How I Trained for the Spartan Beast — Lessons in Performance, Pain, and Capability

The Spartan Beast: Training for Capability

The morning air in Granbury, Texas smelled like an impending storm. The clouds were heavy, the wind carried that metallic scent of rain, and my heartbeat was already elevated before the race began. It reminded me of my days as a K9 handler, right before entering a building with my dog Bo and my partners. That same quiet mix of anticipation and control.

This was my first Spartan Race and my first half-marathon. On the drive from Austin to Dallas to pick up my friends, Lindsay Barto and Eric Gomez  (follow them on Instagram), I noticed a tightness in my right calf; a small adhesion, maybe, but enough to get in my head. Not exactly ideal when you’re hours away from a test you’ve trained months for.

A question I’ve gotten since the race is whether we ran it together or separately. Although we all showed up to compete in the same wave, it was every man for himself. At the start line, we looked at each other and said, “See you at the finish.” Within minutes, we were separated by pace and terrain. That’s part of what makes an event like this powerful; it’s communal, but it’s still deeply personal.

When the race started, Eric shot off at a seven-minute mile pace. I tried to hang for a bit before realizing I was pushing too hard, too soon. So I pulled back, found my rhythm, and settled into the grind. The course was brutal, heavy elevation gains, creek canyons you’d descend and claw your way back out of. By mile four, the calf pain was sharp, but I kept repeating the same line: It’s just pain. Keep going.

I failed four of the thirty obstacles, each one adding a penalty loop. I expected to struggle with the upper-body challenges, but surprisingly, I crushed the monkey bars. Proof that weekly grip work translates. At 215 pounds, swinging like a gymnast isn’t easy, but strength carries over when it’s built with purpose.

When I finally crossed the finish line, the storm hit. Rain poured down just as if the sky had been holding it back for me. Relief, pain, and pride hit all at once.

 

Training for the Unknown

I started training on January 30, 2025, after Lindsay suggested the idea. Spartan Racing wasn’t on my radar, but the idea of competing again lit something up. My training started with lifting Monday through Friday and running six days a week. As a lifelong strength athlete, it was important to me to maintain a muscular physique, but I knew I had to condition my body for endurance.

By June, my right knee started giving me problems. I didn’t get it checked because I didn’t want a doctor telling me to stop. Instead, I auto-regulated: dropped my lifting to four days a week, reduced the running intensity, and replaced heavy squats with lighter unilateral work. The goal was sustainability; to build a body that could take punishment without breaking down.

Most of my running was on asphalt, which helped build aerobic capacity in a controlled way, but I only ran trails twice. After the race, I realized I should’ve done more trail work to adapt to uneven terrain. Still, the foundation held. My strength training paid off, proving you don’t need to lift rocks to be strong enough to lift rocks. Real strength transfers. ( A little, "I told you so", to the functional fitness cultists out there ;) )

And every lift was done in a fatigued state, usually after running. That was intentional. If I was going to be strong when tired, I needed to train that way. I fueled every session with Outer Limit Pre-Workout to push through that phase when most people fade. That’s how you build performance under fatigue, by training for it.

People also asked whether I could’ve done this race when I first moved to Texas in 2022. Back then, I’d just left my law-enforcement career. My identity was gone, my purpose was foggy, and my fitness followed. By May of that year, I was 255 pounds, over 30 percent body fat, and out of shape; not impressive, and nowhere near the athlete I am today.

Could I have completed the Spartan Beast then? Probably. But not to the standard I hold myself to now. I saw plenty of people walking large portions of the race, struggling through the obstacles, and looking completely spent. That’s not how I approach competition. I don’t show up to “just finish.” I show up to be my best, and in that condition two years ago, it wouldn’t have been fun; it would’ve been survival.

 

Fueling the Engine

During my training, I ate at or slightly below maintenance (around 3,200 calories per day) even though my true maintenance with all the added running was closer to 4,000. I’ve never trusted fitness trackers for calorie burn; they can overestimate by 30 percent or more. Staying disciplined with intake kept me lean while supporting recovery and performance.

My macronutrient split was roughly 35 percent protein, 35 percent carbohydrates, and 30 percent fat.

• Protein supported muscle repair and recovery — crucial when lifting and running nearly every day.

• Carbs provided training fuel, replenished glycogen, and supported the high-volume work.

• Fats handled the rest — hormone regulation, joint support, and steady energy levels.

I also paid close attention to timing. Most of my carbs were consumed around runs; about 100 grams before long sessions and another 100 after to refill glycogen stores. Protein was evenly spaced throughout the day to keep muscle repair constant, and I never went into a training session depleted. In the Texas heat, hydration was non-negotiable. I added sodium packets to nearly every liter of water to prevent cramps and maintain output in long training blocks.

For my pre-race carb-loading strategy, I followed the Bergström & Hultman method, developed in 1967. It involves a brief glycogen-depletion phase through intense training, followed by several days of high-carb intake. This process “supercompensates” glycogen storage, essentially loading the muscle with more fuel than usual.

In training, I had hit the wall at mile nine or ten on both my 13.1-mile runs. On race day, after using this method, I never crashed, not once. Even with elevation, obstacles, and penalties, I felt steady for all two hours and fifty-nine minutes. That’s not adrenaline, that’s physiology meeting preparation.

 

Recovery and Real Life

Recovery looks different when you’re a father of three, especially with a seven-month-old at home. Sleep happens in fragments. My wife, Jenna, noticed I wasn’t recovering well and told me she’d handle the overnights if I let her sleep in. That small act of teamwork made all the difference.

As for soreness, it was brutal. The next day my entire body hurt, but my right calf was the worst, I could barely walk. That pain wasn’t new; it had been bothering me since day one of training. It wasn’t until I took some Advil that I realized how sore the rest of my body was. But it was the good kind of hurt; the kind that tells you you’ve earned every bit of it.

I didn’t train again until Wednesday. Just a light three-mile walk to get blood moving. Recovery wasn’t glamorous, but it was earned. A future blog will be posted about how I intend to train my VO2 max before the next race. Stay tuned.

 

Results and Reflection

When results posted, I was stunned. Fifth place out of 146 men in the 40–44 age group. Fortieth overall out of more than a thousand male competitors. Top three percent.

That exceeded every expectation. And it felt fitting, because that’s literally what Apogee stands for, Exceed Your Limits.

Next time, I’ll add more loaded carries under fatigue, train at faster paces under cardiovascular stress, and refine pacing. My goal is to take first place in my age group in 2026.

 

Train for Capability

When you train for capability, you have a long-term why. Vanity fades. You stick to the mission because it’s rooted in purpose, not appearance. When you train and eat like an athlete, the physique follows.

That’s the same philosophy behind Apogee Performance Nutrition — fueling performance, not comfort.

The Spartan Beast wasn’t just an endurance test. It was a reminder that discipline, adaptability, and intent are what separate training for aesthetics from training for life. You can’t predict every obstacle, but you can prepare your body to handle all of them.

Whether you’re a strength and endurance athlete, a first responder, or a parent, the goal is the same: to be capable, always. Because performance is a reflection of preparation.

Exceed Your Limits

Ryan Padilla