Through a happy set of coincidences, I found myself on a Hood to Coast team. Hood to Coast is a relay that covers 197 miles and 6000 feet of elevation from Mt. Hood to Seaside. There are 1000 teams of twelve runners each plus a Portland to Coast walk and High School Challenge. Since this is my first running season, I was a HTC virgin and didn't know any better when I was assigned slot nine (ranked first for distance and second for difficulty). Or rather, I was suspicious but grateful for the opportunity and did not complain. I really have to say that runners as a group are really the most masochistic people; who else would devise a run that can last the better part of a day and a half and requires the runners to also sit in gridlocked traffic on narrow country roads in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Since I am new to this running game, I had to guess what my 10K time would be (in order to estimate what time the next runner would need to be in position). I rather flippantly told the coach that I could run a ten minute mile (which is occasionally true). I have run two half marathons at about a 10 minute pace, but since I have been working more on distance for the full marathon in October, I have been getting slower and slower. To see my name on a spreadsheet with an estimated time (that was already way over everyone else's pace) was a bit nerve racking. Here is a breakdown of how each of my legs went:
The Leg of Despair
Leg 9 - 6.89 miles, moderate difficulty.
As I was waiting near the hand-off shoot, the runner who came in just before my teammate was white as a sheet and puffing like a freight train. Lynn, my teammate, tactfully warned me to get out of the way so as not to be in the line of fire should this guy loose his lunch. Just about that time Tanya came sailing up and tagged me with the "baton" (one of those contraptions that starts out flat and curls itself around your wrist when you slap it against said appendage - I remember these from Jr. High, when it was fun to see how hard you could slap it onto someone else's wrist. I seem to recall they got taken away from us for having sharp edges. Hmmmmm...) Shortly after I headed out for my leg an ambulance passed me going the other way - presumably to rescue the runner I mentioned) . Awesome; I had already witnessed a casualty and was less than a quarter mile into my first run. The route quickly took me onto the Spring Water Trail. My biggest fear with this race was getting lost; I am rather talented at going the wrong direction. I was assured that it was next to impossible to get lost because a volunteer would be posted at every turn to direct me. I needn't have worried - if I started to get lost, I could always follow the person behind me. That's right, I got passed 26 times. Some of these runners blew by me like I was running backwards. Unlike a regular race, there were no mile markers along the route so I had no idea what my pace was. After getting passed so regularly, I started to worry that I was running at a 12 or 13 minute pace and began devising my excuses. Here are a few I came up with:
- I stopped to chat on my cell phone (it did ring twice and I was tempted...)
- I stopped to pick blackberries for the team
- I stopped to chat with some homeless people
- I unwisely looked for the source of the smell that was emanating from the bushes and got tied up in a homicide investigation.
- I stopped to collect litter (it did occur to me, especially race-related litter like those little packets of Gu)
- I got caught in the slipstream of some of the runners who passed me and was blown off course
The Leg of Darkness
Leg 21 - 5 miles, moderate difficulty
Some things I learned from the last leg - check the map for a landmark so you know when you are halfway done and don't count the people who pass you, only those you pass (roadkill). I should take a moment to expand on roadkill - this is any runner you pass. It's not particularly scientific as just about anyone counts as roadkill - runners (of course), runners who are unfortunate enough not to be met by a teammate and are waiting around anxiously at the hand-off while there van is stuck somewhere in traffic, lost or getting a ticket for not wearing seatbelts (which happened to be the situation with my first roadkill), walkers, people who eventually pass you, homeless people, passed-out drunks..... This is serious stuff at Hood to Coast, and nearly every van has their roadkill numbers prominently displayed. I was represented on dozens of vans by now - my little contribution to someone else's self esteem.
There were not a lot of landmarks on this leg - a house about halfway through the course. It was the middle of the night (around 2 am) and watching the runners ahead of my get quickly swallowed by the darkness did not bode well. I was equipped with a head lamp and a reflective vest. There were two runners in the shoot whose teammate that they were supposed to hand off to had not shown up. This was kind of emotionally stressful for me to witness; I was very glad when Tanya showed up and I was off following the others into the dark. Right away I nearly turned my ankle. The road was gravel and there was a big berm of it pushed up along the left shoulder. This was the same route the vans take to the next hand-off, so I had to run a fine line between getting run over by a van and getting mired in the gravel. It was like running in sand. There were stretches where I was totally by myself. It was as dark as the womb. There was enough cloud cover to obscure the moon and stars and my headlamp cut a weak swath through the night. There was a little moisture in the air so the light caught the reflection of the tiny droplets and it looked exactly like driving through the snow at night. I couldn't see far enough ahead with just my headlamp to really see what direction the road was curving. It was an incredibly surreal feeling to be basically be taking it on faith that there was a road beneath my feet. Every few minutes or so a van or group of vans would pass me, illuminating the road so I could see where I would be going. Then they would pass by and I would be plunged back in to the night that seemed darker than before. I was passed frequently again and actually passed four people. It was nice to be able to see the other runner's lights and reflectors in the distance. Like those lights in The Great Gatsby (I read that book on my own a long time ago and now I'm thinking maybe those lights were a portent of death so possibly not the best metaphor, but they were comforting at the time and I hated to see them wink out as the runner curved with the road or simply got too far ahead to see.) I was starting to worry about my pace again and thinking I would never finish when a girl sailed by me and said "two more minutes". Her reflective vest looked like wings and I couldn't help but think I had been visited by Mercury, the messenger of the Gods. I poured on a little speed and beat my estimated time by five minutes. Hallelujah.
The Leg of Disco
Leg 33 7.72 miles, difficulty hard
After a shower in a high school gym, an overpriced, under-good pancake breakfast and a few snatches of sleep, I was feeling somewhat human for this last leg. Mostly I was looking forward to being done. This was a really beautiful part of the course (the last leg was too, but I couldn't see the beauty for the dark). Rolling hills through the countryside. The cool thing about this leg was that there was good van access the whole way so my team stopped twice to cheer me on and give me water. That definitely gave me a little kick each time - especially when they started dancing to Stayin' Alive; I must say they have some fine moves and there is Youtube evidence posted on Facebook. I even got cheered on by another van or two, "Keep it up Red!" from the Maple Bar team was a nice boon, though I would have preferred an actual maple bar. There was a guy sitting in his lawn chair watching the spectacle. He told me I had two miles to go, though I suspect he was rounding down. I even had five roadkills this leg, of course one of them passed me again and the other was a walker, but I'm claiming them. I beat my estimate by seven minutes.
All in all, it was an interesting experience. I suspect that much like childbirth, after I recover from the aches and pain I will revise my assessment from "interesting" to "fun!" and come back for more next year.
