The Hardest Spartan Sprint: 2023 Cincinati
Once you do something you thought impossible, nothing seems impossible
Author: Ryan Fogel
Did you know that there is a ski slope just outside of Cincinnati? No? Me either. I found out the day before running not one but two Spartan Races there. The name “Perfect Slopes” was an ominous name for a Spartan Race with “minimal elevation.” I figured Cincinnati would be a nice flat Midwestern course. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Most runners run 5Ks or half marathons on flat road courses, and I enjoy these as well. But I love Spartan Races because of the unique challenges that come with them. 3500 feet of elevation is a fun challenge right? The Boston Marathon is roughly 800 feet of elevation change, for perspective.
2023 Spartan Cincinnati was a trifecta weekend. This means they’re running a Sprint (5K) a Super (10K) and a Beast (21K). Plus obstacles. I ran the Sprint on Saturday and the Super on Sunday.
It’s 5:07 AM and the American Dad theme song blasts from my phone to tell me it’s time to drive 5 hours to Perfect Slopes Ski Resort in Lawrenceburg, Indiana. This is not what people think of when they say they’re going to hit the slopes this weekend. “You’re a Spartan” my alarm label reminds me. But I’m already awake. Pre-race jitters rarely give you a solid night of sleep. Even if this is my 15th Spartan Race.
The drive through the smoky mountains is beautiful on this Saturday morning. The sun rises over the horizon as I pass through Knoxville. I listen to a playlist of songs that pump me up and parts of Dean Karnazes’s book, A Runner’s High.
Arriving at Perfect Slopes, I’m greeted with a mountainside. Replacing snow, I see runners ascending and descending black diamonds and other ski slopes. Nearly all of them look humbled and defeated. But they keep moving. Climbing, running, crawling through barbed wire, walking… a lot of walking.
The Spartan Sprint is a 5K, except Spartans are bad at math, so you get extra mileage at each race. This one clocked in at 3.69 miles. But it’s not a simple run. Spartan Races see you crawl through barbed wire. Carry a bucket loaded with 80 pounds of rocks. Ascend over 1000 feet of elevation. Scale 4 ft, 7 ft and a 10 ft wall. Throw a spear at a target. Traverse monkey bars. And there’s a 50 pound sandbag carry, but more on that later.
I have ran the Spartan Sprint in Atlanta multiple times, Jacksonville, and Asheville. The 2023 Spartan Cincinnati is without a doubt the hardest Spartan Sprint I’ve ever experienced. I finished Atlanta in 1:01:14, but Cincy took me 1:47:43 to finish. This was a monster venue!
So what took me so long? The terrain was almost never flat. Either you were scaling the side of a ski slope, trying not to fall going down, or bogged down by an obstacle. This was the longest barbed wire crawl I’ve ever seen and it went up the slope through massive puddles. My knees are cut up from the rocks obscured in these puddles.
The 2023 Spartan Cincinnati had the hardest sandbag carry I’ve ever experienced. Runners went up and down the side of the mountain 4 times in a slow shuffle as the average racer couldn’t handle it. Athletic looking people were dropping the bag to catch their breath. This created a bottleneck that only made it more challenging. “Embrace the suck.”
Like every Spartan Race, there were unique challenges and plenty of surprises. But after climbing up the muddy slip wall, I saw the finish line. Proud to be done, I sprinted towards the finish, jumped over the burning fire logs and claimed my medal, t-shirt and free banana.
But I wasn’t done.
Sunday, I came back for more punishment by running the Super, the 10K Spartan Race.
Midwestern weather changes fast. After Saturday’s heatwave, Sunday was cold and rainy. This meant a completely different race experience.
“Spartans! What is your profession?!” The race director yells in the corral.
100 elite athletes chant back “Aroo! Aroo! Aroo!”
My shirt hangs heavy, drenched from the rain. I’m standing in mud and staring down a mountain slope. “Why do I do these things again? This will be fun,” I tell myself.
The race starts and I take off through the grass. After the first turn there’s a pond. And the course runs through it. It’s not deep enough to swim so you end up wading through waist deep water. This is not your average race.
Emerging out of the water, there’s hay bails to climb over. A couple relatively flat miles and more obstacles. And then comes the elevation.
3,500 feet of elevation. It’s a ski resort but it’s June. So that means climbing up the side of a mountain. And it’s pouring down rain.
My Salomon Speedcross shoes have cleats and they help maintain some semblance of traction. But eventually I’m grabbing for trees. Crawling. Doing anything and everything to keep moving up. And up. And up.
Finally I’m at the top and now must make my way down the other side. Rain and a couple hundred runners have removed all vegetation and traction from this side of the mountain.
Slowly making my way way down. I slip. I slide. I fall. And I do it over and over again. As I slide uncontrollably, I reach for anything to stop me. I even grab hold of thorny briars and cut my hand. But this prevents me from sliding into a rock or another runner.
Then I hear a crowd of people gasp behind me.
“MEDIC!!”
A runner had fallen and broke his finger. Medics are within earshot but it’s the side of a mountain. And again, it’s raining. He makes his way down the rest of the slippery slope and reaches medical staff. Suddenly my cut up hands don’t bother me so much.
My shirt is drenched and only weighing me down. I remove it and throw it in the trash. It had a hole from a previous race and I didn’t feel like carrying it for 4 more miles.
I’m about 3 miles into my 6.69 mile race and there’s a flash of light followed quickly by thunder. The volunteer staff at the next obstacle tell us to make our way back to the lodge. The race is on hold due to lightning.
Most of the racers are mad. They want to keep going. “We signed death waivers. We’re good to race.” Spartans are an interesting group.
The mood sours and we grudgingly walk back inside the lodge. I’m wet and cold. And hungry. I throw a towel over my shoulders and munch on starbursts while we wait for the storm to pass.
15 minutes later we get the all clear. It’s a mad dash and people are screaming, smiling and thrilled to be back on the course. And then another flash of lightning…
“Get back inside! Everyone get back inside now!” The PA system shouts out. Storm sirens are blaring. We wait some more.
10 more minutes and we are back outside. And the sky is turning blue.
Every obstacle is a muddy mess. Which makes challenging obstacles all the more difficult. I jump to the first rung of the monkey bars and start moving through them. I make it to the 3rd bar and suddenly I’m on the grass. Fortunately, I land on my butt and nothing seems broken. I never even felt my hand slip. I just dropped.
So I get back up and keep moving. The sandbag carry that humbled so many great athletes yesterday has been altered. It’s laughably short now and no hill climbing.
The volunteer tells me it’s a safety issue. Apparently people were sliding and falling. Honestly, I’m grateful I don’t have to do the sandbag carry from hell a second time.
I make my way through the rest of the course. A giant hill climb. Carrying a 100 pound atlas stone. I hit the spear throw in one attempt. The slip wall. Rolling mud, which involves dunking your head fully under muddy water.
And finally the fire jump and finish line. I’m exhausted. Caked in mud. And ready for my FitAid drink and beer. This year they offered Narragansett. A crushable beer and welcome upgrade from 2022’s seltzers. After a race like this, you need a proper beer.
