If you’re feeling stuck and seeking a unique challenge, there’s the Spartan Death Race. You likely won’t finish this brutal event, but in the process, you’ll learn to embrace discomfort, confront self-doubt, and unlock a resilience you never knew you had. Prepare to face 70 hours of relentless physical and mental trials, from hauling logs up mountains to memorizing poetry while you’re wet, cold, and sleep-deprived.
The misconception is that because Death Race falls under the Spartan brand, it’s just another of their 250 annual obstacle course race events. But it’s far from that. The Death Race is a meticulously planned 40-to-70-hour crucible in Pittsfield, Vermont that subjects racers to multiple days of relentless, unpredictable, and often bizarre challenges.
Unlike other endurance events with predictable obstacles and distances, the Death Race hurls curveballs at every turn. One moment, you might be hauling a heavy log up a mountain or removing debris from hiking trails; the next, solving a Rubik’s Cube or memorizing poetry stanzas. In between, expect hours of burpees in the frigid Tweed River or grueling barbed-wire crawls that can last over 10 hours.
No traditional training protocol can fully prepare you, as challenges change yearly. Specifics about what you’ll do and for how long aren’t divulged. The race directors encourage you to quit — they’ll lie, use misdirection, and even create false senses of urgency to get the job done. And for the less than 10% who survive to the end, the only tangible prize is often a cheap plastic skull.
As Spartan and Death Race founder Joe De Sena explained to critics on Instagram, “The TRAIN RACE reason Death Race and its seemingly ridiculous challenges were created 19 years ago was due to people (including me) becoming fortified against a repeatable/trainable event. The goal here was to take a human and, in every possible way over three to five days straight, get them to quit the mission.”
Courtesy of Spartan
A Taste of Torture
I’m soaking wet, sleep-deprived, and bruised from head to toe. For this particular challenge, we must reach five posts scattered across a vast open field on Riverside Farm, a well-manicured wedding venue with Vermont’s majestic Green Mountains as its backdrop. Each trip to a post requires a different, often awkward method of locomotion, such as crab walking backward with a bucket on my head or hopping forward with the bucket on my feet—all with a raw egg in my mouth and a 5-gallon bucket on my head.
This is my reality 34 hours into the 2024 Spartan Death Race. On June 28, we started with roughly 50 racers, half the number of participants that signed up, but now only about 27 of us remain.
On each post is a word and its definition that we must memorize. After successfully reaching each post, we must eat the egg — shell and all — we’ve been carrying. Crack the egg? That’ll cost you a 300-burpee penalty and another scrumptious egg-and-shell snack before you can continue.
As expected, this challenge produces lots of grumbling—and vomit. This is on top of the impressive puke piles we already created getting to this station, thanks to having to chug eight ounces of Tabasco or clam juice and barrel rolling our way to the start of the egg challenge.
Courtesy of Spartan
Between the rain pelting my bucket helmet, messing with my vision and hearing, the constant struggle to stay awake, and the hallucinations from sleep and sensory deprivation, a wave of panic washes over me.
By hour 36, I had reached four posts and forced down the four eggs that were in my pack for almost two days. I felt confident I memorized at least two of the four word-definition pairs, but it wouldn’t matter. In short time, I joined a group of about 20 who missed the time hack. We took too long and were eliminated.
A Progressive Timeline of the 2018-2024 Death Race
This marks my fourth “did not finish,” or DNF. Here’s a brief look back at my attempts:
Erica Schultz
Death Race 2018: A Rookie’s Rude Awakening
Fueled by curiosity, I signed up, woefully unprepared. I focused on gear over mental and physical readiness. The constant encouragement to quit took a toll, and I flamed out — and passed out — around rep 325 of a 3,000-burpee set.
Time of Death: 27 hours.
Cause: Rookie mistakes and a side of delirium.
Erica Schultz
Death Race 2019: Distracted & Dehydrated
I trained harder but was sidetracked by work stress and family responsibilities. Avoidable mistakes — poor waterproofing, a nagging injury, an hours-long mushroom hunt that should have lasted minutes, and neglecting hydration — led to another DNF.
Time of Death: 32 hours.
Cause: Delusions of foraging and dehydration.
Courtesy of Spartan
Death Race 2023: Flunking Survival
The Death Race was a much-needed spark after COVID-19’s lingering impact and working from home full time. I felt fine doing hundreds of hydro-burpees and all-night hikes lugging heavy objects but neglected basic survival skills. My inability to make fire efficiently ended my race.
Time of Death: 34 hours
Cause: Failure to ignite.
Courtesy of Spartan
Death Race 2024: Cracked Under Pressure
I stalled hard on the Rubik’s Cube challenge but made up time during the all-night exercises. Then, the eggs and bucket challenge caused me to miss a time hack. It perfectly captured the Death Race ethos: physically demanding, mentally taxing, and, at times, just plain ridiculous.
Time of Death: 36 hours.
Cause: Critical thinking deficiency and shell shock.
Why We Need The Spartan Death Race
Each DNF I earned felt like a supercharged steel-toed nutkick. However, after time to process the lessons learned during each pitstop in Pittsfield, my unimpressive 0-4 record carries with it far more success than the cumulative number of bruises, stomach aches, or feelings of failure.
