Race Report: Ragnar Relay Race "Run...Drive...Sleep? Repeat."

I woke up from my slumber and looked at my watch – it said 12am. Tossing my throw blanket aside that I was using as an impromptu sleeping bag, I sat up and stared down the dimly lit high school hallway. Amidst the sea of runners still passed out on the floor, I recognized the two sleeping bodies next to me as my High Cloud teammates Tom and Edgar. We were in the middle of Ragnar after all….

The Ragnar Relay is a running event where a 12-person team runs 200(ish) miles, day and night, relay-style, from Cumberland, MD, to National Harbor. During the relay, each team member runs three legs, each leg ranging between 3-9 miles and varying in difficulty. Only one runner goes at a time. The rest of the teammates are in support duty inside one of the team’s two vans. It’s a relay so as each runner begins, the rest of the crew in the vehicle drives ahead, cheers their runner on, and meets them at the next exchange point to pick them up while dropping off the next runner. After the first six legs, Van #2 takes over with the next six runners. After these six runners go, it’s time for Van #1 to pick up again…and so on…and so on…until 198 miles later, everyone ends up at the finish line. There were 250 teams participating in DC’s Ragnar Relay Race this year.

At the high school, the six of us in High Cloud’s Van #2 were resting up after Leg 1. We stretched and groggily made our way back to the van. It was a moving locker -- stocked with bagels, peanut butter, cookies, Powerade, water, lots of baby wipes, clean clothes, wet stinky clothes, and some slightly muddy sneakers.

Wakey, wakey, you still have two legs left….

We strategized for our next leg as we drove to catch up with Van #1 at the next major exchange. They were currently “on” and the first half of the High Cloud team was putting in miles. I was runner #7 (the first runner in our van) and our second leg was in the pitch dark of the night. Safety first – we were required to wear headlamps, tail lights, and a reflective vest. Running in the dark gave me a lot of incentive to run faster. For fear of the boogieman, I found myself chasing the blinking red tail light of another runner. We were out in the ‘burbs running through neighborhoods that were sane enough to be in bed at this crazy hour. We were the insane ones – running at 2am. The only vehicles to pass me were the other crazy team vans decorated with painted windows and inflatable cartoon characters strapped to their rooftops racing to the next exchange.

Lien, Runner #8, who was just one day beyond her 60th birthday, reviewed her next leg course and asked what a “very hard leg” referred to. She wasn’t a fan of running in the dark, but I explained that it meant it was going to be really hilly. She exclaimed back, “Oh, I love hills! Give me hills.” Later on, she smiled as she ran up a mountain with an elevation gain of 1020 ft.

Edgar, Runner #9, kept staring at me and wondered how much he was drinking when I convinced him to sign up for the race a month ago. Tonight, not only was he a good sport about running despite having a lacrosse injury, he also stood like a Christmas Tree as the women on the team decorated him with glow in the dark necklaces, bracelets, and an earring clip.

Kathleen, Runner #10, went Lady Gaga and had costume changes for each of her legs. Fans of our van were stopping to pose for pictures with her.

Jake, Runner #11, was still a little bitter. His first leg was relatively flat. While he got our longest legs in the van with a total distance of 19 miles, he really wanted HILLS! Jake got his wish when he was assigned to run Sugarloaf Mountain. I drove through the gravelly roads praying that the van would be able to climb up the mountain without ending up in a ditch. On the other hand, Jake was running the trails with little resistance grinning from ear to ear. Seriously, who are these people?!!

We met up with Van #1 again at the next major exchange. This time, Rhyne, our team captain, appeared looking like a shorter version of Rupaul with sneakers. He was wearing a fluorescent green wig and knee high school girl stockings. A clown, a devil, a cowboy, a jester, and a ballerina proceeded to pop out of Van #1.

There were no more team hugs at this hour. We were starting to smell funky after having been trapped in a van for two legs of a run and 22 hours.

Tom, Runner #12, was all smiles as he ran over to hand the team baton, a slap bracelet, to Rhyne who was also Runner #1 on the High Cloud Team.

Those of us in Van #2 wished Van #1 “Good luck and have fun!” and strategized for some real food during our break. You know it’s rough when your idea of gourmet is the International House of Pancakes…and you are actually sober.

Inside the restaurant, there was another party of six seated at the table. One of their runners was passed out with his head on the table. Over breakfast, I stared across at Jake and noticed that if his mouth was not chewing then his eyes were shut for a quick nap. We were all starting to dwindle.

Fuel up, you’ve got one more leg to go….

With one leg left, I stood in the exchange waiting for Jessica, the ballerina and Runner #6 from Van 1, to run towards me with the team slap bracelet. I sprinted through the bustling city of Bethesda with a huge pair of fairy wings on my back and a race bib on the front of my shirt. As I stopped in the crosswalk waiting for the pedestrian sign, drivers would smile and wave.



