2011 Ragnar Relay Redux

It could have been the rendezvous point for escaped mental patients or the freakshow tent at a circus. There were dudes in tutus, disheveled superhero costumes, drag queens, *cough* mustaches *cough*, ladies in bright gold shorts that would have made Michael Johnson jealous. No. Instead, it was the complete manifestation of all things that give runners the rap of being weird. It was the Ragnar Relay DC. And for 200 miles, it was ok to be weird.

Our team, All Night Mustache Ride, gathered together in a loose circle on the grounds of the Rocky Gap Resort. The great orange Ragnar arch that marked the start of our 29 hour journey rose behind us, the lines of other teams checking in at our back.

We looked on nervously at the ominous clouds moving in over the mountains and pretended not to notice the intermittent spits of rain.

"Ok, I'm going to go try again," our friend Katie said matter-of-factly. Heads turned toward her and we watched her make her way over to the line of port-a-potties.  That's when the cheering began.

"Wooo! Yeah, Katie! You can do it!"

That came from our team.  Then the team next to us caught on.  "Come on, Katie! We're rooting for you."

Then strangers began to clap for her. She turned and threw a wave at her fans. Why the boundaries of bowl movements suddenly disappear when more than one runner is gathered, I'll never know. But, the team bonding had officially begun.  And soon after that the relay itself.  Here's what happened along the way:

• I arrived with a beard. I left with a mustache. It was creepy, it scared my wife, it got approving nods, it got pointed and laughed at, it was perfect.
• Everyone ran their first leg in the rain or mist or fog except for Ebo and me; instead, we ran in the humidity that followed the rain; also, I had to second guess myself when contemplating going shirtless with only a reflective vest on...with the chest hair, it was, um, a bit much.
• It's always nice to pass a runner and overhear, "I didn't realize I was standing still."
• The best spaghetti is served at Clear Spring high school. Could be because we were ravenous after our first leg but I'm not one to argue with someone putting a heaping plate of noodles, sauce, and chocolate cake in front of me.
• Mustaches make everyone uncomfortable in a high school cafeteria.
• It's possible to sleep in a hallway but it will not be good sleep and, really, the only way I knew I actually fell asleep was the sour taste in my mouth; also, our new teammate Sharon needs her sleep!
• It's torturous to smell burgers grilling at a creamery in the middle of Nowhere, MD at midnight...and you can't eat any because you have to get ready to run.
• Apparently some people took issue to our name and thought we were some weird 70s sex van theme; we promptly considered changing our name to team Lighten Up.
• Mud+Suburbans and/or 12 passenger vans = Puuuuuush!
• Few things are more peaceful than the moon at night.
• Geico's headquarters have a nice lawn to sleep on, though local DC-ites will think you are homeless; and let's face it, we probably smelled homeless.
• The first leg is adrenaline and excitement; the second is bliss; the third is all guts no matter how short; on my last leg, I wore my dad's singlet from the University of Florida and ran by people who had Gator gear on; I started pointing wildly at my chest; when they realized this crazy freak with a mustache was just a runner wearing a Gator singlet, they hollered, "Yeah! Go Gators." It was enough to get me through another quarter mile.
• The beer at the end of 200 miles and 29 hours goes down easier than water and it makes me a little dizzy.
• The enchiladas I ordered after getting home never stood a chance.
• It's acceptable to go to bed at 8:00 p.m. and sleep for 13 hours after a relay.

All Night Mustache Ride crossed the finish line in D.C. 29 hours 16 minutes after it left Cumberland, MD. I woke up the next morning with what can only be called a "Ragnar Hangover." It has all the markings of a "hard night out drinking" hangover. I was still groggy, still a little sore, still finding unaccounted for bruises, the late night hours were a little hazy, and I craved greasy food. Nevertheless, I moved through the house glowing with that exhaustive euphoria knowing that I regretted nothing and am all the better for having done it.

The Late Shift - Ragnar Relay Style

*When I started to write my Ragnar Relay Redux, I immediately went to my favorite portion of the race -- the night run. For whatever reason, it tends to be my best run whether it's at 11 p.m. or, in this case, 3:30 a.m. I tried weaving in other parts of the race but it started to turn into a novel. So, here is my "night run redux." Make sure you come back for the full Ragnar Relay Ramblings Redux later this week....

When the brake lights disappeared over the ridge somewhere in the blackness ahead, I knew then I was alone. A light mist gave way to a heavy fog and my headlamp did nothing to illuminate the path ahead. My watch beeped and right on cue, the mountain began to rise. One-and-a-half miles up, I thought. The humidity clung heavy to arms, my neck, my face. Sweat flung from every moving part, yet still I climbed.

The road suddenly lit and I felt the headlights on m

e. I started to move over to the side of the already narrow gravel path. I thought the light would be a godsend but instead it revealed all the rocks, branches, and potholes I had only suspected were there. I trained my eyes on the path ahead and tried to avoid looking at the debris. The van was on me now, “Lookin’ good runner!” they called and soon the path was dark again.

I listened to my footfalls and felt my lungs and heart pumping the air and blood through me. The watch had beeped again and I knew I had less than three minutes of climbing to the top of Sugarloaf Mountain. “Casey Jones” popped into my head but I’d changed the tune to, “No one ahead, no one behind….”

Then I heard it. The low rumble of an SUV pulling around the bend, the headlights swinging around to once again illuminate the path in front. "Awww, yeah!" I heard from behind me.  I smiled and fought to keep from looking over to look at my vanmates at the risk of twisting an ankle or veering off the trail.  So, I tossed a wave and picked up the pace to try and keep their cheers alongside me for as long as possible. "You're killin' it!" "We'll see you soon!"

The ground pitched underneath me. My legs turned over faster and my limbs tingled from the adrenaline rush of seeing our van. I’d hit the top and began my descent, which took me under a tangle of branches silhouetted against the sliver of moon that had broken through the clouds.

Orion’s belt blinked in front of me and the moon lit the low lying mist that crawled along the corn rows. A red light flashed off in the distance and I had to rein in my instinct to go after it and chalk up another kill. I hoped it might be a Ragnar directional sign or the coveted “One Mile To Go” marker. Instead, I watched it climb the darkness ahead of me that signaled one thing: another hill to tackle. I took a swig of water and girded my nerves and my legs to pick away at yet another one.

Instead of slowing down, I pushed away the feeling of fatigue that started to seep into my quads and accelerated up and over the incline. Keep it neat, I said to myself as I sailed down the backside. I overtook the flashing red light and got a nod from the other runner.

My watch beeped for the ninth time and I knew the light ahead had to be “One Mile To Go” in this 9.1 mile leg. I’d said not to count on a sub-60 finish since I already had one for my 9.4 mile route six hours earlier... that was flat. I decided, however, to let this one happen by feel and not look at my watch as I went.

“One Mile To Go” flashed by my hand lamp and I let go an audible “Come on!” and surged. I overtook four more runners before seeing the cluster of reflective vests, flashlights, and vans at the exchange. “What number!?” an orange vest cried out.

“2.4.9.” I managed between breaths.
“249 coming in,” she said into the walky-talky.

I unraveled the slap bracelet from my wrist, straightened it, then gunned it for the finish. At last, I could rest…if only for a moment.