AGOGE

GRC-095: Challenge Recap

Today, I finally got around to washing the clothes I wore for the GORUCK Challenge last weekend.  The sheer amount of grit, sand, and mud caked in my socks was appalling—and totally worth the fun I had this weekend with class 095 and the GRC cadre.

The 26 members of 095 met at around 0100 on Sunday, December 12 for what would turn out to be a 12+ hour, 16+ mile adventure.  I don’t like using that word, but it’s the only way to describe the things we went through together.  The GRC isn’t a race, nor is it even a run.  It’s more than a workout or a “city tour” no matter what the GORUCK website states.  If anything, it’s a teambuilding exercise, and one that is more effective than any I’ve ever done.

By the time me and the rest of 095 had prepped our rucks in the cold darkness of Rose Park—I was shivering and nervous—it was time to set off.  We formed up in the half-assed civilian equivalent of two tactical columns, and set off after Brian—our cadre—toward Rock Creek.

A short jog later, we were on the bank of the creek, with Brian telling us to get across within five minutes or face the prospect of PT in the chilly water.  When my feet first got wet, I was surprised that they didn’t feel that cold and that I only sunk about ankle-deep.  Moments later I was across the creek, charging up the opposite bank the same way I did when I was a kid playing at home, and we were back in our columns doing indian runs along the trail.

I quickly lost track of time.  Having completed events like this before, I came into the Challenge understanding that the key to success is to simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Shuffling along, I’d see my new buddies sprint past our columns, waiting to feel the slap on my shoulder that meant it was my turn to run. Eventually we crossed the creek a second time—the water rising to about mid-thigh—climbed a brutally steep hill, descended, and found ourselves in front of one of the biggest fallen tree trunks I’ve ever seen.

The sheer size of the log combined with the steep slope we carried it up meant that the entire class struggled to move the log about 1/3 of a mile before Brian finally let us leave it by the side of the street.  I hadn’t felt a bit uncomfortable until the first time we lifted the log, and I’d been very satisfied with my training.  That all changed when we started carrying the log.  All the pullups and pushups I’d done didn’t build leg strength, and my thighs, back, and shoulders were screaming by the time we dropped the log for the last time.  It took us about an hour to move the thing, maybe more.

Finished with the log for the time being, we set off toward Georgetown, at which point I learned my navigational skills weren’t quite what I thought they were.  Having both spent a lot of time at Georgetown as students, an alumnus friend—Clay—and I helped lead our group through Cathedral and Burleith into West Georgetown, on a “mission” to reach the Exorcist steps where we’d rendezvous with 096.  It’s a good thing he was there, because I was completely lost and we probably would have ended up in Maryland if I’d been navigating.

As we neared campus, I took over, bringing the group through a few shortcuts that must have been unknown to the cadre, because I quickly became known as “the Georgetown student who doesn’t even know his own campus.” As I tried to shave a few minutes off our already-late timetables by cutting through the courtyard of an apartment complex where I lived sophomore year, Brian put a stop to our meandering. We were ordered to turn around and head back to Reservoir, our new linkup point with class 096.

It was at this point, about 2.5 hours into the challenge, that we lost the only two members of the class who didn’t finish. A woman who’d been struggling for awhile and the man that I guessed was her husband left the group. I was disappointed to see them go because I’d done my best to help her out, trying to persuade her to stick with it, but they’d both had enough by then and as much as the Challenge is a team event, it takes a lot of individual willpower to keep moving forward.  They went one way, we went another, and we didn’t see them again.

About fifteen minutes of pointless jogging around later, we were at the Exorcist steps along with 096 and the founder of the Challenge, Jason. Here we were told to run the stairs, up and down, more or less until the cadre got bored. A friend of mine estimates we covered them at least fifteen times, but I think that’s a low estimate. For awhile did the stairs with “no straps” - holding our rucks over our heads or resting them on our shoulders - until some spark of pity manifested itself in Brian’s heart, and we won them back.

As my classmates and I were starting to wear down—my calves and ankles were searing—Brian offered us a respite from the stairs. If we could run up the steps in less than 50 seconds three times, we’d move on to our next tasking.

I was the last person in the columns on each of our sprints, and I remember yelling motivation up the stairs as we ran up as fast as we could each time. Occasionally my calves would freeze up and I’d use the railing to pull myself a few steps up, but we beat the cadre’s clock every time, once even making it past Brian’s mark in 36 seconds. Not bad.

Finished with the stairs, we formed up again and headed toward a park just off Reservoir Road, where we arrived only to find more logs for more good livin’. After a short break Brian told us we had an absurdly short time to carry the logs to Roosevelt Island, roughly a 2.3 mile distance.

Knowing that my body would have a hard time with another monster log like the one we’d carried earlier in the evening, Clay and I—along with the leader for this mission, Devin, and one other guy—moved to lift a log that was thick but only about six or seven feet long.  Lying on the ground, it looked like no big deal.

I was proven wrong when we tried to lift it. It was by far the heaviest thing I have ever carried in my life. I can only guess at how much it must have weighed, but it had to be at least seven or eight hundred pounds. Probably more.

The four of us struggled along the trail with that log for what seemed like hours. Every step hurt as I tried to balance the log on my shoulders, and it took every ounce of leg strength I had to keep my knees from buckling. We could barely move the log 100 feet at a time.

