A recent email reminded me of this fun piece on Vermont's "Death Race," held every June. Yes, the "race" itself is a bit contrived, but the pain and suffering (and mental anguish) is the real deal. I originally wrote the piece for The Boston Globe. The published version can be found here.Running them into the ground
Vermont’s ‘Death Race’ is a brutal test of the body and the mind
PITTSFIELD, Vt. – A distressed Joe Desena stands under a bright June sun soaking wet, a combination of sweat and a big dose of slimy Vermont mud. He has already crawled through a half-dozen sections of barbed-wire-laden trenches, hacked a thick tree stump out of the ground, run a mile in a slick river bed, split 20 logs into quarters, and hiked up one of the steep hillsides lining Route 100.
And it’s only 10 a.m.
On Desena’s aching back is a tool pack, with the aforementioned stump strapped to it. Slung over his shoulder is a bike frame. In his trembling hands, he’s holding a gnarled piece of paper with 10 names scribbled on it. Desena stares at the names - ostensibly the first 10 presidents of the United States - but he can’t decipher his handwriting.
“Martin?” he says to a Death Race official. “There’s no president named Martin, is there?”
Martin van Buren shouldn’t feel slighted. Clearly, the Death Race, Desena’s creation, is taking a toll on its maker. He’s not the only one. There were 49 lunatic souls who started the race at 4 a.m. Twenty-one hours later, the last of 18 finishers straggled across the finish line. Thirty-one quit. By Death Race standards, that simply means the event was too easy.
“Our goal is to have at least one person finish,” says Dave Darby of Bedford, Mass., a veteran adventure racer and mastermind behind many of the “special tasks” that make up the Death Race. “Then everyone knows they could have finished, that it was possible. If no one finishes, then we screwed up.”
Desena’s Death Race is a brutal combination of the IronMan triathlon, ESPN’s Outdoor Games, and network reality shows like “Survivor” and “The Amazing Race.” Last year’s co-winner, Chris Mitchell, a 41-year-old software engineer from Boston, is on hand to help out, but had no interest in defending his title.
“I looked at a few pictures of myself after last year’s race, and all these memories came rushing back,” says Mitchell. “I looked like hell, covered with chigger bites, one eye swollen shut.”
Mitchell’s co-winner, Stever Bartlett, a Middlebury College ski coach, is nowhere nearby. “He won’t come back to this town,” says Desena, grinning. “He’s got bad memories of Pittsfield.”
Desena hadn’t originally planned on competing in his own event. But last summer, during the second running of the Death Race, he was confronted by several irate competitors who accused him of “putting them through 24 hours of hell.”
“So I had to see for myself if I could do it.”
Looking for adventure
The Death Race is one of many edgy competitions offered by Desena’s Peak Adventures. Upcoming events include the 666 Mountain Bike Race Saturday (with a “King of the Hill” competition the next day), the Funeral Run (featuring 50-mile, 100-mile, and 200-mile ultra-endurance options) in late October, and a Snowshoe Marathon in March. None fit the description of “normal” competition.
Peak Adventures grew out of Desena’s belief that society has become soft. A native of Brooklyn, N.Y., who was bitten by the adventure racing bug a decade ago, Desena jumped into his new hobby with the same zeal that made him a successful Wall Street broker.
“For thousands of years, we’ve been creatures that have dealt with this kind of adversity,” says Desena. “It’s only in the past hundred years that we’ve become couch potatoes.”
Desena, 41, has competed in more than 40 adventure races around the globe. He also has the financial wherewithal, thanks to the success and sale of his Burlington Capital Markets firm, to create an adventure racing and training destination in Pittsfield. Situated on Route 100, Vermont’s “ski highway,” the town has gone through several alterations in the past half-century. Established in 1781, Pittsfield was primarily a farming community 50 years ago before Killington changed the landscape. Many farm owners, looking to cash in on the ski craze, opened inns. But when Killington and Pico built on-site lodging, Pittsfield fell on hard times.
In 2002, Courtney and Joe Desena were sharing a loft in New York City when they discovered Pittsfield’s Riverside Farm. The couple bought the dilapidated horse farm, renovated it, and held their wedding there in 2003. Today, the Riverside Farm, in addition to being a home to the Desenas and their three children, hosts a number of exclusive weddings each year. The property, with three rebuilt barns, can also accommodate a variety of special events, from corporate retreats to weekend getaways. Over the past few years, the Desenas have expanded their presence in Pittsfield. They now own roughly 400 acres in the 20-square-mile hamlet, including the Original General Store and a Bikram yoga studio. They also helped salvage the nearby Amee Farm. The Amee property, owned primarily by Michael Halovatch, an adventure racing/Wall Street colleague of Desena, is home to an eco-friendly inn, a working farm, and a huge, rough-hewn roadside barn. The barn headquarters Peak Adventures, which hosts races and training camps.
“Joe moved up here to retire, to slow down, but he’s not wired that way,” says his wife with a laugh.
The juxtaposition between high-end weddings and weekend retreats and the Peak Adventures events often proves hilarious. Last year, Courtney intercepted several Death Race competitors who came stumbling out of the woods, like “Dawn of the Dead” zombies, before they reached a Riverside wedding reception. This year, the early- morning tranquility of a yoga retreat at the Amee Farm Inn was broken by a cacophony of axes splitting wood, as Death Race competitors quartered logs in the inn’s driveway.
