Running the Ragnar Tennessee was the focus of my 90 day training. When I started the program, I wasn't sure I could do it. I thought that, if I did manage to run it, I would never run another relay. When Tauni asked me to run Vegas, my first reaction was that I didn't want to do it for a number of reasons: wasn't thrilled about the course; wasn't sure how the family team concept would work; didn't know how well my knee would hold up; feared that if I did hurt myself I wouldn't be able to do Tennessee and accomplish my goal. After a day of thinking it over and testing myself with a couple City Creek runs, I was excited to run and, as I have written earlier, had a great experience. So I in the days leading up to Tennessee I didn't experience quite the climax I had planned. But by the time I got on the plane for Atlanta I was fully engaged for the adventure, excited about seeing places I had never been and running with a great group of people on my team
Here are a few impressions:
The Start. The race starts at Collidge Park on the Tennessee River in the heart of Chattanooga. Chattanooga, by the way, is a beautiful city that in recent years has reinvented itself as an art and outdoor reaction center. Our team, Ragnar Athletic Supporters for Healthways, had an 11AM start time. It was a cool, overcast day, which did nothing to dampen the spirits of the runners. Dan announced the start wearing a florescent green wig with an energy level that bordered on manic. He led runners in the wave, passed out candy to the loudest, and had each leg 1 runner do a lap around the start area upon being introduced. Tanner set the tone for our team, wearing a white jock strap over his black sweat pants. I noted a number of religious-themed team names, sharply contrasting to the many gamey Vegas names.
Our van had a certain symmetry - two race founders (Tanner Bell and me), two Kristin Bells (Tanner's wife and mother) and two participants in every Ragnar during 2010 (Amy Donaldson and Tracy Mullendore). Amy is blogging her experiences and observations at desnews.com. Amy was particularly interested in Tracy's story. He is running the Ragnars in memory of his wife who died of breast cancer three years ago. As he explained, Ragnar has become his church. It is where he connects with people and finds solace from his grief. From what I have observed, he is not alone in finding meaning in completion of a relay.
After the Dan's spirited introductions, which energized everyone, Kristin Sr., our first runner finally hit the road. Our adventure had begun.
Legs 1-6. The first six legs of the race mostly follow a narrow road along the Tennessee River. In the cool weather we all struggled to figure out the right number of layers to stay warm enough without overheating. Most of us ended up shedding clothes as we ran. There was intermittent rain until my leg, when it started raining hard about the time I handed off to the first runner in Van 2. The scenery was gorgeous, and traffic light. During this first group of legs, and throughout the race, many exchanges were located at churches, which seemed to be at a density of at least one church/mile.
I began my leg in a Gore-tek jacket with three layers underneath. I warmed up after a mile or so and shed the jacket the first time our van stopped to offer support. By the end of my leg I had shed two more layers and was running in only in a short sleeved tech tee.
Somehow, a short distance before the exchange I missed the sign for the final turn. Instead of turning right I continued along the road, heading up a long hill. Fortunately, before I got too far, a senior citizen couple in an SUV pulled off the road in front of me. Friendly as everyone in Tennessee had been, I thought to myself that they probably wanted to ask questions about the race. Instead, the first words I heard were, "You missed your turn." My reaction was first disbelief and then relief. As for disbelief, I remember races past when teams complained because the course wasn't adequately marked, resulting in their runner missing a turn and getting lost. In most cases the runner didn't see what was before his eyes. Now, as it turned out, I was one of those guys. On the way back to the exchange I saw the sign that I missed, prominently positioned where I might have run right into it. As for relief, once I gathered that the the couple knew what they were talking about I was relieved, first, to have been found before I got really lost, and, second, because I didn't have to run farther on that leg.
The couple dropped me off at the exchange, which was located at a school. I noticed my team looking for me to come running toward them on a trail. I walked up behind everyone and casually announced my arrival, surprising them all. Funny, actually.
After the run I queried on Facebook how long it would have taken me to figure out I was lost of the couple hadn't picked me up. Some wiseacre commented that I would have become like Forrest Gump, running till I encountered an ocean. Would that I could run that far.
Anyway, following the exchange we all piled into the van and headed for Sewanee, home of University of the South, where we had heard there was a great place to eat. Unfortunately, I can't recall the name of the restaurant, but it was very good. They served a wonderful bean soup. I even tried their coconut pie, which I shared with everyone else on the team. We seated ourselves at the only open table in the restaurant, which as it turned out was open for a reason - it was located right in front of the back door and every time someone walked in we got a nice blast of cold air.