In a few minutes, I was running back into a parking lot full of white cargo vans and heard my teammates cheering my name. I took the bracelet off and slapped it on Lien’s tiny wrist. After high-fiving the rest of my team, we jumped back into the van to go to the next exchange so that Edgar could have his last turn as well. At this point, my body was begging for Starbucks.

We dropped off Tom for the last leg and sprinted the van to the finish line to meet up with the rest of our team at the National Harbor. All of the exhaustion left our bodies as we were now on elated to almost be done. We greeted each other with smiles and momentarily forgave each other for how bad we each smelled, giving congratulatory hugs once again.

At last, Tom was spotted running down the boardwalk. As a team we picked up our banner and ran towards the big orange Ragnar archways together. The announcer yelled across the microphone, “And now crossing the finish line is Team High Cloud!”

The Ragnar Relay...not just an opportunity to race...it's a moment to convince 11 other friends to take a break from the mundane and laugh through some insanity.

198 miles + 30 hours + 12 runners + 2 vans = ONE CRAZY TIME

What if Supergirl Misplaced Her Cape?

It's funny how you can be doing everything...but still have lost your creativity.  Me losing my creativity is like Supergirl losing her cape.  She can still fly without the cape, but isn't something missing?

How does one go about re-grounding herself when she's been flying for too long?

1)  Reconnecting with family and friends.
2)  Learning to sit still on the couch alone with music in the background.
3)  Taking the time to cook for oneself.  (In addition, to eating healthy meals and drinking lots of water.)
4)  Cleaning and re-organizing.
5)  Targeting to get 8 hours of sleep each night (okay...maybe just 7)
6)  Journaling.
7)  Not booking something for every night of the week on my calendar.

Wish me luck.

No Savageman Today

As I cycled down a wet mountain road while cautiously gripping my brakes so that my back tire wouldn’t skid out from under me, I realized that I probably got a little in over my head…again. 

Triathletes are a sick bunch.  They take joy in overcoming painful challenges.  I appear to be no different.  Though I haven't ridden more than 30 miles in my entire life, I joined an early morning group ride that was going to attack the 56 mile Savageman Half Ironman course.  My "I'll figure it out when I get there" mentality said, "Oh, what the heck – let’s give it a shot!"

I rode the first 18 miles up and down some beautiful paths next to babbling brooks.  However, from the get go, I found myself chasing the group.  In a group ride, if you don’t keep up, you risk getting lost.  Being 3.5 hours from home, I tried hard to at least keep sight of one cyclist.

We came upon our first challenge – Westernport Wall.  This 30% grade cobblestoned climb was a popular training ground.  If you could clear the Westernport Wall without unclipping and continued to complete the SavageMan 70.0 Triathlon, you would be permanently immortalized in triathlon history with a brick engraved with your name laid into the road at the top of the Westernport Wall. 

I looked at Westernport Wall and saw Sarah topple over because she didn't hold her balance just right.  Falling is never the problem.  I assess a situation by how long it takes for someone to get up once they fall.  Sarah sat on the ground for a while measuring the impact of her wounds and realized that the rest of us behind her were less gutsy.  The really experienced cyclists were getting a running start from a block away to gain momentum up the hill.  Since my pride was not at stake -- I got off my bike and starting pushing She-Ra up the hill. 

When I finally reached the top sweaty and breathless, I asked if this was the worst of them all.  Ryan smiled mischievously and said “Don’t believe them when they say this is the only hill.  We’ve still got Savageman Mountain and Killer Miller.”  I wondered if anyone would design a triathlon around a hill named “Fluffy Marshmallow Man.”  It seemed more my speed.

My teammate, Matt, was the only rider behind me.  He had some serious races leading up to this training weekend and they were catching up to him.  I decided to hang back so that he wouldn’t lose track of me.  I wasn’t being generous -- I was tired of chasing anyhow.  He had a cue sheet and the slower pace would help me to survive the entire ride.  Hey…it sucks to lose the group.  But it sucks even more to be by yourself on a long ride. 

By mile 24, I rode ahead of Matt and came to an intersection – left or right?  Left?  Or right?  I decided to wait for the man with the cue sheet.  Once again, it’s better to be lost together than to be lost alone.

We opted to go left and were faced with bigger hills.  My quads began to cramp – both at the same time.  I unclipped and stopped mid-incline.  I could not even bend my legs.  I looked back at Matt and his body was going through the exact same thing.  It took 5 minutes for the cramping to stop.  I was out of water and had no salt tablets.  I hate to quit, but I threw my hands up.  It was about mile 28 and this ride was no longer fun. 

