My First Hyrox Experience

How my first Hyrox went in the pro women's division

If you are new to the world of Hyrox let me break it down a little for you. It is a fitness competition that originated in Europe several years ago. There are eight fitness stations separated by eight one kilometer runs. Awful, right? Did I mention that if you finish you get a ten dollar patch? Or that you will be doing all of this while thousands of strangers work out within inches of you, or that thousands of spectators will be arms reach from you, watching? Sound like fun yet?  I know, I know, I am not selling it on paper.  What I can’t capture is the energy of those thousands of people, or the live DJ’s that are spinning dance music while you suffer, or the fact that complete strangers suddenly become your lifeline and biggest support system. The organizers have truly found a way to make the suffering glorious. Photographers are staged every few feet, large cameras in hand. Crawling next to you while you try not to vomit, snapping pic after pic that you will purchase later. It is a source of pride to share the worst photos you have ever taken showing your near-death experience. It has recently exploded in popularity in the US for a multitude of reasons. Currently it is ‘all the rage’ for young fitness influencers to hit the black carpets, take tons of pics with their shirts off and tell everyone that they run the whole thing in less than ninety minutes. Honestly it looks cool, but there is a deeper reason why the sport is seeing a huge surge, and why we should all participate, six pack or not.

              I learned about Hyrox over a year ago and wrote it off immediately because of the running. A few months later it was still in the back of my mind so I decided to go watch an event just to see, and I was immediately hit by the ‘how hard can it be’ bug. About this same time, Hunter and I had a really shit turn of events in an investment that derailed everything in our lives. I had to go back to work and sideline the businesses I was trying to start, lost our workout space, the ‘friends’ we thought we had there, and had to fight through a dark time. I needed something to hold on to and fight for, so I committed myself to completing a Hyrox. I started training with only a rule book and, with zero cartilage in my left knee and next to zero in my right, a whole lot of prayers. I couldn’t even run a tenth of a mile without pain. Through the universes divine timing I was lucky enough to get tickets to Hyrox Dallas, and unfortunately it was a ladies pro ticket. Tickets are hard to come by sometimes so I felt blessed to even get that, though I knew a pro ticket was going to make my life ten times harder. I trained for ten months leading up to Dallas and thought I was prepared, until three weeks out, I got the flu. I was still struggling to breathe and knew that my cardiovascular performance was going to be subpar, and then our first flight was cancelled due to weather, and our second flight was delayed, so we go into our hotel room at eleven pm the night before my race. But, I was there! We made it, and nerves aside I still have to say the check in process was easy, and everyone was so nice! You head to a warm up area 30 minutes before your wave time, and get to try our all of the equipment. Of course, this was when it really dawned on me that I was in deep, deep water, and my swimming skills are sub par. But at 2pm, I loaded into the start gate and began the hardest physical afternoon of my life.

Segment One: Kilometer 1 and 1km ski erg

Thankfully I have lots of experience at starting lines. Between racing the cars and showing horses, I have spent a lot of time at that starting line waiting for the green to drop. Everyone waits in a dark tunnel that manages to muffle the noise of the crowd. You get one last set of instructions, reminders and motivation and they send you out. There is a giant electronic board that registers your timing chip and tells you exactly where you are on course but I still recommend to remember the lap counts, too many or too few gets you a penalty. I felt surprisingly good joints wise, but I had failed to take into account what being around thousands of hyped-up people on Red Bull and loud dance music would do to my heart rate. I train solo, in a usually empty gym, in a town with fewer people then were in attendance at this event. Also considering the fact that I was still reliant on Sudafed and Mucinex to breathe, I was in the 150bpm range the second I left the start line. By the time I got to the ski erg, most of the athletes were already finished and pushing onto their second run. This is where the absolute mind fuckery that is being a slow competitor comes into play. Mind you, these girls are putting down 4:30ish kilometers, and 4 minute ski erg times. So, while I am very happy with my 7:30 km, you can see how the math is mathing for me to be literally, last. I was able to mind my business, and do a solid ski erg km, exactly how I had trained, and move to my next run. This is where you have what is called the ‘rox zone’. It is the space between each station and your return to the run track. It is timed separately, but it is also an area where you are crossing in and out and takes precious minutes to navigate. I was the last wave of pro female competitors so I knew I had about twenty minutes before the first wave of open men doubles would be bearing down on me, so I had to put some space between myself and the herds of half-naked men, soon to be joining me on the course.