Legs 12-18. Appropriately enough, Exchange 12 was located at the Cowan First Baptist Church. I say appropriate because there must be more Baptist churches in Tennessee than there are Mormon churches in Utah. In Utah, churches are built only when the church hierarchy decides it is time to build another church. In Tennessee, evidently, when a young pastor with a divinity degree figures out how to raise enough money and finds a market, he builds a church. It would appear as though the pastor market is not unlike the market for dentists or lawyers. Some have little shops in the country and barely eek out a living; others have what it takes to draw a big crowd, which means large churches with big parking lots. Those big churches make perfect major exchanges.
By the time we started running the rain was gone, the skies had cleared and the temperature had dropped. Kristin Sr., as usual, ran without complaining. Tanner struggled with a sore IT band and Kristin Jr. with a sore lower back. Tracy always ran hard with a fierce determination, not to mention perfectly coordinated outfits. Amy was ever cheerful, seemingly having an reporter's endless fascination for the stories of the runners. In virtually every van someone is running to stick it to cancer, to overcome grief or to please some team captain who wouldn't take no for an answer and discovered an inner runner in a couch potato's body. Whatever the twist, Amy could find it and spin it into a tale that teaches not just about running, but about the human condition.
I ran leg 18, the last in our van and the shortest in the entire race. Only 2.7 miles long, the first half of the leg features a few rolling hills; the last half is a steep downhill that ends at a park in Lynchburg. Knowing I didn't have far to go, I pushed as hard as I could through the hills. Then, remembering many a long, hard run down City Creek or Farmington Canyon, I picked it up when I reached the final long hill. I have no idea how fast I ran, but I felt fast - fast for an old guy with six decades behind him and a gimpy knee. Whatever the pace, it was a joy to run hard.
At the exchange old episodes of the Office were playing on a big outdoor screen, and hot chocolate and s'mores were being served. All very nice except that the temperatures were approaching the freezing point and the only folks watching the big screen were volunteers. I chatted with a couple of them. I swear someone must have given everyone in Tennessee happy pills. Like everyone I talked to they were excited about the race, had nothing but complements, hoped we would come back, and want to run next year. We've met some very nice people all over the country, but for uniformly pleasant, polite and enthusiastic I don't think I've been anyplace quite like Tennessee.
After hanging out for a short time, we drove to a motel somewhere near exchange Exchange 22, where Tanner had reserved a room. There we showered and, for maybe the first time during a relay, I actually slept for an hour or two, sharing a bed with Tracy, who for the record did not snore. I set my alarm for 4:30, which gave us just enough time to arrive at Exchange 24 within about 30 seconds after the Van 2 runner arrived.
Legs 24-30. It was dark at Exchange 24 but the sun came up by about Leg 26. It was clear and cold, the ground covered with frost. During this stretch, the hardwood forests of southern Tennessee gave way to rolling pastures lined with long fences. We saw large horse farms, some of which were reputed to be the property of the rich and famous, including country music stars and Al and Tipper Gore. I saw a few brave souls, the competitive types, running in shorts, but most runners wore sweat pants, gloves, hats and jackets. The morning sun provided little warmth but illuminated a tame but lovely countryside.
I was nervous for my leg. I didn't have the spring in my legs that I felt in Vegas. I tried to visualize running strong, but was having a hard time convincing myself. After what seemed like an endless wait Amy handed me the baton and I was off. On this, as on the previous leg, I took off limping but within a short distance was able to run with rhythm, though my legs felt heavy. The first stretch of the leg is along the shoulder of a busy highway. I had the thought that if some driver took his eyes off the road for a moment I could quickly transform from runner to hood ornament, which would be a poetic way for a race founder to go out. Once we crossed the highway onto a quiet country lane that vision passed. I had only to concentrate on finishing strong and marveling at the large McMansions of the outer Nashville burbs. After passing the "one mile to go" sign I came to a roundabout with an arrow pointing right. I debated with myself for what seemed like a long time and then followed the roundabout to where it dumped me on a road heading right from the roundabout. Running up a hill I again was met by someone telling me I had made a wrong turn, although this time the messenger was on my own team. They picked me up and dropped me off just past the roundabout for my final half mile or so. In the distance I soon saw a shiny office park that I figured must be the location of Healthways headquarters and Exchange 30. I saw Dan and his green wig announcing arriving runners. I heard him call my name and identify me as the genius who came up with the Ragnar idea. Having been called out, I ran as hard as I could through the exchange, arms raised in triumph.
