Many of you may have already seen the YouTube video of my first Ragnar experience. I think I've watched it 10 times. The terrain, the endurance, the smiles, the sweat--all of it makes me want to go back to the beginning of that race and do it again. However, the second morning of the race, I was sure I was done running for a while. Don't worry that didn't last long, but I think you'll understand why I initially felt that way when I tell you what happened.
Soon after I landed on a flat road, and up in the distance I saw a white vehicle sitting perpendicular to the road. I didn't pay much attention, just kept plugging away, though I did start wondering how close I was to the end of this 7-mile run. I peered through the front windshield of this white car and saw a weird balding man with a really excited look on his face. Who was he waiting for? Then his head popped out of the driver's side window, and what do you know? It was my father-in-law, waving like a fool and shouting "We love you!" Dalton was in the back. How long had they been sitting there? Now, that's love everyone. My in-laws drove an hour out of their way to sit on the side of the road and wait for me to pass just so they could holler out the window. I was shocked and so happy. A few minutes later a passed a girl with very visible brown stains on the back of her running skirt. Yikes. Never, ever trust gas when you're running. Let's just say that when I was training, I ended up in park and gas station bathrooms a few times around mile 7.
It feel like my first leg was a blink when I think back on it. I was met by all 11 of my teammates at the end, all giving me high fives and telling me I finished it with a killer time. It was the fastest I had ever run that distance. I was tired and proud, and then it started to rain. It reminded me of the first night I ran 5 miles and couldn't believe I actually did it. Heat radiated from my skin as I stepped off of the treadmill. I walked outside and I swear to you that God applauded me by sending a cool rain. Glorious.
I got a chicken sandwich in my system and a few fries. I hadn't eaten anything really substantial, so it tasted good. My energy was renewed and I believed for the first time tht I could actually take on my next 8.5 miles uphill leg. Remember how I said my anxiety was uncomfortably high before my first leg? Well, it was through the roof by 10 p.m. My stomach was a tightening knot. I was trying to hydrate, snack, keep my energy up, and stay limber. I finally realized running this leg I had feared so much was inevitable, so I decided to "woman" up and get over my stupid fears. I knew my legs would keep moving if I told them to.
At about 12:30 a.m. the slap bracelet was again around my wrist. Ryan, one of my teammates, gave me a "You've got this" with his sincere, convincing tone, as he passed on the bracelet. Again, I was moving. I cruised through the first few miles, running by light of a white half moon on the pavement created by my headlamp. I knew I was in some sort of a farming neighborhood, running past rows of tall reeds and dimly lit porches that later turned into the walls of carved out mountains. The road steepened, and I was again shocked to see that I was passing ten, eleven, twelve, then thirteen people. As the road steepened even more, fellow racers began to walk, but I kept kicking my heels up, gritting my teeth through burning quads. Around mile 7 my stomach began to swell. It felt tight, and I wasn't sure what my body wanted to do. Moments later I was on the side of the road crouched over a bush. After that episode, I was worried about dehydration and slowly drank water from my Camelbak until I reached the finish line, arriving ten minutes before I estimated I would. I called out to the next runner and I sprinted out from a group of spectators.
Less than an hour later we were on the road to Oakley where we'd attempt to sleep a few hours. Halfway through our road trip that same swelling feeling began. I was worried. How horrifying would it be to have to pull over on the side of the road to relieve myself with all my coworkers in the car? Yeah, well, I it wasn't as horrifying as I thought. They were nice enough to pull over when I couldn't take it any more. I ran out into the tall grass for Round 1. And that paper towel I used? It may as well have been sandpaper. Luckily, I held it together until we reached the fair grounds, but as soon as we stopped I was trotting toward the Porta Potty. It felt like the car was parked a quarter mile from the long row of foul smelling toilets, which was probably a good thing for everyone else. I froze as I sat on that miserable toilet. I sat there for a good 15 minutes, hoping to get everything out of my system so I could sleep. As I started walking back to the car, the swirling started again. I felt my aching legs, my mosquito bites, the burning, the chaffing. I felt everything. I tried to shake it off and got into my sleeping back, sitting stiff in the driver's seat of the Suburban as everyone else drifted to sleep.
My eyelids were so heavy, but sadly, I found myself walking back across the fair grounds to the Porta Potty after trying to wish away the pain in my gut for 10 minutes. Even the thought of drinking water was nauseating. I buried my face in my palms as I sat in that freezing stinkbox and tried to fall asleep. I know, I know, probably not the best place for a nap, but I was desperate to shut my eyes. About an hour later I gave up. I got up, walked around, and was in the Porta Potty again minutes later. I couldn't understand how anything else could still be making its way out of my body. This unpleasant cycle continued until sunrise. I thought about my last leg, only two miles, and prayed I'd feel well enough by noon to do it. Before the entire race began, my worst fear was that I wouldn't finish.
A crippled lump in the back seat of the car, I knew those last two miles were going to be ugly. The Porta Potty cycle continued through the morning. I tried to drink, eat bites of banana, but nothing would stay in my stomach long. I felt so defeated, frustrated, helpless and stupid. Everyone else was still crushing their legs and I was in the fetal position.
Dalton was nice enough to pick me up at a Jordanelle Reservoir overlook equipped with Pepto Bismol and Ginger Ale. Plagued by disappointment, I deflated in the front seat. I spent the rest of the weekend letting my body recover, but I couldn't shake the thought that someone else had to finish the race for me. Why did this have to happen? I was doing so well. It made it even worse that just two days later I was physically ready to do the race all over again.
That night, as I sat there alone, exhausted, sick as a dog in the middle of the night, I was sure this was my first and last Ragnar, but now I'm craving redemption. It's true, as cliche as it is, that the best rewards in life aren't physical. In my case, proving to myself that I can run more than a half mile made me feel strong and liberated, even valuable. Running reminded me that I'm capable of more than I can comprehend. It just takes that first step. Even though I didn't make those last two miles, Ragnar stoked the fire and I'm going to keep setting goals that I don't think I can meet, so that I can keep proving to myself that I'm full of it.
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