I have it far too easy. A lot of us do, as our first-world conveniences have engineered away many of life’s hardships. I don’t hunt for food. In fact, I rarely even set foot in a grocery store, thanks to Instacart. I work in air-conditioned comfort with a fully equipped gym at my disposal. My shower can get skin-stripping hot with the turn of a knob. And my commute is a walk from my bedroom to my home office—and yeah, I still complain about the traffic.
The Death Race provides a trifecta of training: physical, mental, and emotional. Every task, whether bizarre, exhausting, or mind-numbingly dull, reinforces my belief that lingering in my comfort zone for too long, too often, is a one-way ticket to stagnation, mediocrity, and a sense of fulfillment.
Each attempt is a victory over complacency, a rebellion against falling into ruts that threaten to form when my day-to-day feels like it’s on cruise control. The Death Race strips away all the conveniences we’ve grown accustomed to. It forces us to confront our limitations, push past them, and tap into strength reserves we never knew we had. It’s a reset button for the mind, body, and soul; a reminder that we’re capable of so much more than the demands of our cushy everyday lives.
De Sena echoes this sentiment: “In the first world, where we have it too good, there’s a lot of people that need this.”
If you allow it, the Death Race can become more than an event—it’s a metaphor for life’s unpredictable challenges and a chance to prove to yourself that when a tsunami-style wave of crap hits the fan, you’ll have the tools at your disposal to find a way through.
Courtesy of Spartan
Lessons Learned Beyond the Finish Line
Guess what? I don’t care that I failed to finish four times. Of course, 4-0 is better than 0-4, but I keep returning to the Death Race, not despite my failures but because of them. Each attempt is a victory, a chance to push beyond my comfort zone and discover my resolve, strengths, and weaknesses.
As Death Race shot caller and race director Andi Hardy told me after this year’s race, “It’s not about the prize you get at the end. It’s about the value of the experience you get and the camaraderie… and the growth you develop within yourself.”
Beyond personal growth, the Death Race draws a motley crew of motivated, engaging, and kind people. In a world obsessed with comfort, Death Racers stand alongside the likes of ultra-runner Courtney Dauwalter, “embrace the suck” advocate and former Navy SEAL David Goggins, and De Sena, the mastermind behind this ultimate test of human will—individuals who charge headfirst into challenges, rather than seeking excuses or shortcuts to avoid them.
The Death Race mindset doesn’t stay in Vermont. Participants—myself included—find that the resilience and problem-solving skills we gain empower us to address real-world challenges in our professional and personal lives with newfound confidence.
Courtesy of Spartan
Gearing Up For The Next Death Race Challenge
As for next year’s Death Race, ideas are already circulating. Hardy said, “We were texting one another, sharing ideas. Next year will be intense, hard, fun, emotional, and challenging.” And, unsurprisingly, she adds, “It’s going to be the least of what you might expect.”
I’m already looking forward to it. For my next attempt, my physical training methods will remain intact: donning a 60-pound GORUCK vest while I train, do yard work, and during the workday. Ankle weights and wrist weights during gym workouts. Hundreds of axe swings, burpees, pullups, squats, and lunges. Basically, anything I can do to make exercise more difficult and uncomfortable.
This time, my focus will include more survival skills prep and creative problem-solving. Fresh off my fourth DNF, shivering and coated in egg remnants, I turned to Hardy, who is a seasoned endurance athlete and ultramarathoner, as well as the director of the Death Race, for advice. Her critique hit home: I often follow instructions too strictly, neglecting to think outside the box.
“This year was constant intensity… finish one task, onto the next,” she said. In other words, without adapting quickly and seamlessly to move from task to task, it’s game over.
As our conversation ended, the rain continued to pour down. I stood frozen, a cringe-worthy reel of past Death Race mistakes playing on a loop in my mind: the dry fire starter material I’d forgotten, botching Rubik’s Cube algorithms, wasting 15 minutes deflating a raft instead of using my knife, and the hours squandered aimlessly foraging for mushrooms when the examples were literally right in front of me.
Though I’m running on fumes—around 38 hours without sleep—these highlights (or lowlights?) have me thinking more about next year’s challenges rather than itching to crash in my bed.
Courtesy of Spartan
How You Can Join Me For the 2025 Death Race
My conversation with Hardy took some of the sting out of being eliminated and served as another reminder that in the Death Race, as in life, the challenges never end — we just have to get better at facing them. That’s progress.
That’s why, to me, the Death Race is well worth the $500 entry fee. It has evolved into more than just an extreme endurance event. It’s a crucible for personal growth, a community of like-minded individuals, and a powerful reminder of our capacity for resilience. Whether you’re a seasoned athlete or someone looking to push your boundaries, the Death Race offers a unique opportunity to discover what you’re truly capable of. It’s not about the finish line but about the journey of self-discovery and the strength you uncover along the way.
In a world that often encourages us to seek comfort and avoid discomfort, the Death Race stands as a testament to the value of voluntarily embracing hardship. So, if you’re feeling stuck, unchallenged, or simply curious about testing your mental and physical breaking point, consider taking on Spartan’s 2025 Summer Death Race at Riverside Farm next June 26-28.
