Post by Oti on Jun 3, 2012 18:02:13 GMT -5
It was Tuesday, March 27th (2012, for you future readers), about 8:30 PM EST. I was wandering the campus of Florida International University, looking for any sign of the course. Including my two mile hike from the hotel to the campus and all the time I had spent lost on campus, I had been walking for nearly an hour. And I was lost as balls. Finding FIU was simple enough (a straight shot from the hotel), but the campus seemed impossible to navigate. I whipped out my Trac Phone and called my girlfriend, who stayed back home in New York due to school, for guidance. After a brief heated discussion on where exactly on campus I was, she led me in the right direction and I found the course. Upon seeing it, I was instantly excited and oddly confident. The girlfriend and I said our goodbyes and I headed toward the course, ready to mingle with my ninja brethren.
I swerved through the surprisingly large crowd, a mixture of curious college students and wannabe ninjas, and made my way to what was essentially the front gate. Even though I wasn't supposed to sign in until midnight, the casting people took my papers and whatnot and scribbled me down as present. As they did this, I took a quick glance at one of their clip boards and saw my name in the 4:00 AM category. At this point I realized that 4 AM is actually a cursed time, and if I had known that I would've waited an extra hour before lining up for Ninjafest 4. Alas.
I said my thank yous to the incredibly friendly and helpful staff members (which is often the case with G4's events, so no surprise there), got my number (86, I think?) and scampered off to inform the girlfriend that I was signed in and not running for another million hours. She told me good luck and that she was going to bed, but I was to call her right before and right after my run so she could get all the details (spoiler alert: I do neither of these things). After exchanging smooches, I immediately turned the phone off and tossed it in my backpack. I adjusted my fedora and disappeared into the crowd of ANW hopefuls, dead set on finding someone to keep me company.
Over the course of the next seven or so hours, I talked ANW and training with several other competitors, most of which seemed to know me, which is odd because I had no idea who any of them were (I'm terrible with names/faces). Regardless, words were exchanged with many people and I even got worked up over pull-ups and squats while discussing routines with someone from New Jersey. It was a blast. Several competitors also wanted to swap thoughts and/or strategies on particular obstacles, the most common of which was the Quad Steps. As strangers told me about how a cousin of a friend of theirs is a Spin instructor and he recommends taking 8 3/4 steps, but only on the steps that are prime numbers, and only if it's slightly humid outside, I shrugged and responded with, "I'mma one-step 'em, like a boss." I got a lot of chuckles even though I wasn't joking. Disagreements aside, I will say that one of the best parts of this whole ANW thing is definitely getting to interact with the other competitors. It's just incredible. Even the annoying people are fun to talk to, which I'm sure some see me as.
As the hours passed and I grew colder, hungrier and more tired, other competitors began their warm-up routines. There was the typical group of people static stretching, which I don't participate in because thorough static stretching before an activity 1.) doesn't prevent injuries and 2.) actually temporarily decreases muscular strength, which in turn decreases performance. Others did vague warm-up exercises, such as jumping jacks and burpees. I didn't partake in this either since I like my warm-ups to be specific. It's more beneficial. As the sleepy ninjas around me continued to come to life, I just sort of floated around, not really doing anything. I even laid down on the concrete a few times and nearly fell asleep. The course could only keep me excited for so long, it seemed.
Eventually my number was almost up, at which point I sprang to life and began lightly shadow boxing and tricking. It was more of an attempt to wake up than an actual warm-up, but either way I probably looked like a psycho, so it doesn't really matter. One by one, the competitors in front turn their shots at the course until finally, the time had come. It was my turn. I trekked through the wet grass, up the wooden steps and to the starting platform. I did the legally obligated look-at-the-camera-and-say-your-name thing, confirmed that I understood the rules and was ordered to standby.
G4 took forever to prep the course for me, which was odd considering the competitors who ran right before me didn't get far, so what they were resetting was beyond me. Regardless, I was up there forever, staring down the mouth of the dreaded Quad Steps, and although I had been quite nonchalant the entire night, a massive wave of nervousness crashed into me, as it always did at the starting line. I began pacing, as I often do when I'm uncomfortable, and sizing up the Quad Steps. I periodically shot glances up at the crowd but my gaze quickly fell back to the steps. Before I knew it, the G4 employee with the megaphone was counting me down. "5!" Wait! I thought. "4!" I'm not done pacing! "3! 2! 1!" Oh fu- "GO!" No turning back now.