Matt and I stood on the hill considering our options: 

1)  We could push through and ride the remaining 2/3 of the monster. 

2)  We could call for a SAG (Support and Gear) wagon back at camp.

3)  We could rely on the kindness of strangers. 

We pulled out our phones trying to think if anyone would be back at the camp and could pick us up. 

*Beep beep*  No service.

We were so far out in the country that the chances of us having service, someone else having service, or more specifically someone having service that would be able to drive to come get us were slim.  And even worse, how would we be able to tell anyone where we were? 

We walked our bikes up the hill for a good 15 minutes before a truck came clamoring in our direction.  Now was our chance.  Matt waved his arm to flag the couple in the pick up truck down.   

M:  "Hi!  Do you know where the convenience store is?  How about this park?  Oh, 6-7 miles away?"  

S:  "Is it hilly?"

M:  "Wow -- yeah, we've been climbing hills for about 30 miles."  

S:  "We had to stop because we started cramping badly.  Now, we've lost our friends." 

M:  "These hills are treacherous."

S:  "We drank all of our water too.  It sure is hot out here.  So the convenience store is 6-7 miles away?"

M:  "Hmmm...."

Old couple in the pick up truck:  "Umm...do you guys want a ride?"

M&S:  "Wow - you guys are lifesavers!"

We jumped into the bed of the truck with our bikes.  They shared some warm sodas with us and drove us to the next landmark that was on our riding route about 7 extremely hilly miles away.

After Matt and I high-fived another at our smart progress, we looked around to assess our next options.  Our phones still weren’t working.  We didn’t have any coins for the pay phone.  Even if we could call someone, we did not know who else had service, except Matt’s mom who was 5 hours away. 

Matt stopped another two men to ask them about the location of the convenience store on our route.  As they stopped to tell us about its nearby location, Matt and I jumped back into survival mode and repeated the routine that had already worked once.  This time, the men said they were actually headed back towards Deep Creek and could drop us off.  They were driving a truck that could also transport our bikes. 

It was our lucky day.

 “Are your friends going to give you a hard time when you get back?”

Matt responded with, “It was only a training ride.  All in good fun.”  My response was, “This was a more interesting way to get back anyhow.” 

Lessons learned:

·         Don’t let your fear of failure prevent you from testing your limits. 

·         Don’t let your pride keep you from knowing when to call it quits. 

·         Don’t ever leave a buddy behind, especially the one who was smart enough to come prepared with the cue sheet.

Eventually, I plan to come out and give the Savageman trail a try again.  I have no intention of earning a brick, but I want to earn the right to read the sign at the top of the hill that asks,
Who is Miller and why does he hate me so much?"

Like I said, we triathletes are a sick bunch.  I survived this adventure to try again. 

Ben Sollee and His Haunting Cello

Fifteen dollars.  In Clarendon, $15 can buy you three cucumbers, a kale bunch, and sushi roll from Whole Foods or you can walk a block over and give it to the door guy at the Iota Music Club and feed your soul with something good instead.

I had not heard of Ben Sollee before.  However, as I was in a crowd-following mood, I noticed that Iota seemed really popular this particular evening and thought I would go check out what the hype was all about.

A preppy nerd appeared on the stage with his cello.  In high school, this would have been the look you were trying to avoid, but he adjusted his black framed glasses and belted out a tune.  Wow -- no one would dare stuff Ben Sollee's amazing voice.  It's the kind that an audio recording just can't do any justice.   

But then there's his cello.  When he plays a solo on this instrument, it is haunting.  The rest of the room is silent in listening to this eery poem. 

Originally from Kentucky, his music is a blend of bluegrass, folk, and jazz.  But there is something cool, modern, and totally hip about the guy.

Ben Sollee performs as part of a trio.  He's accompanied by Jordon Ellis on percussion and, in this particular show, the fantastic Phoebe Hunt on the fiddle. When you watch her on stage, she has these moments where she just seems like she's in her own world.  The music surges out of her soul.

Ben and troupe are out promoting their newly-released record, Inclusions.  However, if he's passing through your town, go catch his beautiful performance in person.  

I love it when a random night of wandering provides quite a treasure.

Avocado Summer Salad

I love avocado!  This is a great healthy side dish for a summer BBQ.  It is like unmashed guacamole.

2 Avocados
Juice of 1 Lime
Juice of 1 Lemon
1 tsp Cumin
1/2 tsp Garlic Powder
1/2 tsp Adobe Powder
1/4 tsp Sea Salt
1 cup Edamame
1/2 cup Peas (frozen)
1/2 cup Corn (frozen)
1/2 cup Grape Tomatoes
1/4 cup Red Onions


Make the citrus dressing by mixing the lime juice, lemon juice, cumin, garlic powder, adobe powder, and salt.  Pour over the diced avocados.  Add the remaining ingredients.  Allow to sit in the refrigerator to marinade and chill for at least 2 hours.

