two roads diverged

the Ragnar story

Posted on July 26, 2010. Filed under: Uncategorized |

my brother told me recently: the only things stopping you from becoming a better runner are the stories you are telling yourself about why you’re not becoming a better runner.

he’s my brother – so it’s easy for me to nod and shrug. whatever. i couldn’t think of any stories that i’d been telling myself – until this weekend.

i just did the Ragnar Northwest Passage relay. 187 miles through the Pacific Northwest with 11 others. no stopping. you run till you’re done.

on the surface this is an endurance event that seems pretty tough: 3 legs, at varying times of day and NIGHT, of varying distances and difficulty levels.

below the surface it’s an endurance event that’s actually pretty special: 3 legs, supported by amazing new friends, beautiful new terrain,  hills that take your breath away – because you just don’t know where they came from or where they’re going. the distance blurs alongside you. you get a little silly. you get a little confused. there’s alot of laughs. there’s alot of worry for one another and yet so much confidence in your ability. you’re on a team. your friends: brand new friends, are cheering from a van by day, and silently, confidently and safely following you by night (no cheering after 7:45 p.m.). you won’t remember alot of things. you’ll remember the strangest things.

ragnar IS tough, don’t get me wrong. you don’t sleep much, and if you do – you’re on the floor of a van or in an elementary school gym floor with dozens of others. you sleep the way toddlers do: nodding off in carseats only to wake up 7 minutes later completely hyper and ready to party. your eating is all weird – you try to eat – and you do – but fueling up before a 10 km at 2 a.m. angers and confuses the stomach, no surprise there.

for me: that’s where the tough part ended. new friends all cramped in a van: that was one of the best parts.

and the running? i had told myself some pretty decent stories about the running:

-it’s going to be sooo hard to run given…(insert: all the conditions listed above)
-my pace is going to slow
-i’m not going to be able to run x, x, x, per mile on x, x, x distances
-blah blah blah

i was also borderline terrified of the group. i can’t believe i’m even saying that now but before i met them i feared that i just wouldn’t measure up. hey – i might as well be vulnerable – there’s nothing gained in doing otherwise. this team was full of strong runners – accomplished athletes – seasoned marathoners – i was wishing i’d lied about my 10km pace just to give myself the peace of mind that i was going to underwhelm them. i was really glad i brought our van driver to the table too – in ragnar world – that’s serious street cred. shelley (my best friend since we were 12) drove our van through the night. i felt so grateful to have her there; before the event i thought “ok, if i totally suck at running, maybe they’ll keep me because of shelley”. HA!

wow. that’s pretty much exactly the opposite of what happened. that whole mental conversation with myself basically UNhappened. put that premonition of me feeling judged by them over there on the list of impossible things that will not/would not/cannot ever happen. and me thinking that i suck? let’s just forget that i was so scared and move on.

i trust these people now in a way i can’t even explain. sincere. genuine. kind. and yes, athletic. i felt at ease. i felt accepted and appreciated. i was on a team. the first team i’ve ever been on in my life. no hyperbole there. the first team i’ve ever been on.

onto the running.

in the middle of my night run – - my 2nd of 3 legs – i lost my breath when i realized what my brother had been talking about. my stories, the ones that my brother said i was telling myself about why i wasn’t getting faster, started to list themselves in my brain like a grocery receipt. here are a few of the things i’ve been telling myself for a long time:

1. i can’t run at night.
2. i can’t run fast without music
3. i need my routine to be intact in order to have a good run
4. i need to wear my x, x, x, x, x, x, x, when i run
5. i can’t break a 7 minute mile
6. i need my sleep
7. i need a familiar route
8. i’m trying as hard as i can to get faster
9. my boston qualifying attempt is going to be x, x, x
10. my boston goal might be too x, x, x

……..now picture this:

4 a.m. on a desolate road in the pacific northwest, pitch black dark, in brand new shoes and pants that don’t fit right (long and irrelevant story), no ipod (not allowed by ragnar after 7;45 p.m.), after cold boiled potatoes from a van cooler, after 30 minutes sleep on a van floor: i broke 7 minutes per mile. i don’t know how long i held it. it doesn’t matter. it was arbitrary to begin with.

what did matter was that in that moment: stories 8, 9 and 10 dissolved. i felt them slipping away so quickly i couldn’t even grasp their original form. dry sand in my hands, just freakin gone. i was totally present. no chatter. no music. no cheering. no crowds. nothing and nobody but me. the sound of my own breath, my own cadence…just me.

occupying the space where those stories once were?

my run.

it felt really, really spacious. open…. wide, wide open. like Odysseus’ horizon – expanding with every step i took. hard hard hard work, but not hard. do you know what i mean? with pleasure. with suffering. with intent.

i finished that run, a PR by the way (who gives a flying flip what it was, it’s called “personal” for a reason), handing off to rich, and i walked to the lakeshore where my leg had ended. day was breaking. the girl that stayed 50 yards ahead of me for the last mile was there. we exchanged a ragnar smile. she was a terrific opponent. a seal swam up. ninja quiet. i wish my First Nations’ great grandmother had been there so she could tell me what it meant. my seal slipped beneath the surface but i knew he was still there. like my run. it’s gone now – but i know it was there. wait a minute, i guess my great grandmother was there to tell me what that meant. funny what you hear when you’re not listening to lady gaga screech down your ear to haul ass.

my teammates were in the van. waiting patiently, silently (i like to think they knew i was having a moment but truthfully – they probably had the full-body ragnar stone and couldn’t bear the thought of moving unnecessarily). point is – they gave me no hurry up sign and they greeted me with a big smile, a bottle of water and a good-job-nod when i got into the van.

i fought hard to control my tears so i could breathe – my asthma and my tears are the fiercest enemies my goals have ever known: they sabotage my lungs at every opportunity but they’re no match for my brain. rich was running – i loved passing the baton to him at every leg. knowing how strong and fast he’d be pressing on. we drove off to find him. as usual – he was pretty much done by the time we caught up to him

larissa, rob, shelly, rich, brad: my ragnar tribe. the first team i’ve ever been on in my life. my greatest thanks is offered in the hopes that i can be a good friend to each of you.

aaron, jen, emily, gary, paul, monte: our ragnar brothers and sisters in van #1… moving the baton forward while we rested, resting when we pressed on. i wish we’d been able to spend more time together but such is the ragnar way.

to rob and larissa: our organizers…. i think one of the best ways to thank a coach is to perform on race day. show up and perform from the heart. that’s how i thanked you. i hope to do it again. i’ll run for you guys anyday.

if you’ll pardon how sentimental i am: i fought back tears on the finish line. saying goodbye was bittersweet: i was sad to see the route fading behind us but i really wanted to go home.

full body exhaustion and socializing are strange bedfellows. some amazing spouses met us at the finish. we went to a pub to try and refuel. it’s all a blur. i want a mulligan on that pub thing please. (j + j = i’m talking to you).

thanks for the goosebumps guys. i love this feeling.

oh, i should mention….there was one other person on our team – it was my buddy Garmin.

….once the self-righteous bastard that snickered as i told myself that i was really trying to go faster – now nodding with smug approval – saying silently to me: see for yourself dre. now go get boston.

in closing, as my buddy @smellycents would say: hell to the yeah on ragnar. what a rush.

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