Segment Two: The Second Kilometer and Sled Push

My second kilometer felt great, my heart rate was still in the 160’s range and showing no signs of slowing down so I just went with it. The second station is the first one with a weight/distance rule. I signed up for women’s pro so I was going to be pushing 335 pounds for 50 meters. The lanes are broken into 12.5 meter areas, so everyone pushes their sled for four laps, the only difference is the weight of the sled. Coming into the sled push station I was again one of the last few women. It is really easy for your brain to slip into the ‘sorry for yourself’ mode when there is a giant expanse of black carpet that is now empty because all of your competitors have already breezed through. I was unable to practice a real sled push before this event. My current gym doesn’t have the space, or the sled, and my golf cart can only imitate so much. We had been training as best as we could, but I had this horrible fear that I would attempt to touch the sled and it wouldn’t even move. Thankfully, the sled moved easily, but it still spiked my heart rate to an uncomfortable peak. I was able to push through three laps and then had my first judge interaction. If it sounds bad, it wasn’t. The head judge was watching my lane, and on my last lap I had to stop a few feet from the end to rest. Remember the days when they told us peer pressure would involve drugs and alcohol? God, I wish that was still the case. Nope, this man peer pressured me into finishing my last push. I am resting on the sled, contemplating what the heart rhythm v-tach may feel like, when this man I do not know holds up a hand with five fingers out. I’m looking at him like, ‘huh what signal is that’? Then he drops it to four, and I realize he’s counting down my rest, and like the lemming that I apparently am, I go when he tells me too. I finish my that station while also almost finishing myself off. Back into the rox zone I stagger, quads and heart burning, to head out on lap 3.

Segment Three: Kilometer 3 and the Sled Pull

              Now was about the time my inner voice that I have nicknamed Astrid(obscure Office reference anyone?) completely checked out. She had been reaaaal quite since the ski erg, but by run three the bitch with a praise kink, and a desire to prove our value to our family through being a mid-level athlete, completely abandoned me. It was her fault we were here, and she just fucking left me out there wondering what on God’s green Earth I was doing. This was when the desire to quit started whispering in my ear. For some reason I had this really sick idea that if I could get through the burpee station I could quit after that. Burpees aren’t until station four, so I placated myself with the fact that if I could just finish the sled pull and the burpees I could sneak off into the bathroom, pee, and call this whole disaster over.  My knee was starting to swell, but I was still shuffling along on my run. The men were set free so now I was being bombarded by waves of humans crushing in from each side. Let me tell you, a large portion of this population run’s like they drive. Have you ever been tailgated while running? It’s weird and off-putting, but, once again I took solace in the fact that we were all out there together but alone, doing our own thing. I did my best to stay out of the way of the faster runners but somehow many of them still found me, sweat on me, and bumped into me. The sled pull station was horrible. The weight, 227 pounds, moved okay, but frustratingly short distances with each pull. There is a very strict set of rules for this station, same set up as the sled push, 12.5 meters and four passes. Only on sled pull you have a box that you can move in, but if you so much as step on the tape at the front or the back of your box, you get a penalty. The rope is slippery, and you are constantly tripping on the damn thing if you don’t flick it out of your way. Your grip is fried, and again, I was almost completely alone for a few brief moments. Until the men. Now, struggling to perform at a station is frustrating, having people run up next to you, sprint through the same movement and leave is as disheartening as it sounds. I was contemplating crying, but honestly my heart was beating too hard, and I was already sweating so much I am not sure tears would have formed. I fought that stupid rope and finally got through it. At this point I was noticing that my heart rate was getting extra elevated, 170’s range, and staying there. I knew it had a lot to do with stress, and the medicine I had taken, but I was getting frustrated. I felt okay, but my heart was not happy with the current situation. I would have to start walking a little bit on the next kilometer to bring it back down.

