Part Deux

I know this is long overdue. I’ve been slaving away hours in the editing room on an upcoming project, that I shall announce soon enough. But until then, here goes Part Deux of the River to River Relay madness. So, where was I? Oh yes…

After my first 3.5 mile leg, I am feeling the euphoria of being a part of a team. It’s always exciting to accomplish something that, although you knew in your heart you could do, you had never before tried. But to do that and be a part of a team is even better. As we pile back in the our Little Miss Sunshine van, I feel like I have finally been awarded a “club card” from my team.

“You should eat something.” John tells me. “You have about two hours before you run again.”

Two hours?! Oh, this isn’t so bad after all! Two hours is forever away.

But then the bad omens start.

We ride past Dave who is now in the middle of his 5k. Only this time we don’t realize it’s him till we’re cruising past a guy who has stopped for a moment to tie his shoe. Everyone in the car starts to make jokes about this mystery man and how he’s probably hiding from his team and whatnot. Then, the runner stands up. We see it’s Dave. At this point it’s too late to roll down the windows and scream, but rather than pull over and let Dave catch up to us so that we can do our team cheer, we keep moving.

“Oh, that was Dave,” with no urgency. Sitting up with John in the front seat, I stare at Dave’s diminishing figure in the rear view mirror. I wonder,

“Has he been disowned for committing a team sin- stopping mid-leg?”

This is more serious than I thought.

The legs begin to pass quickly. Two hours starts to feel like two minutes and I begin to panic.

Maybe I ate too many granola bars? Maybe my apple won’t digest before the two hours is over.

But there are more important things to worry about. We are halfway through to the day and by now John has had ample time to size up our competition.

“CNA and both ROTCs. We should beat them all I think.” (He’s sleuthed enough to realize that ROTC actually has two teams, not one.)

John trails on about how many minutes he thinks we are ahead of CNA, ROTC 1 and ROTC 2, and how many minutes we might still lose considering some of their runners are faster than others. As we drive past our own runners he counts how many people he thinks we have each passed, while noting down on a yellow clipboard our start and stop times per leg, our total running time per leg, and our splits. All the while referencing last year’s times and overall leg PRs for the team.

I know John isn’t actually a Run-or-Die! kind of guy.

I know that despite everyone else talent, they too, are not of this mentality. It’s more like- to them this is that big annual family reunion where talking about PRs, evil competitors, weather conditions, and more is like reminiscing about the good times of reunions past. But that makes me want to prove myself even more. I want to go down in the books as one of the good memories, not the girl who made our team the slowest it had ever been.

My fear is intensified by one more fact: I have developed a cough. One of those searing chest coughs that feel and sound like you are causing a fissure in your lungs. As a severe allergy sufferer, I used to carry around an inhaler for times like these. But, of course, not today.

It’s finally about to be Richie’s second leg which means I’m one leg away from my second and final run. As Richie takes off, it starts to sprinkle again outside. This particular leg of his is the longest of the race, 4.05 miles. I figure that means I have about 6 more minutes that I did last time to get ready. At the exchange point I can dash to the bathroom- get in, get out, and get to the exchange- with this extra time.

My estimate proves too generous though. Post potty-break I am walking over the exchange point until I notice two figures waving madly at me. Richie’s mom. My dad. Oh no, I think…

“He’s coming!” I can see his mom mouthing (though I’m not actually close enough to hear). My dad’s arm is shaking at me vigorously.

Crap.

I sprint up the hill to the finish/starting line. I get there just in the nick of time with probably 30 seconds to spare. Still, being winded is not a good way to start a leg. Richie, the beast, has kicked butt yet again, finishing his second leg in what I’m sure John noted down on his yellow clipboard as a record time. Meanwhile, I have taken off down the road.

The rain starts coming down again, just in time for me to enjoy. I didn’t mind it so much in the first leg, maybe because everything was new and exciting and adrenaline was pumping through me. This time, however, I’m cold, my muscles are creaky, and my chest is tightening to no end. I tell myself- it’s only 3.3 miles. It’ll be over in no time.

I start singing “Hit the Road Jack” in my head,

imagining Ray Charles and his back up singers playing a private show for me. It works for a little bit. I feel happy. It also helps that about a mile down the road my parents pull up in their car to cheer me on. They pull off to the side of the road and get out to snap pictures of me, cheering as I run by. I feel embarrassed, the way you do as a kid when your parents go out of their way to praise you in public. But, it’s also kinda nice and I’m a bit sad when their taillights disappear over the hill. I’m all alone now. There are no runners around me like during the first leg. It’s just me. Oh, and Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the road…

I struggle during the second mile. My chest hurts so bad I actually consider stopping. By now it should be obvious this was something I would have never dreamed of doing for fear of extending the team’s time, losing to CNA/ROTC1/ROTC2, or worse, having the team actually catch me in the act! I keep going, chest and all.

The last mile is excruciating!

I try the “smiling technique.” A trainer at the gym has told me that whenever you are at your limit, if you smile, you will increase the energy in your body. It works! But only temporarily. It’s not long before my smiles are fading in and out and I’m having to concentrate on how much I’m smiling or not.

Finally, I see what appears to be an orange flag in the distance. The finish!! I start to move towards it. I’m elated. Until…it’s gone. It was a runner. Probably a CNA guy with his red top, I think- Ahh, I need to finish!!

I make it up to the top of the very last, painful hill, and there at the bottom is the crowd at the exchange point. As I stumble down towards them, I see Richie and Bridget running up the side of the road screaming and cheering. I’m done. I’m about to finish. There is Dave, too, in his grey shirt, ready to take the hand-off. As I make it in to the exchange, I feel such relief. But also a wave of disappointment. This wasn’t how I wanted it to end, clutching my chest, appearing weak.

Just then Richie, Bridget, my parents, and Richie’s parents come running to me.

“You did it! You’re done!” they’re yelling.

“You made really good time,” my mom says. There are tears streaming down my cheek because I not only feel physical pain, but because I am sad about my performance.

“I did?” I say.

“Yes, my watch says that you ran 25 minutes.” My mom and dad say.

“I did?”

Richie’s parents are shaking their heads. I do the quick math in my head.

“7.5 minutes per mile. That’s not too horrible, I guess.”

“No!” Richie dismisses. “You were great. We all thought you were great.” Bridget’s face is all smiles. I smile too.

We head back to the Little Miss Sunshine van. The show must go on. As we pile back in and drive away to the next exchange, I see the CNA and ROTCs guys running behind Dave. I smile. They didn’t pass me after all,
I think. I grab an orange out of our cooler and decide, I am going to sit back and enjoy the rest of the day.

Epilogue

Our team ended up breaking The Thunder Canyon Road Raptors team record. Both Mike and Richie broke personal race records, with Richie absolutely destroying the final leg of the race and all runners in his path (including, of course, CNA and ROTC1/2.) At the end of the day, we all met back at John’s place and had BBQ over beers and wine. Listening to Bridget tell stories of her life as a Female Trooper, I finally felt that warm feeling sweep over me- the feeling of belonging. I’m sure the beer helped, but it was unmistakable.

I was part of The Team.

Filed under Carbondale, River to River | Comment (1)