I lowered my head, grasped my fedora and cast it off into the blackness behind me. The poor bastard would've fallen off on the Log Grip anyway. I quickly set and exploded off the starting line, determined to crush the course with all my power, or fail trying. I found myself shouting (a habit I picked up from lifting) as I darted through the Quad Steps, and even though I felt as if I was going to fall backwards on the last step, I was climbing up the landing platform before I knew it. I had cleared the single biggest threat on the course, and I had done so with ease.
I scampered up the seemingly thousand-foot tall steps that led to the Log Grip and quickly wrapped my arms around it, unsure of how deep the grips would be. To my surprise, the grips were incredibly deep. I shoved my fingers into the holds and shoved off the platform forcefully, causing the log and myself to fly violently down the track. I shouted, "WEEEEEE!" in my head as I flew down the track (not even kidding) and hit the end of the track in what seemed like an instant. I wanted to go again.
I dismounted the log, pushed it aside, and scooted to the next obstacle, the dreaded Bungee Bridge. This one was tricky because the bungees were a massive variable. None of the competitors knew how firm or stretchy the bungees were, if they were all the same, how much they would wobble, anything. I quickly killed my momentum and lightly stepped onto the first group of bungees. They held my tiny 155 lbs body up with great ease, which comforted me significantly. I forced my weight down a little bit and gently bounced to the next group of bungees. Then the next, and the next and the next. It wasn't the fastest or prettiest approach, but it was damn fun. Bungee Bridge down, Jump Hang in sight.
I quickly eyed the Jump Hang and scoffed slightly in my head. A trampoline helps you express power, and with my lifting, I wasn't worried at all about my power. I flew to the trampoline, stomped the ever-loving daylights out of it and flew toward the top of the cargo net. I caught myself and climbed to the top of the net easily, but that's when the difficulty decided to rear its ugly head. I had quite a hard time getting over the top of the net, and once over I had to be careful while rolling (I wear glasses). Needless to say, my execution on this obstacle was rather sloppy. Either way, though, I made it through. It's all downhill from here.
I glanced up at the Jumping Bars and got ready to have more fun. I stomped the trampoline just as hard as the first one and caught the first bar with some ease. Looking back on it, It was probably a little bit of a close call, but I still had some wiggle room. As I swung and jumped from bar to bar, I found myself zoning out a bit. The Jumping Bars had never been challenging for me, and because of this I began to realize how tired I was. "Oh f**k, I'm too tired," I thought to myself, "I'm going to clear the bars and then the Wall Lift, but there's no way I'm getting up that wall. God damn it." I dismounted the Jumping Bars and lazily bounced my way to the Wall Lift, trying to recover a bit of energy if possible.
So much for that. I ran full speed into the first wall, literally shoulder checking it, before shouting again (ahhh, lifting) and throwing the wall overhead as hard as I could. To my disappointment, the wall didn't really fly due to the poor craftsmanship. The walls weren't on rails, but rather in wooden tracks. The wooden walls... were in wooden tracks. How ghetto. Anyway, as I repeated the shouting/throwing two more times, I realized what was going on. I had just flown through the course with little difficulty (shut up, Jump Hang) and I was almost done. I passed under the last wall and that was it. I was staring at the Warped Wall. The final obstacle.
"That was fast. Wonder how fast I went," I thought to myself as I sized up the wall and prepared to attack it. "Meh," I thought, shrugging it off, and away I went. I ran up the wall, jumped and grabbed the ledge with my right hand. And... no... I can't... AHHH! My grip failed and I slid down on the wall on my side. I sprung to my feet and paced back to the start of the Warped Wall's runway. I turned to face the wall, angry that it was mocking me again (it took me two tries to get up the Warped Wall in ANW2). Rage building, I stormed the wall again, easily grabbing it and climbing to the top, which I find odd because I apparently couldn't do that on the first try. I slammed the button as hard as I could (I purposefully tried to break it, just 'cause), turned to the crowd and raised my hands. Tada!
I hopped down the backside of the Warped Wall and told the pesky cameraman that I needed to quit smoking, and I don't even smoke. "They probably won't air that," I thought to myself as I walked over to Angela Sun for a post-run interview.
