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Humor and Running Fiction
Ragnar Relay Washington, DC 2010: A Timeline of My 193-Mile Adventure
By Amy Reinink
November/December 2010
For the Washington Running Report
On September 24-25, a group of Silver Spring runners completed Ragnar DC, a 193-mile overnight relay from Cumberland, MD to National Harbor. This is the true story of what happens when a dozen running buddies stop being polite, and start getting smelly and sleep-deprived.
Friday, 9:00 a.m. Depart Silver Spring in two rental vans, each with six runners.
11:00 a.m. Arrive at Rocky Gap State Park and Resort. A race volunteer takes a team photo at the start line. "Smile," he chirps, "because you're not going be smiling by the time it's over."
12:00 p.m. Van #1's first runner, Clint, begins a 4.8-mile run.
Shortly before 1:00 p.m. We cheer wildly as Clint approaches the first exchange. We tell him he looks awesome, ask how he feels and hand him a cold bottle of water. He is dripping with sweat in the record-breaking heat. "This is stupid," he says quietly. "This is really stupid."
Roughly 2:00 p.m. Thanks to a scheduling glitch, Clint is also running the relay's second leg. Van #1 "leapfrogs" him, driving a mile ahead at a time to offer him water, gels and support.
1:38 p.m. It is my first leg and Clint hands off the baton. I feel strong on the 250-foot hill that kicks off the 6.9-miler. I gaze at bucolic farm fields lining the winding country road I'm running on, and smile thinking that this is why I signed up for the race.
2:10 p.m. Start a trail run up an 800-foot hill in Green Ridge State Forest. I am running slow, steady, and smart, saving my energy for a final push at the end.
2:12 p.m. Holy mother of God, this is a big hill.
2:13 p.m. There is no shame in run-walking, right?
2:14 p.m. There is also no shame in walk-walking.
2:20 p.m. About a mile into the trail run, with a mile more to go, I spot a Ragnar runner who has collapsed from heat exhaustion. I stop to provide care, and send the next runner I see to get help. Temperatures are in the 90s. The realization that we are doing something dangerous gives me the chills.
2:50 p.m. After loading the collapsed runner into a van that will take her to an ambulance, I realize I still have to run the rest of my leg. Crap.
3:20 p.m. I hand off to Van #1's next runner. I am nauseous from dehydration and motion sickness. Not good.
5:00 p.m. Nausea passes. Hunger strikes. I wolf down some candy corn and trail mix while we continue to leapfrog our van's other runners.
5:30 p.m. We hand off to Van #2, whose runners are clean, dry, and cheerful. We look as though we have each run a marathon and taken a punch in the face.
7:30 p.m. We arrive at Clear Spring High School, where we will refuel and sleep until we get a text message from Van #2 letting us know it is almost time to run again. We purchase unsatisfying plates of spaghetti for $6 from the school cafeteria. The athletic fields, parking lot, and gymnasium floors are littered with hundreds of runners in sleeping bags, blankets, and even some tents.
10:00 p.m. I sprawl across a van bench for some well-deserved sleep.
10:15 p.m. Parking-lot lights, slamming van doors, and cheering teammates do not lend themselves to restful sleep.
11:30 p.m. I wake up still feeling exhausted, simultaneously starving, and nauseous. I am covered with bug bites, including one on my face. I wolf down some chocolate-covered espresso beans, which I see again throughout the night in the worst way possible.
Saturday, 1:08 a.m. I start my second leg, an easy 2.8-miler through Williamsport, a small town in Washington County, with only a headlamp and a full moon for light. It is both eerie and exhilarating, the whole world a silvery dreamscape. This is not so bad.
3:30 a.m. We hand off to Van #2 in Allegany County and head to the next van exchange. I tell my teammates I am closing my eyes for a minute.
7:30 a.m. I wake up in the van in a church parking lot near Dickerson, disoriented and queasy. I whimper that the sleep deprivation is worse than I expected. The teammate who was driving when I fell asleep gives me a murderous look and I shut my mouth.
8:00 a.m. I nibble on animal crackers and chug Pepto Bismol straight from the bottle while we wait for word from Van #2.
10:20 a.m. I start my final leg, an easy 3-miler through shadeless suburban streets in Clarksburg and Little Bennett State Park. It is hot. I am tired. But my desire to be done with the run and with the race gives me the energy to pass two people.
12:30 p.m. Laura, the last runner in our van's rotation, jokingly asks Matt, who has just gotten done running, if he wouldd like to run in her place. He turns around to look at her, incredulous. "I could crap a golden egg before I could run your leg right now," he says.
Sometime after 2:00 p.m. Laura finishes and we hand off to Van #2 for the last time. We drive from Rockville to Silver Spring, where we obtain showers and hot meals at Laura's house while waiting for Van #2 to finish. We regale Ed, Laura's husband, with war stories from the race. "You're intelligent, well-educated people," he says. "but you are really a bunch of dumb-asses."
7:00 p.m. We meet Van #2 at National Harbor, where we wait for Lori, the last runner in our rotation, to cross the finish line. This time, we are the ones who are inappropriately cheerful. Van #2's runners look shell-shocked and ill.
8:00 p.m. We cheer wildly when we see Lori approach and continue cheering as we cross the finish line as a team. The enormity of the physical challenge we have just completed hits me and I feel a rush of pride and camaraderie thinking about the adventure we just shared-which is why I signed up for the race in the first place.