Segment Four: Kilometer Four and The BBJ

              If it sounds like a kinky sex position, boy you are in for a surprise, though this station will literally f you up. Eighty meters of burpee broad jumps. Another station with very specific rules for hand placement and movement execution. After my first several a judge told me my execution was ‘perfect’ and to just keep going because I was doing great. Astrid peaked out for a moment but, by the turnaround point at forty meters, she was gone again.  I was sweating, I don’t remember a lot aside from practically passing out every time I stood up, I think I told Hunter I was ‘fucking dying’ and I meant it one hundred percent. The great thing about this type of race is that the spectators are separated from the athletes by a small fence, so I could talk to them. I had originally planned to do small jumps to save my knees, simply do more burpees. Yeah, screw that. My jumps got stronger, and much longer than I had been able to practice at home. The spectators along with Hunter were encouraging and that helped a lot. I got to the end of the tape and had the choice to full send and try to clear the final mark or do two more burpees. I went for the full send and was rewarded with lots of cheering and my best long jump yet. By this point my heart had decided that if my muscles weren’t going to be a problem someone had to be, and was rolling along in the 170 range again. My knee also told me this was the last bit of its participation and that it would not hold up to more running. So, as I feared would happen, I was now relegated to walking. Something in my brain wouldn’t let me stop though. I decided to change my mindset and instead of focusing on being one of the only females left on course, I decided to focus on just getting as far as I could. I had the row station next and that one wouldn’t require much knee function so away I plugged.

Segment Five: Kilometer 5 and The Row

At this point I decided that I was just going to take it all in, I was here, I was obviously slow, so why not enjoy the rest. I spent the next run being shuffled and bumped by another huge wave of runners, and made it to the rower station in the midst of a lot of heavily sweating strangers. I wanted to give my heart a rest so I just decided to row at a comfortable pace and watch a bit of the race. Honestly, the row is so boring, and I don’t really have any feelings about it. One of those things that you sort of just do, because you have to. After hitting the kilometer mark, I attempted to jog once more, and once more, my knee told me nope. So on to my next walk!

Segment 6: Kilometer 6 and The Farmers Carry

I spent this entire kilometer trying to remind myself to be proud of the work I was doing, not embarrassed about being one of the few women still struggling to finish. By now I was well past an hour and most of my class had finished their races. The nice thing about having a kilometer to do between each station is a great time to think. The voice telling me to quit was getting quieter, and the voice telling me to stop and take a pee break was now silenced by the voice telling me that once I pulled my sweat-soaked leggings down I was never getting them back on. At this point I honestly didn’t know if my knee would let me do lunges but I wanted to try, and farmers carry didn’t involve knees so I figured I would get through that. Pro women carry 24kg kettle bells, one in each hand for 200 meters. I was sweating so badly that even the chalk turned to paste and was doing nothing to help my grip. The doubles passing me and switching was becoming distracting. I had to stop and set the kettlebells down more times than I had wanted to, but my muscles were becoming so fatigued that I was just working to survive. Again the judges were so nice and encouraging, I got more fist bumps and kind words before heading out on another kilometer.

Segment 7: Kilometer 7 and The Lunges

I was starting to have so much pain in my knee, it felt like ground glass, but I could manage it at a walk. I was still passing some of the other ladies that were still out there and trying to hype everyone up. We were all almost done! I just kept telling myself two more stations, one more run, two more stations one more run. I entered the lunge station, and as a pro woman I was going to be picking up the 45-pound sandbag. Little did I know that while I stopped to say a little prayer for my knees, I was standing on the precipice of the part of my race that would challenge me the most. 200 meters of walking lunges, after 7+ kilometers of running and six other stations. You hear distance athletes talk about the ‘pain cave’, but until you experience it there is no way to know what it’s like. I felt every thing in my body. Not only were my knees hurting, but my toe joints also hurt, my feet were getting blisters from my socks being soaked. The muscles in my left leg were locked up so bad, it felt like they were ripping every time I lunged. This station requires several rules but three are the most strict, trailing knee must touch the ground, hips must reach full extension at the top of the lunge, and you cannot put the bag down. When you are exhausted and have been performing high levels of cardiac output your lungs are tired. When you put 45 pounds on your shoulders and try to breathe hard, your brain will absolutely panic. There were several times where it took all my willpower to not throw the bag and scream about being unable to take a deep breath. I kept telling myself not to look up, just keep lunging until you see the line that indicates its over. The only thing that stands out was how painful every lunge was. My mind started to dissociate from what my body was doing at this point, and I switched into pure survival mode. My heart rate was no longer returning to a baseline, instead staying in the 160-170 range. While I was impressed that my legs kept functioning through the pain, I was feeling disappointed that what was slowing me down was my heart rate. I was momentarily thrilled when a judge told me my lunges were ‘spot on’, and that the spectators were cheering for me. More men’s teams flew by me, stopping and swapping who carried the sand bag while I suffered with pain in every single joint and muscle group in my body. Reminding myself that I signed up for this I kept going. When I got to put the soggy sandbag down and bump knuckles with the equipment judge I was determined to keep moving. The muscles in my legs were screaming and my knees were ready to give out, but I had one last run lap to go. I stopped to get water in the rox zone and prepare myself to face one hundred wall balls.