The interview itself was awkward. First she stuttered, then I did. Then I accidentally talked over her, and one time I stretched out my shirt and demanded to know how I got a hole in it (it was brand new before my run). Eventually we got through the interview and I was permitted to the winners' circle. I was seated next to Mike Bernardo, which was a relief because he and I get along rather well for some reason. The runs continued for maybe 45 minutes to an hour, after which we were confirmed for the semis on Wednesday and given more paperwork (AKA massive packet). Mission accomplished. Vegas, here I come.
I slept most of Wednesday, March 28th. After finally emerging from my cocoon, I got dressed, hit up a nearby gas station for junk food and made my way to the course again. I wanted to see the Southeast compete, and get some pictures or something if possible. I somehow found my way back to the course with ease and took a seat in the bleachers to rest up a bit. As the first group of competitors were herded along the course and given the rules of each obstacle, I found myself extremely bored. I left the bleachers and found people to interact with instead, most of whom probed me for advice. I didn't mind though, since I enjoy helping others with this ninja stuff. The average conversation went something like this:
Them: Do you run tonight too?
Me: Nah, I ran last night.
Them: Oh, cool. How'd you do?
Me: I made it through with a good time. Semifinals for me.
Them: Wow, awesome! Hey, got any advice for the ___?
Me: Sure do. On the ___, you should ___.
It wasn't annoying in the least, but having the same conversation with like 20 people in one night was a little trippy. Aside from that, it was uneventful. I watched some of my acquaintances from ANW2 act like jackasses, which was fun, and I sat for several hours shooting the s**t with Chris Christensen, AKA Uncle Sam/Ninja Chris. I also ran into Ryan Stratis and Mike Bernardo several times, who are just silly, so I won't go into detail there. The takeaway is that I showed up, mingled, watched most of the competition and then walked back to the hotel to sleep some more. Nothing extraordinary.
Thursday, March 29th. After sleeping all afternoon (are you seeing a pattern here?), I ate, packed my things and began my long, boring journey to the course. For reasons that are beyond me, but most likely because I'm old, I was plagued with the following injuries:
- My left shoulder felt like it was about to dislocate any time I moved my arm, but especially when I did things with my upper body (climb, trick, etc.). It wasn't painful, but unnerving. A previous injury.
- My left wrist could barely handle being pulled when pronated (so I hardly did pull-ups before ANW4) and it could not handle being pulled while supinated. Extremely painful and frustrating. A previous injury.
- My lower back was locked up and rusted over. Although bending forward was uncomfortable, it offered temporary relief. Any kind of extension was just painful. A previous injury, aggravated by walking, standing and competing.
- Horrific shin splits on my right ankle. I assume walking 6+ miles daily was what did it. Because of this, I spent the last day of the competition kind of half-waddling around, trying to use my ankle as little as possible. A new injury.
Couple these things with the fact that I was hardly eating at the hotel and you have a very miserable Oti. Out of the three events I've attended (hesitant on calling NF4 a competition), I was easily the most miserable during this one. The icing on the cake, however, had to be that as the night/morning went on, it got colder and windier, forcing me to retreat into the coat that I had thankfully brought. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself here. Let's jump back for a second, just so this write-up flows smoothly.
Fast forward however many minutes it took me to travel and I was at the course. I signed in at the table, turned in the paperwork and floated away to entertain myself until I was needed. We (the Northeast region) waited forever as G4 prepared whatever they were preparing, then watched the Southeast semifinalists run. They breezed through the course, and G4 somehow breezed through them, running all 30 of them remarkably quickly. Before we knew it, G4 had their 15 Southeast finalists and was already swapping out the silly ring obstacle for our friend, the Jumping Bars. The change took forever, and during this time I made my way to the coral where the other ninjas/livestock were kept, which I soon regretted.
We were wrangled away, into the shadows, for what they called a "hero shot" (money shot, what?). It took forever, which was admittedly kind of funny because not only did we have to stand there like dumbasses and try to look serious for the camera, but the other 29 competitors had all been warming up and preparing diligently to run the course before this, and during all the standing around they got cold again. This didn't bother me because while they were warming up, I was lying on the concrete, trying to alleviate my back pain and stay awake. Whatever works, right?
Before we knew it we were wrangled back to the course and the 30th competitor from the preliminaries was about to run (the semifinals were run in reverse order). I never found out my time, but I was apparently ranked 11th or 12th from the preliminaries, so I had a rough idea of when I would run. G4 plowed through the competitors with impressive efficiency and, after watching most of my teammates go down before the Warped Wall, it was my turn again.
