas o menos” meaning “more or less”.
He told me that he and his family were watching me and cheering for me and his kids were the ones saying “go Uncle go!” He asked me how old I was and I told him 58. I asked him his name and I told him mine. I told him thanks for the energy and nice to meet him. He grinned and walked away.
Then I suddenly realized the entire conversation was in Spanish. The filter on my brain that makes me struggle with the translation had somehow vanished in my exhausted state. Oh how I wish I could do that all the time! I’ve been learning Spanish for 18 months and I have the basics, but comprehension still eludes me sometimes. Just another thing to practice. It was a surreal moment.
I put on a dry t-shirt, dry sandals, and my wife and I caught an Uber 30 minutes back home.
POSTMORTEM
I was on the modified course for 1 hour and 45 minutes.. If the rowers had been working maybe they could have stretched out my locked up hip. But a 2 hour race was a far cry from my 1:18 doubles time in Cancun and 1:36 in my first solo sim in May. I was extremely disappointed in the moment, but today I have some fresh perspective.
I realized that very few Hyrox athletes or Crossfitters will ever get to experience what I just did outside of a Tough Mudder or OCR. It would take a “perfect storm” for that to happen! (pun, good one eh?)
This experience for me was about gathering valuable data. My pre-race nutrition and warm-up was compromised by the 90 minute rain delay. Good. I learned a lot about what you can and can not control. Next time pocket gels are a must.
Everyone in my wave dealt with the same factors. Some of them finished, some didn’t . Some of the later waves had a drained field. So what? I was testing myself this time, not anyone else.
As expected, I’m still pissed about tapping out. But I am sore at a level I have not been in a decade. I made the right call as a mature adult. But the competitor in me is furious.
It’s 2 days after and I’m still limping. That cramped up calf really jacked up my hip. Good. I earned it with the hardest sled push and sandbag lunges I’ve ever done.
My busted lip from the sled push is almost healed. A small bruise on my lip is the only reminder. Very grateful I didn’t end up spitting out my front teeth.
When I look back on the first 7 months of my year, I shake my head.
I did the CrossFit Open in February. Finished 6th in Mexico in Mens 55-59
I did Hyrox Cancun in March. Finished second in Men's Doubles 50-54.
I did the hybrid race Badass Hyrox-Sim in May in 38 C. My first solo in 96 minutes.
I did a crosstraining competition at the end of May in the hardest category for my age.
And now this hybrid race. That’s 5 competitions in 6 months.
Most people say they want to test their limits. Few actually get an opportunity to discover them. I got as close to the fire as I ever would want to.
Where do we go from here?
Rest.
Recover.
Relearn.
Set a new goal. Keep going.
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