Physical, mental challenge
The Death Race festivities actually start the day before, at 10 p.m., when organizers host a race meeting atop “Joe’s Hill” behind Riverside Farm. Racers hike up the hill with their bikes, but return only with their frames, leaving the wheels and chains behind. Nervous chatter fills the cool, bug-infested air.
“I’ve done a lot of races, and you get to the point where you want to keep challenging yourself,” says Greg Hartwell, 24-year-old accountant from Andover, Mass. “This seemed like a great opportunity.”
Hartwell cajoled his 30-year-old brother, Thomas Hartwell of Wakefield, into joining him. “He told me it was an arts and crafts weekend with the boys,” says Thomas.
The race starts at 4 in the morning, well before the first rays of sunlight squeeze into this narrow valley. Race director Andy Weinberg, hoisting a sawed-off stump overhead, informs racers they must find their own in a field across the street (identified by their race bib), hack it out of the ground, and carry it with them the entire day. “You guys are a bunch of nut jobs who want to torture yourselves in Pittsfield,” he says, half-taunting, half-encouraging. “The next 24 hours will be the toughest you’ve ever experienced.”
Competitors crawl through a muddy trench, under barbed wire, to and from the stump field. Then they pick up their bike frames and, after snaking through two more barbed-wire sections, jog a mile upstream in the Tweed River. Everyone falls. Repeatedly.
“Running in the river is like a woman going into labor,” says Desena. “You know it’s going to hurt.”
After the river run, racers lug their bikes, stumps, and tools to the wood-chopping station, split 20 logs, then hike a mile uphill to the list of presidents’ names, before returning to the Amee Farm. The next test is a Lego challenge. Racers have to assemble a collection of Legos, using only their memory or notes, to replicate a model provided to them earlier. After six hours, cracks begin to show.
“There are physical challenges in this race, but we’re trying to break them mentally,” says Darby.
Part of the anguish is that racers never know when the race ends. Competitors aren’t given a race itinerary; they’re simply told to go from one task to the next. From the Lego station, racers head back to the Tweed River, and slog a mile south. At the next station, they hustle to the Riverside Farm, find a raw egg, return to the river, create a fire from scratch, boil water, and eat the egg. Only then can they retrieve their bike wheels.
After rolling their bikes to a small pond at Riverside Farm, racers watch as a volunteer tosses their bike chain into the frigid waters. The racers must dive in, find the chain, and reassemble their bikes. After a brief 300-yard pedal, they exchange the bike for a 40-pound bucket of rocks, which they must drag 1,000 feet straight up Joe’s Hill through “the ravine.” Hiking the ravine, says Desena, is “like trying to ski uphill with banana peels on both feet.” At the top of the hill, racers get instructions to hike back down the hill, fill the bucket with water, and bring it back to the summit. Only then are they given the OK to head to the Amee Farm, and the finish line.
Striking a deal
Similar to 2008, the 2009 Death Race had co-winners. Richard Lee, a 27-year-old former British Royal Marine Commander who is hiking the Appalachian Trail to rehab a broken leg and shattered patella, builds a dominating lead early. But Tom Worthington, a 22-year-old freshly minted graduate of Norwich University and a native of West Falmouth, Mass., closes the gap during the last few events.
On a treacherous hillside, heading toward the finish line, Worthington catches Lee, who got lost and is clearly tiring. The two discuss options.
“I told him, ‘We can do this with dignity, and finish together, or we can race, if you want to race,’ “ says Lee. “I know how competitive I am, and I knew how competitive he was.”
Both decide discretion is the better part of valor, in part because the slippery slope is a serious accident waiting to happen, and in part because they’re both running on fumes. So the two, like Mitchell and Bartlett the year before, make a pact to cross the line together, a Marine from the United States and one from the United Kingdom. Their winning time is 11 hours 31 minutes.
A half-hour later, Desena is the fourth racer to finish. Though he has disqualified himself for getting assistance from his support crew with the presidential names and the bike chain, Desena is determined to complete the course.
“Another 12 hours and this would have been a great race,” he says.
Two of Worthington’s Norwich classmates, Chris Prybella of Pennsylvania and Zach Castonguay of Maine, cross the line nine hours after the winners, well after midnight. The two spent more than two hours at the pond looking for Prybella’s bike chain. But neither would quit.
“One volunteer told me to throw in the towel,” says Prybella. “I told him I’d throw him in before I threw in the towel.”
Finished by the end
Stretching out on his barn floor, trying to work out the knots in his back and legs an hour after finishing, Desena mulls a question: Is this his first and last Death Race?
“I think so,” he says. “This is a race very few people want to do multiple times.”
The Hartwell brothers are among those who fail to finish. Greg never found his bike chain at the Riverside pond (“Plus, my toes had turned green, and I draw the line at green toes.”) while Tom failed to make the time cut-off at the same station.
“I’m pretty disappointed I didn’t finish,” says Tom. “I had a lot more will than I gave myself credit for. On top of that, I had more than my brother. Which was nice.”
However, 18 racers proved equal to the 14 tasks.
“No one gets to the finish without earning it,” says Chris Mitchell, watching racers pick their way through the last, gnarly section of razor wire. “There’s no shortcut.”
FINIS