I stood on the waiting platform with my fedora, anxious, but not afraid. I was confident that I was at least going to get to the Salmon Ladder because now I knew how everything felt. I knew the Quad Steps weren't that big of a threat, the Bungee Bridge was strong and the trampolines were springy. I was actually confident that I wouldn't go down like a b****. "Let's do this," I thought to myself as the guy with the megaphone began counting me down. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO!" He shouted. I threw my fedora behind me again (consistency, you see) and took off.
The Quad Steps, Log Grip and Bungee Bridge were the same as before, minus the doubt I had during the preliminaries. I reached the Jump Hang and paused for a moment, trying to conserve some energy. After a brief rest, I stomped the trampoline and exploded toward the top of the net. I grabbed the net easily and rolled my way over the top, much more gracefully this time around, if I may say so myself. I jumped to my feet and eyed the Jumping Bars suspiciously. A lot of competitors had gone out there and I definitely didn't want to fail an obstacle I handled easily last time. I paused, took a deep breath, and pounced on the trampoline. I felt a significant lack of power in my jump, but I didn't care. I went for it. I flew toward the bars, both hands reaching desperately. I neared the bars and WHOOSH. I flew right under them. I don't think I was even close. As soon as I realized I missed the first bar, I turned my gaze to the murky water below and time suddenly froze. "Holy s***, I just failed. No!" I shouted in my head. But then it hit me. I was alright with it. I had done well, much better than I thought I would considering the only training I had done in months was lifting. "Huh. Well how about that." I thought as time resumed and I fell into the surprisingly not-so-cold water. I emerged and raised my arms victoriously in an attempt to show how much fun I was having. The audience probably didn't get it, though.
I exited the water, got a free towel (which I stole two of), got interviewed by Angela and was led to the winners' circle, where I was currently ranked 7th or 8th. Apparently I had failed quickly enough that I wasn't out of the running yet. I sat there, tired, hungry and cold, waiting for enough people to beat my time/obstacle so I could go back to the hotel. Some people failed before the Jumping Bars while others cleared the entire thing (very few did, though). Eventually I was booted, AKA free, so I grabbed "my" towels, collected my things at the starting line (including my fedora), said goodbye to like three people and began my long, lonely walk back to the hotel. I reflected on the trip as a whole, and while it was ultimately a waste of money, it had been fun and I was looking forward to ANW5.
Until next time.
- The Amazing Oti
I swerved through the surprisingly large crowd, a mixture of curious college students and wannabe ninjas, and made my way to what was essentially the front gate. Even though I wasn't supposed to sign in until midnight, the casting people took my papers and whatnot and scribbled me down as present. As they did this, I took a quick glance at one of their clip boards and saw my name in the 4:00 AM category. At this point I realized that 4 AM is actually a cursed time, and if I had known that I would've waited an extra hour before lining up for Ninjafest 4. Alas.
I said my thank yous to the incredibly friendly and helpful staff members (which is often the case with G4's events, so no surprise there), got my number (86, I think?) and scampered off to inform the girlfriend that I was signed in and not running for another million hours. She told me good luck and that she was going to bed, but I was to call her right before and right after my run so she could get all the details (spoiler alert: I do neither of these things). After exchanging smooches, I immediately turned the phone off and tossed it in my backpack. I adjusted my fedora and disappeared into the crowd of ANW hopefuls, dead set on finding someone to keep me company.
Over the course of the next seven or so hours, I talked ANW and training with several other competitors, most of which seemed to know me, which is odd because I had no idea who any of them were (I'm terrible with names/faces). Regardless, words were exchanged with many people and I even got worked up over pull-ups and squats while discussing routines with someone from New Jersey. It was a blast. Several competitors also wanted to swap thoughts and/or strategies on particular obstacles, the most common of which was the Quad Steps. As strangers told me about how a cousin of a friend of theirs is a Spin instructor and he recommends taking 8 3/4 steps, but only on the steps that are prime numbers, and only if it's slightly humid outside, I shrugged and responded with, "I'mma one-step 'em, like a boss." I got a lot of chuckles even though I wasn't joking. Disagreements aside, I will say that one of the best parts of this whole ANW thing is definitely getting to interact with the other competitors. It's just incredible. Even the annoying people are fun to talk to, which I'm sure some see me as.