Serves 6.

Race Report: A Novice Gives Her First Real Tri

DC Triathlon -- Almost 5 months of training and today was the big day.  I woke up at 3:45am, body glided the heck out of myself, put my trisuit on, and grabbed my pre-packed transition bag as I headed out the door for the start of my first triathlon.  After a police-escorted (totally fun) ride through DC from Athlete Registration to the transition area the day before, She-Ra was parked and waiting for my arrival.  I inflated her tires and put all of my gear out.

Swim

At 7:00am, it was time for the Sprint waves to start.  I asked someone to zip up my "race fit" (aka:  really tight) wetsuit, put my goggles on and tucked my hair into my green cap.  I stood in a group with several other women wearing their green caps.  We were permitted to head to the swim start by colored waves (determined according to gender/age group) and jumped off the dock two at a time.  Out of fear of this being my last breath and needing someone to identify my body, I introduced myself to my jumping partner before I plunged into the murky Potomac River.

When I resurfaced, I was gleeful realizing that I wasn't getting kicked in the face by the hundred other athletes who could swim faster than me.  Instead, by jumping two at a time, we could get out of the way before the next set of swimmers made their plunges as well.   

I swam towards my first large orange buoy.  It was as big as my urban bedroom in a town where square footage is at a premium.  It didn’t matter if you broke your prescription-goggles right before the race, these were not to be missed. 

After spending the past 6 weeks in a series of panic attacks whenever I hit the water, I shamelessly admit that I spent half of my swim in a calm-inducing backstroke and 30 seconds hanging off the side of one of the safety kayaks "de-fogging my goggles."

Relief brought a huge smile to my face when I scrambled back onto the dock after completing 800 meters.  I banana-peeled myself out of my wetsuit and ran back to the transition area to grab She-Ra.

Bike

With my helmet strapped on, I ran through the grass in my wobbly cleats towards the beginning of the start line.  All of the USAT rules ran through my head while I rode down the street yelling, "On your left please."  It's cyclist-polite for "Get out of my way!"  

Speed demon, right?  Wrong.  I watched an athlete pass me while riding with no hands on his handlebars.  Oh well, at least I was outriding SOME people.

I came across my first hairpin U-turn.  I had to be totally controlled while hoping that everyone knew what they were doing too.  I liked it!  I grunted while trying to stand on my pedals to get them going quickly again.  You know...because I think I'm a speed demon!

Then, the purrr of a motor came up from behind.  I checked my position since I knew a race official was on the back of that motorcycle.  Just like when you pass a police car on the highway, you automatically slow down even though you have no idea what your actual speed is, I automatically slid to the side to make sure it didn't even remotely look like I was drafting behind anyone.  Officer, I swear I sneezed and accidentally ended up behind the other bike in perfect alignment.  I was not drafting!

Run

All of the technical hairpin U-turns on the bike were a lot of fun.  However, it's just not as much fun in running.  Out and back, out and back, out and back, out and back…at one point, I found myself apologizing to the runners around me for cursing after realizing there was yet another out and back to go through. 

Sometimes you are faced with that imminent life-changing fork in the road of life.  I came across that fork this day.  Sprint or International?  Sprint please!  I followed the Sprint distance fork in the road as if I was sliding down the Rainbow Trail shortcut in a game of Candyland.  Weeeee....

Finish line  

Friends and family greeted me at the finish line.  For their patience, they each got a huge sweaty hug.  I collected my medal and thought to myself...boy, I'm glad that's done! 

Lifetime List of Things to Do:  Complete a Triathlon.  *Check!*

Just give me a few days before I decide on my next race. 

Some People Get a Bike Fitting and Don't Need One...

Then, some of us don't get a bike-fitting, but apparently need one.  I'm in the latter.

Since I am a begginer cyclist, I did not know if it would be worthwhile to get a professional bike-fitting yet, but all the stars happened to line up just right so that I won one in a raffle drawing.

I brought my bike over and spent 3 hours with Josh Frick at CycleLife in Georgetown getting measured, analyzed by a computer, tested on my flexibility, and observed on my riding technique.  I left the process with a lot more knowledge about my own physical makeup -- for example, the reason my left foot is even more flat-footed than my right foot is because my left leg is about 6 mm longer than my right leg (for real?).  He raised my seat BY INCHES and changed out my handlebars so I was no longer doing a push-up trying to straddle the bars for dear life.  The result was that my upper body felt much more open.  In addition, with my legs stretched out to an efficient length, my cadence improved by 10%.

(Holy crap!)  They weren't kidding when they said a professional bike-fitting would be worth it. 

Thanks, CycleLife and Josh!