My first adventure race: Scratched, soaked but having a blast

It all started with a Facebook ad. The social media platform’s algorithms predicted that my love of hiking, cycling and all things outdoors might also interest me in adventure racing.

Oh Facebook, you know me so well. I was signed up within minutes.

It was Florida Xtreme Adventures behind the ad, hosting race events of the ROYO (run/ride on your own) variety. The company previously held in-person events and plans to do so in the future, but for now, competitors take to the course on their own time.

So what exactly is adventure racing? Events can span several hours or several days and often involve two or more disciplines, including (but not limited to): orienteering/navigation, cross-country running, mountain biking, paddling or even climbing in some cases. The goal is to run, ride or paddle to checkpoints and locate certain objects in the shortest amount of time.

Competitors can take to the course solo or with a team. I tried my first event on Lake Apopka’s north shore alone, and there are certainly times I wished I had company to provide a second opinion or help push me along.

After competing, I called FLX Adventures managing member Ron Eaglin and we immediately started talking shop.

“Did you find CP 2? How about CP 8?” he asked me.

A veteran of adventure racing, Eaglin, 57, is known to take on 100-mile running events, set off for 400-mile mountain bike treks and will often compete in Florida’s 72-hour Sea to Sea Expedition Race, which spans more than 300 miles from coast to coast.

Suddenly the 33 miles I rode at Lake Apopka seemed paltry in comparison to Eaglin’s achievements. But why would anybody put themselves through such great agony?

“If it doesn’t have at least a little bit of suffering, you just don’t feel like you’ve pushed yourself,” he said. “I love being outside, and I think a lot of people who do this have that same feeling. And they like to challenge themselves.”

I was already into hiking and biking and outdoorsy things. I realized that adventure racing is just a new iteration of all those interests combined into one more exciting adventure.

My expedition in search of 12 checkpoints (CPs) along Lake Apopka’s north shore left me soaked from rain and sweat, scratched and downright miserable at times. Despite that, it was kind of a blast. Here’s how my Sept. 20 adventure went.

8:30 a.m.

I’m gearing up near my car, parked at the Green Mountain Trailhead. The weather is mild and the morning is slightly overcast. There’s rain in the forecast later.

I make sure I have granola bars, trail mix and energy chews stowed for the day, as well as plenty of liquids. I pack my rain jacket and double-check my paper maps, a necessity for navigating the course. I hit start on my tracking app, Strava, and hit the trail. Adventure lies ahead of me.

9 a.m.

I know to look for CP 1, a yellow pole with “MONUMENT” written on it, as I complete the switchbacks coming down from the trailhead. It should be on my left, according to the map.

I pass the checkpoint probably three times before I actually locate it. I’m hoping the rest of the checkpoints won’t be nearly as tricky.

CP 2 isn’t far away and should be located near Bear Spring, an off-the-beaten-path waypoint next to the trail. There’s just one problem. I can’t get to the spring itself.

I try four or five different entry points but find myself up against dense vegetation and unwilling to go any further into the woods. I dodge giant banana spiders (which I later learn are fairly harmless), then find a partial skull belonging to some sort of a hog and locate a deer feeder.

But after about 45 minutes of looking, I give up on finding the actual checkpoint, an object Eaglin later tells me is some sort of a water fountain. He didn’t set the course, but he did vet it and also struggled to access the point.

I walked through what I thought was poison ivy or poison oak, fought thorny vines and swatted at mosquitos in search of a point I didn’t even find. This is the moment where I’m thinking, “Maybe this is more adventure than I anticipated.”

10 a.m.

Despite my reservations, I continue, heading further from my car and away from the prospect of giving up and turning back.

I’m thankful that checkpoints 3-7 are easier to locate, comprising of lookout towers, bridges and storage sheds. Some of my riding takes me through tall grass and strains my legs.

Near CP 4, I run into another competitor and several more at CP 7. It’s at that point I know this race isn’t a wild goose chase or a scam, but a legitimate event with other participants. Later, Eaglin tells me that 60 individuals or teams are signed up. The others I talk with had similar troubles finding CP 2, and I’m glad I’m not alone.

The team near CP 7 tells me they’re doing the short course (with 6 CPs instead of 12) and are preparing to head back to their car. I feel pangs of jealousy as I admit to them I’m doing the long course and realize I’m only halfway done. In the direction I’m heading, I see misty precipitation forming.

11 a.m.

By this point, I’ve covered considerable ground in getting near CP 8. My clothes are soaked after encountering steady rain and at times, I don glasses to keep debris from my eyes. But that makes it hard to see.

I locate a horse trail where CP 8 should be. I follow the path counter-clockwise and spin through some mud to get to a mile marker waypoint. I take a selfie with the point to prove I was there (as I have with all the other points), then slog back through the muck to access the main trails again.

12 p.m.

The miles are starting to wear on me and the rain is picking up, forcing me to alternate between wearing my rain jacket and shedding it, accepting my fate that I’m already wet and muddy and can’t possibly stay much drier.

At some point heading toward CP 9, I slide out on my bike while trying to fix my glove. I bruise my thighbone and skim my elbow, but persevering feels natural by this point. I think, “The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can dry off and shower.”

I end up taking the long way to CP 10 and have to backtrack through high grass along a canal, which wears on my already fatigued legs.

I find the powerline where the checkpoint should be, only to realize it’s blocked by construction. I bypass the point, later learning from Eaglin I should have gone past the bulldozers. Apparently, adventure racing can’t be limited by the usual signs that “this is an area I should stay out of.”

12:45 p.m.

It’s pouring on me. I’m soaked and wondering again, “Why am I doing this?”

I hadn’t made plans for how I would get back to my car at the end of my trek, naively thinking that I’d just ride the 17 or so miles back to my car after completing the race. But I know that’s not an option anymore.

I phone a coworker, who graciously agrees to pick me up at the end, despite my wet filth. She feels sympathetic, and I feel grateful.

I knock out CP 11, the pump house, which I recognize from a previous trip along Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive.

Then it’s a sprint to the finish, going as fast as my tired body will allow as the rain continues to soak me.

1:20 p.m.

I eventually reach a paved trail leading to Magnolia Park and feel relieved. That’s where I find shelter and knock out CP 12, finally hitting “finish” on Strava — almost 34 miles, five hours and (allegedly) 1,900 calories later.

Having neglected to eat most of the day, I enjoy being out of the rain and indulge in snacks while waiting for my ride. I contemplate the day’s adventures and how miserable I sometimes felt.

There were times when I thought, why am I doing this? Should I just turn back? Why do people keep coming back for more events unless they’re suckers for pain?

When I posed these questions to Eaglin, he shot a question back at me.

“You want to do another one, don’t you?” he asked.

As a matter of fact, I do.

There’s no big prize for coming out victorious in these events. In fact, the only reward for winning is a four-pack of beer at Deviant Wolfe Brewing. But all the glory belongs to the person or team who completed the trek quickest.

Despite the day’s trials and tribulations, my first adventure race helped break up the monotony of everyday life and gave me something exciting to focus on. Even if I felt tired, defeated and helpless at times, the event also made me feel very alive. It’s a feeling I’d love to chase again.

Want to race?

To learn more and sign up for adventure races, visit flxadventures.com. Race registration starts at $15 per person.

Do you have suggestions for my next adventure or just want to get in touch? Find me on Twitter @PConnPie, Instagram @PConnPie or send me an email: pconnolly@orlandosentinel.com.

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