As the hours passed and I grew colder, hungrier and more tired, other competitors began their warm-up routines. There was the typical group of people static stretching, which I don't participate in because thorough static stretching before an activity 1.) doesn't prevent injuries and 2.) actually temporarily decreases muscular strength, which in turn decreases performance. Others did vague warm-up exercises, such as jumping jacks and burpees. I didn't partake in this either since I like my warm-ups to be specific. It's more beneficial. As the sleepy ninjas around me continued to come to life, I just sort of floated around, not really doing anything. I even laid down on the concrete a few times and nearly fell asleep. The course could only keep me excited for so long, it seemed.
Eventually my number was almost up, at which point I sprang to life and began lightly shadow boxing and tricking. It was more of an attempt to wake up than an actual warm-up, but either way I probably looked like a psycho, so it doesn't really matter. One by one, the competitors in front turn their shots at the course until finally, the time had come. It was my turn. I trekked through the wet grass, up the wooden steps and to the starting platform. I did the legally obligated look-at-the-camera-and-say-your-name thing, confirmed that I understood the rules and was ordered to standby.
G4 took forever to prep the course for me, which was odd considering the competitors who ran right before me didn't get far, so what they were resetting was beyond me. Regardless, I was up there forever, staring down the mouth of the dreaded Quad Steps, and although I had been quite nonchalant the entire night, a massive wave of nervousness crashed into me, as it always did at the starting line. I began pacing, as I often do when I'm uncomfortable, and sizing up the Quad Steps. I periodically shot glances up at the crowd but my gaze quickly fell back to the steps. Before I knew it, the G4 employee with the megaphone was counting me down. "5!" Wait! I thought. "4!" I'm not done pacing! "3! 2! 1!" Oh fu- "GO!" No turning back now.
I lowered my head, grasped my fedora and cast it off into the blackness behind me. The poor bastard would've fallen off on the Log Grip anyway. I quickly set and exploded off the starting line, determined to crush the course with all my power, or fail trying. I found myself shouting (a habit I picked up from lifting) as I darted through the Quad Steps, and even though I felt as if I was going to fall backwards on the last step, I was climbing up the landing platform before I knew it. I had cleared the single biggest threat on the course, and I had done so with ease.
I scampered up the seemingly thousand-foot tall steps that led to the Log Grip and quickly wrapped my arms around it, unsure of how deep the grips would be. To my surprise, the grips were incredibly deep. I shoved my fingers into the holds and shoved off the platform forcefully, causing the log and myself to fly violently down the track. I shouted, "WEEEEEE!" in my head as I flew down the track (not even kidding) and hit the end of the track in what seemed like an instant. I wanted to go again.
I dismounted the log, pushed it aside, and scooted to the next obstacle, the dreaded Bungee Bridge. This one was tricky because the bungees were a massive variable. None of the competitors knew how firm or stretchy the bungees were, if they were all the same, how much they would wobble, anything. I quickly killed my momentum and lightly stepped onto the first group of bungees. They held my tiny 155 lbs body up with great ease, which comforted me significantly. I forced my weight down a little bit and gently bounced to the next group of bungees. Then the next, and the next and the next. It wasn't the fastest or prettiest approach, but it was damn fun. Bungee Bridge down, Jump Hang in sight.
I quickly eyed the Jump Hang and scoffed slightly in my head. A trampoline helps you express power, and with my lifting, I wasn't worried at all about my power. I flew to the trampoline, stomped the ever-loving daylights out of it and flew toward the top of the cargo net. I caught myself and climbed to the top of the net easily, but that's when the difficulty decided to rear its ugly head. I had quite a hard time getting over the top of the net, and once over I had to be careful while rolling (I wear glasses). Needless to say, my execution on this obstacle was rather sloppy. Either way, though, I made it through. It's all downhill from here.
I glanced up at the Jumping Bars and got ready to have more fun. I stomped the trampoline just as hard as the first one and caught the first bar with some ease. Looking back on it, It was probably a little bit of a close call, but I still had some wiggle room. As I swung and jumped from bar to bar, I found myself zoning out a bit. The Jumping Bars had never been challenging for me, and because of this I began to realize how tired I was. "Oh f**k, I'm too tired," I thought to myself, "I'm going to clear the bars and then the Wall Lift, but there's no way I'm getting up that wall. God damn it." I dismounted the Jumping Bars and lazily bounced my way to the Wall Lift, trying to recover a bit of energy if possible.