Segment 8: Kilometer 8 and Wall Balls

Last kilometer. It was my slowest kilometer by far, I was hobbling by this point, my knees were sore, and I spent the last kilometer contemplating what the rules surrounding dnf were. I had several plans, including begging the judges for forgiveness, trying to do as many wall balls as I could and then feigning that I forgot the rest and finishing anyway, and simply doing one at a time no matter how long it took. I guess I was in the bargaining phase of my journey. I stopped one last time before entering the wall ball section and squeezed as much of the fluid out of the back of my knees as I could and preemptively beg my body for forgiveness for what I was about to do to it. I was directed to my last implement of torture, the 14-pound wall ball and the eight foot high target that I would have to hit 100 times. Let me tell you, I was shocked when I did my first squat and it worked. To have a complete rep you must pick up the wall ball, squat with your hip crease below the plane of your knees, and then stand up and launch the ball to hit the sensor in the target. I didn’t expect my knees to hold me up, and honestly, I could no longer feel my legs so the fact that they were performing high level movements was as impressive as it was improbable. I made it through my first thirty and had to take a break. My judge told me that I had excellent form and my only response for her was, “Thank you, I am trying my hardest not to vomit.” It was so much worse than that. I checked my watch and my heart rate skyrocketed to the 180’s, in spite of feeling physically capable my heart was not going to help. While contemplating what it would look like to simply lay down on the carpet and close my eyes I was also wrestling the very real possibility that I was going to break another cardinal rule and throw up on the carpet. I had to bend over and hold myself up on my wall ball. My legs would no longer support my weight and honestly I think the weight of the wall ball was anchoring my soul to the same physical plane. I was able to knock out ten at a time, and slowly chip away at the numbers while also trying to convince my heart it did not need to roll over into a ‘shockable rhythm’. While it felt like my imminent demise was speeding by, apparently it took me almost thirteen minutes to finish. When I tell you the feelings that happened when my counter hit 100… phew. I only had two no reps because I was having a hard time focusing on the target and sent a few airballs in the general direction I was supposed to throw the damn thing. I am super proud of that. I think I will always remember the feeling of doing my best to jog across the finish line with my knees trying to buckle and getting handed that white pro division badge.  I almost had to be lifted off the stage, WHO PUTS STAIRS AFTER THAT??? Thankfully the volunteers found me funny and helped me down. Hunter was waiting and honestly all of the emotions, adrenaline dump, pain, effort, everything came out when I spotted him and I ended up sobbing for several minutes on his shoulder about how hard that was.

I staggered to the recovery station, Hunter got me and acai bowl and I began the process of attempting to recover. I think this whole thing has changed me, and what I know I am capable of.  Watching the other ladies keep going and finish with me, knowing we were the last of the last, the slow, the heavier, the ‘uncool’, I realized that we need to keep showing up. This isn’t a sport just for the twenty somethings, just for the perfect bodies, or the runners who push through with 5 minute laps. I am far from a perfect physical specimen, I can’t run well, I have decided God gave me arthritis because without it I would be insufferable. I will most likely always be one of the last people to cross that finish line and for that reason I need to keep showing up, so other people know that we still deserve to do hard things, regardless of body type, or speed. I did a really hard thing that a year ago was beyond comprehension for me, I finished it, and guess what? I already signed up for another one, and I encourage anyone wondering about it to just freaking do it. Grit will get you further then anything else and sometimes we need to try it out to see how far we can go.