songs of experience

Do many of you have races out there that “you’ve always wanted to run?” I do. The London marathon is one of them [which I'll never run, because I found out the hard way that I am no marathoner]; Bay-to-Breakers is another [which I do intend to run someday ... in a costume]; Joan Benoit-Samuelson’s race up in Maine [out of sheer respect for my hero]; the world Master’s track championships [maybe at age 50, so I can have something to look forward to]; and the Hood-to-Coast relay … which I did do, finally, this past week-end!

What a spectacular event it was. For those of you who don’t know of this race, let me explain. Beginning early Friday morning from the base of Mount Hood in Oregon, 1,000 teams of 12 runners start the race in waves going off every 15 minutes. My team, The Roosters (comprised of mostly UNC alumni), was in the “fast” wave because they were 4th overall last year, which meant we began our odyssey at 7:00pm on Friday night. As soon as runner #1 is off the line, the 6-runner vans zoom down the highway to the first exchange zone (van #2 heads down further to the 6-7 exchange zone - some 2 hours away). Are you with me so far? The logistics of this race are mind-boggling. After all 6 runners in van #1 complete their legs, of distances varying from 3.3 to 7.8 miles, they hand-off to van #2’s first runner [the 6-7 exchange]. Next, van #1 drives on past the 7,8,9,10,11,12 legs and parks at the 12-13 exchange in order to rest, refuel, use the porta-potties [called Honey Buckets in Oregon], and hopefully catch a few crucial Z’s. Here, at midnight, you will see hundreds of runners curled up in cramped carseats or camped out in sleeping bags; we called it the Refugee Camp.

Throughout the race, night-runners are required to wear reflective vests and headlamps but the roads are not closed to traffic … so, in addition to sleep deprivation and hammered quads from the steep descent down Mount Hood, you have to contend with oncoming headlights and mack trucks roaring by, inches from your left shoulder. But you don’t care. You’re in the zone. You’re coffee-buzzed, team-jacked, zombie-like … “Must. Beat. Rabid. Dog.” (a team of mostly Wake Forest alumni).

This goes on throughout the night and into the next morning until each team completes 36 legs covering a total of 197 miles and ending in Seaside, Oregon. It took The Roosters 18 hours, 28 minutes and 44 seconds (with a team average of 5:39 per mile) and we were 5th overall … beaten in the home-stretch by a very rabid dog … grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! I do hate to lose - hate it - especially to a team who paints, “Carolina Sucks” on their windows … but I loved every minute in the van and on the road with those guys, my fellow roosters. You might not believe this, but at the exchange zone of my last leg, as I was waiting to get the stick (a plastic slap wristband) I heard a Rooster crow at a nearby farm seconds before I saw my runner on the horizon. “Err e Err er Errrrrrrr!” it crowed. We’ll get you next year, Rabid Dog.