So much for that. I ran full speed into the first wall, literally shoulder checking it, before shouting again (ahhh, lifting) and throwing the wall overhead as hard as I could. To my disappointment, the wall didn't really fly due to the poor craftsmanship. The walls weren't on rails, but rather in wooden tracks. The wooden walls... were in wooden tracks. How ghetto. Anyway, as I repeated the shouting/throwing two more times, I realized what was going on. I had just flown through the course with little difficulty (shut up, Jump Hang) and I was almost done. I passed under the last wall and that was it. I was staring at the Warped Wall. The final obstacle.
"That was fast. Wonder how fast I went," I thought to myself as I sized up the wall and prepared to attack it. "Meh," I thought, shrugging it off, and away I went. I ran up the wall, jumped and grabbed the ledge with my right hand. And... no... I can't... AHHH! My grip failed and I slid down on the wall on my side. I sprung to my feet and paced back to the start of the Warped Wall's runway. I turned to face the wall, angry that it was mocking me again (it took me two tries to get up the Warped Wall in ANW2). Rage building, I stormed the wall again, easily grabbing it and climbing to the top, which I find odd because I apparently couldn't do that on the first try. I slammed the button as hard as I could (I purposefully tried to break it, just 'cause), turned to the crowd and raised my hands. Tada!
I hopped down the backside of the Warped Wall and told the pesky cameraman that I needed to quit smoking, and I don't even smoke. "They probably won't air that," I thought to myself as I walked over to Angela Sun for a post-run interview.
The interview itself was awkward. First she stuttered, then I did. Then I accidentally talked over her, and one time I stretched out my shirt and demanded to know how I got a hole in it (it was brand new before my run). Eventually we got through the interview and I was permitted to the winners' circle. I was seated next to Mike Bernardo, which was a relief because he and I get along rather well for some reason. The runs continued for maybe 45 minutes to an hour, after which we were confirmed for the semis on Wednesday and given more paperwork (AKA massive packet). Mission accomplished. Vegas, here I come.
*****
I slept most of Wednesday, March 28th. After finally emerging from my cocoon, I got dressed, hit up a nearby gas station for junk food and made my way to the course again. I wanted to see the Southeast compete, and get some pictures or something if possible. I somehow found my way back to the course with ease and took a seat in the bleachers to rest up a bit. As the first group of competitors were herded along the course and given the rules of each obstacle, I found myself extremely bored. I left the bleachers and found people to interact with instead, most of whom probed me for advice. I didn't mind though, since I enjoy helping others with this ninja stuff. The average conversation went something like this:
Them: Do you run tonight too?
Me: Nah, I ran last night.
Them: Oh, cool. How'd you do?
Me: I made it through with a good time. Semifinals for me.
Them: Wow, awesome! Hey, got any advice for the ___?
Me: Sure do. On the ___, you should ___.
It wasn't annoying in the least, but having the same conversation with like 20 people in one night was a little trippy. Aside from that, it was uneventful. I watched some of my acquaintances from ANW2 act like jackasses, which was fun, and I sat for several hours shooting the s**t with Chris Christensen, AKA Uncle Sam/Ninja Chris. I also ran into Ryan Stratis and Mike Bernardo several times, who are just silly, so I won't go into detail there. The takeaway is that I showed up, mingled, watched most of the competition and then walked back to the hotel to sleep some more. Nothing extraordinary.
*****
Thursday, March 29th. After sleeping all afternoon (are you seeing a pattern here?), I ate, packed my things and began my long, boring journey to the course. For reasons that are beyond me, but most likely because I'm old, I was plagued with the following injuries:
- My left shoulder felt like it was about to dislocate any time I moved my arm, but especially when I did things with my upper body (climb, trick, etc.). It wasn't painful, but unnerving. A previous injury.
- My left wrist could barely handle being pulled when pronated (so I hardly did pull-ups before ANW4) and it could not handle being pulled while supinated. Extremely painful and frustrating. A previous injury.
- My lower back was locked up and rusted over. Although bending forward was uncomfortable, it offered temporary relief. Any kind of extension was just painful. A previous injury, aggravated by walking, standing and competing.