Finish and Aftermath. After we completed leg 30, we drove to the house the Ragnar crew had been using the past two weeks. It was a large, beautiful house on a country lane, the best and least expensive, Dan told me, of any house they had ever rented. Everyone but me showered and slept. I showered, sorted through all my gear, and wrote.
We arrived at the finish an hour or so before Van 2. There I met my daughter Mari, who was waiting with her friend Sydney Rees who is trying to make it in Nashville as a singer-songwriter. Dan had arranged for Mari to do a recording session the previous day with one of Nashville's finish sound engineers. As Sydney told me, that just doesn't happen in Nashville.
The finish was on the river, directly across from Tennessee Titan stadium at the foot of honky tonk row. Still going strong, and still in his green wig, Dan announced teams as they crossed the finish line. Our final runner, Chris Infurchia, Ragnar's CEO, arrived wearing a large pink bra. He had run his final miles with a runner who slowed to encourage him in the true spirit of the event. Chris also had run the Ragnar Vegas and struggled with injuries. We ran behind him through the finish line and when he crossed a reporter immediately grabbed him for an interview.
After we all received our medals, including the coveted Deuces Wild medal awarded to anyone who completed Vegas and another Ragnar in the same year, we headed up honky tonk row for some barbecue, and then to our hotel.
Heathways arranged for Lonestar to play at the finish. This seemed like a really good idea, but due to a combination of fatigue and cold most runners, including the majority of our team, chose to not return for the concert. I arrived with Tanner, Chris and Kevin after the concert had been underway for at least a half hour. I saw Mari and Sydney next to the stage and joined them there. Dean, the leader of the band, commented on the small crowd, which he said comprised mostly friends and family, and invited everyone to come down to the open area in front of the stage. There I stood with Mari and Syd for most of the concert, the music soon causing me to forget the cold. After the concert I overheard Dean tell Chris that in the future it might make more sense to hold the concert before the race when everyone is still full of energy.
The idea of a concert celebration looks great on paper, but for the second time turned out not so good in the execution. The sparse turnout took me back to our very first Wasatch Back. That year I hired Ryan Shupe and the Rubber Band, then probably the hottest band in Utah, to play at the finish. As in Tennessee, most runners took off once done running, but a few came back for the award ceremony. We had contracted with Shupe to play and hour before and an hour after the awards. That year, as soon as the awards were handed out, every last runner took off, leaving only the Hills, the Bells and a few of our neighbors, the Rolands and the Williams, to watch the last hour of the concert. Like Lonestar, Shupe was dismayed at the tiny audience, but I think both bands and those who watched actually had a great time. I told Dan we really should bring Shupe back to the Wasatch Back. And maybe this time we can draw an audience. As for Lonestar, Dean seems committed both to running the Florida Keys race and to playing again at the Ragnar Tennessee, but next year maybe in Chattanooga.
I left the hotel very early Sunday morning to take Mari to the airport. About a half hour after I arrived Amy showed up and we talked for a long time. Other than Dan and Tanner, I don't know of anyone who appreciates the Ragnar series as much as Amy. She told me she had never run farther than four miles when she was invited by a reporter for the Salt Lake Trib to run on his team in the first Wasatch Back. She ran, including a seven mile leg in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, and was hooked.
We mused about what it is about the races that means so much and keeps people coming back. On paper, it doesn't quite pencil out - hours of waiting, multiple runs within a 24-hour period, sometimes cold and wet weather, no sleep. What seems clear, however, is that something more than meets the eye goes on when people do things together that are hard. This week, an article in Sports Illustrated talked about how marathon participation has dramatically increased since the days of the "running boom," while times have gotten slower, and went so far as to say that completion of a marathon for many is a spiritual experience. Having run both marathons and relays, my experience is that marathons are more physically demanding but that the relay experience is more profound. As I said above, in every van there is a story of someone running to overcome hardship or push through a barrier. But beyond that, relays inevitably create bonds that change people, if only for awhile. As anthropologist Sarah Blaffer Hrdy wrote in "Mothers and Others," the abilities to empathize and cooperate are what make us human and separate us from the apes. In a world perhaps trending toward increasing selfishness rather than selflessness, relays force us into circumstances where we must cooperate and, through shared difficult experience, to empathize. As we do so, we touch on the best that is in us. And that, for many, is a spiritual experience.