095 really started to become a team at this point of the challenge. Devin led like he was born for the job, jogging back and forth along the line of heaving teammates as each group struggled beneath their own burdens. People would fight with a log until they couldn’t take another step, then swap out with someone and carry a cinder block or some other weight (usually in addition to their own pack and sometimes even one or two others) as a “rest.”

After over an hour under the log, the four of us had figured out how to carry it most efficiently, and we made good time across the Key Bridge as the sun was starting to come up over the Washington Monument. My muscles were on fire and I could barely keep stepping forward, but it was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

Cursing, shivering, and in serious physical pain, we finally managed to kick, shove, and carry all of the logs across Key Bridge, along the trail to the island, and finally across the bridge to the island itself. Setting those logs down in front of the statue of TR instilled in all of us a huge sense of accomplishment.

Unfortunately, we were late.

In hindsight it was bound to happen. Even at the time I think a part of me knew we wouldn’t meet our deadline and we’d have to pay the price. That’s what makes these challenges difficult—they’re designed so that you have to fail, and the power in completing the event is learning how you react to failure and work together as a team to overcome that failure and the punishment that comes as a result.

This time our punishment was a loop around the island, without using bridges. At first the jog was a great way to loosen up after the log PT, but we eventually found a bridge and, of course, the water beside it.

The coldest part of the day comes just as the sun rises, and frost was forming on the tufts of grass and dirt in the swamp when we first slipped into the water around Roosevelt Island. There even appeared to be a microscopically thin layer of ice on top of the water as we waded in up to our chests. The air temperature was probably hovering at 28° and the water was maybe 58-60°.

Luckily we weren’t chest deep for long, and we navigated through the rest of the swamp in calf-deep cold mud. I was just starting to really enjoy it when Brian told us we could walk on the bridges again.

After a short jog to complete our circuit around the island, we crossed the bridge back to Virginia and received our next tasking—to recon the Jefferson Memorial and avoid being “tagged” by OPFOR in desert camo. It sounded easy enough at the time.

At this point in the challenge we were all exhausted, and on the indian runs to the memorial I could barely pick my feet up. Upon arrival, we split into teams of two for the recon and moved on the objective.

Shit hit the fan when guys in camo came out of nowhere. I was nearly tagged but I pulled on some reserve of strength to sprint away. I found myself alone until Clay jumped through some bushes near the monument and we started to move, me limping on a severely strained ankle, back to our rally point.

With everyone regrouped, our lessons in tactics continued as we formed up in our columns for movement to the Vietnam Memorial. Brian gave us a lecture on small unit tactics that some members of the group thought was silly, but gave the challenge an interesting twist—and I think it made us all understand a little better what America’s frontline operators live through on a day-to-day basis.

We arrived at the Vietnam Memorial, took a short rest and then continued in silence to the Capitol Building. These last few miles were agonizing as we continued with our indian runs. My ankle hurt more with every step, but we finally made it—late once again.

At the base of the Capitol Building we linked up with a detachment from nine-six and started to move back to the World War II memorial. I could see the end in sight and I took a place in the front of the group for most of the shuffle back, encouraging those lagging behind to keep moving as best they could.

We linked up at WWII with 096, where we began an agonizing series of buddy carries. As one of the lighter people running the challenge, I passed my ruck off to someone else, was thrown across the shoulders of another guy, and we set off toward our final location, the Lincoln memorial.

Whoever it was that carried me, you are a hero in my eyes. This guy had a full ruck, around 35-40 lbs probably, and an additional 140 lbs of me for that last mile and a half. I tried to carry the guy for a few yards to give him a break, but I’d barely taken three steps before my left knee buckled and I knew I couldn’t go any further. I finished the challenge being carried up the steps to the Lincoln Memorial on some dude’s shoulders.

At the top of the steps we formed up in four columns with Jason and Brian standing in front of us. We were exhausted, and the noise inside the memorial kept me from hearing the cadre order us to drop rucks for the first time since 0130 that morning. When I saw rucks hitting the ground around me, I knew we were finished.

Twelve hours had passed—I was so stiff my walk was more of a shuffle, and I could barely raise my arms above my shoulders from the stress of the log PT, and I had loved absolutely every minute of it.

*

I sent my registration fee for Beached to GRHQ yesterday, and I’m already trying to convince some of my buddies to register for the Annapolis challenge in April. When I was finished with my first challenge last weekend, my body was completely shot, but I love the challenge. Some people run marathons, others blow a ton of coke, but others—many of them members of the GORUCK Tough group—are addicted to pushing themselves further than they’ve ever been pushed in their lives. I’m proud to be in that latter category, and the GORUCK Challenge is the best way I’ve found to do it.

The challenge is, in a nutshell, one day of training endured by the candidates on the SF Q course. When we were finished with the challenge, I remember Jason saying “If we could make it harder, we would.” Even these highly accomplished SF veterans can’t come up with a way to make challenge-takers push themselves further or harder.

If you fit in that strange demographic of people who enjoy finding out how they respond when they’re at their breaking points, I encourage you to register for a challenge immediately. The hardest part really is signing up—mostly because it’s the only part of the challenge that you do alone.

When you’re moving through the night with your new teammates, you’ll experience something that is rarely found today—the feeling of being part of a group where every member is dedicating 110% of their physical and mental strength to keep pushing forward. You’ll look around and see people you’ve barely known for two hours struggling to do something as a group that could never be accomplished by anyone by themselves. If you happen to see a small guy running beside you with a big stupid smile on his face, it’s probably me.

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