- Horrific shin splits on my right ankle. I assume walking 6+ miles daily was what did it. Because of this, I spent the last day of the competition kind of half-waddling around, trying to use my ankle as little as possible. A new injury.
Couple these things with the fact that I was hardly eating at the hotel and you have a very miserable Oti. Out of the three events I've attended (hesitant on calling NF4 a competition), I was easily the most miserable during this one. The icing on the cake, however, had to be that as the night/morning went on, it got colder and windier, forcing me to retreat into the coat that I had thankfully brought. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself here. Let's jump back for a second, just so this write-up flows smoothly.
Fast forward however many minutes it took me to travel and I was at the course. I signed in at the table, turned in the paperwork and floated away to entertain myself until I was needed. We (the Northeast region) waited forever as G4 prepared whatever they were preparing, then watched the Southeast semifinalists run. They breezed through the course, and G4 somehow breezed through them, running all 30 of them remarkably quickly. Before we knew it, G4 had their 15 Southeast finalists and was already swapping out the silly ring obstacle for our friend, the Jumping Bars. The change took forever, and during this time I made my way to the coral where the other ninjas/livestock were kept, which I soon regretted.
We were wrangled away, into the shadows, for what they called a "hero shot" (money shot, what?). It took forever, which was admittedly kind of funny because not only did we have to stand there like dumbasses and try to look serious for the camera, but the other 29 competitors had all been warming up and preparing diligently to run the course before this, and during all the standing around they got cold again. This didn't bother me because while they were warming up, I was lying on the concrete, trying to alleviate my back pain and stay awake. Whatever works, right?
Before we knew it we were wrangled back to the course and the 30th competitor from the preliminaries was about to run (the semifinals were run in reverse order). I never found out my time, but I was apparently ranked 11th or 12th from the preliminaries, so I had a rough idea of when I would run. G4 plowed through the competitors with impressive efficiency and, after watching most of my teammates go down before the Warped Wall, it was my turn again.
I stood on the waiting platform with my fedora, anxious, but not afraid. I was confident that I was at least going to get to the Salmon Ladder because now I knew how everything felt. I knew the Quad Steps weren't that big of a threat, the Bungee Bridge was strong and the trampolines were springy. I was actually confident that I wouldn't go down like a b****. "Let's do this," I thought to myself as the guy with the megaphone began counting me down. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO!" He shouted. I threw my fedora behind me again (consistency, you see) and took off.
The Quad Steps, Log Grip and Bungee Bridge were the same as before, minus the doubt I had during the preliminaries. I reached the Jump Hang and paused for a moment, trying to conserve some energy. After a brief rest, I stomped the trampoline and exploded toward the top of the net. I grabbed the net easily and rolled my way over the top, much more gracefully this time around, if I may say so myself. I jumped to my feet and eyed the Jumping Bars suspiciously. A lot of competitors had gone out there and I definitely didn't want to fail an obstacle I handled easily last time. I paused, took a deep breath, and pounced on the trampoline. I felt a significant lack of power in my jump, but I didn't care. I went for it. I flew toward the bars, both hands reaching desperately. I neared the bars and WHOOSH. I flew right under them. I don't think I was even close. As soon as I realized I missed the first bar, I turned my gaze to the murky water below and time suddenly froze. "Holy s***, I just failed. No!" I shouted in my head. But then it hit me. I was alright with it. I had done well, much better than I thought I would considering the only training I had done in months was lifting. "Huh. Well how about that." I thought as time resumed and I fell into the surprisingly not-so-cold water. I emerged and raised my arms victoriously in an attempt to show how much fun I was having. The audience probably didn't get it, though.
I exited the water, got a free towel (which I stole two of), got interviewed by Angela and was led to the winners' circle, where I was currently ranked 7th or 8th. Apparently I had failed quickly enough that I wasn't out of the running yet. I sat there, tired, hungry and cold, waiting for enough people to beat my time/obstacle so I could go back to the hotel. Some people failed before the Jumping Bars while others cleared the entire thing (very few did, though). Eventually I was booted, AKA free, so I grabbed "my" towels, collected my things at the starting line (including my fedora), said goodbye to like three people and began my long, lonely walk back to the hotel. I reflected on the trip as a whole, and while it was ultimately a waste of money, it had been fun and I was looking forward to ANW5.
Until next time.
- The Amazing Oti