197 miles of sheer awesomeness. How else can you describe a race that has over 12,000 runners, 3,500 volunteers with a route starting at the top of Mt. Hood and ending at the Oregon coast? The best part about this race is that’s it’s not about winning. It’s all about guts.
To clarify, the 197 miles is split between 12 runners. Each individual runs three legs for a total mileage varying between 15 and 19 miles. Even though there is an overall elevation drop of 6,000 feet along the way, each leg comes with its own set of challenges. Van 1 (runners 1-6) have to run down Mt. Hood, which is not easy on the knees. Van 2 (runners 7-12) have to clear the Cascade Mountain Range. Every runner has at least one leg in the dead of night with only a flashlight to see where they’re going and at least one leg in the intense August sun. With the average team taking 28 hours from start to finish, any sleep a team can get is usually either in the van with five other smelly people or in a sleeping bag thrown down in a field. This is an adventure race at its best.
The first leg is easy. If you are any kind of runner, the hardest part about the first leg is controlling the pace. Your team registered 10 months ago, you’ve been training all summer long, adrenaline is pumping because race day is here and you finally have that slap bracelet (HTC’s version of a baton) around your wrist. People are out in their yards cheering you on, they have the sprinklers running into the street because its hot out and some of them even hand out water. One house was even handing out beer. As I suspected, I ran faster than I should have, but I’ve come up with a new philosophy this year . . . the faster I run the faster its over with. I wanted to get those brutal rolling hills over with. While running from Sandy into downtown Portland, the energy is up and everyone is excited to get their first leg behind them.
The key to getting ready for the next set of legs is two-fold. Step one is a shower. The next “shower” you will get after the second leg will be with baby wipes. A shower now will keep you feeling human after running again at 2am. Step two is pizza. After the first leg, pizza is pretty much a requirement and it tastes amazing knowing you have at least 10 more miles to run in the coming hours. After that you just try to relax until its time to run again.
The second leg, for many teams, is run in total darkness. Runners are required to wear a reflective vest and carry a light, with most runners opting for headlamps. The second leg that I’ve run the past two years is considered by many to be the toughest leg of the race. Six miles in total, four and a half of them uphill and half of it on a gravel logging road. If I hadn’t been raised in the country and been familiar with the sounds of the night and the lack of streetlights, this leg would be frightening.
The trick to my second leg is all in the playlist on my ipod. When I’m handed the “baton” (a slap bracelet circa 1988), my leg is already going uphill. This year I led with the theme song from “Pirates of the Caribbean.” The theory being that if Johnny Depp can kick some bad pirate ass while swinging from ship to ship, I can certainly run a few miles uphill. Another key song is Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” This comes in handy after you’ve been running uphill for miles on end and you need to think about anything other than the fact that you still see lights not only ahead of you, but above you, meaning that there is still some elevation to climb.
Having run this leg previously I had a plan this year. The first three miles I was going to bust my butt while I still had pavement. The first couple miles are uphill and then I had almost a mile of downhill and flat before hitting the gravel. This is where I would make up time. One of the most amazing things about this race is your fellow runners. The few men who passed me only had words of encouragement. Vans, who have stopped to cheer on their runners, cheer on every runner that goes by. They’ll even cheer you on if you’re passing their runner! One van, had parked at the half way point to let runners know where they were at. As I hit the gravel uphill, I was prepared for some pain in the next two miles. Gravel slips, it was misting so visibility wasn’t great and aside from running uphill, it was just hard to find a good track to run in.
With only about a mile of uphill left to go, I started to hurt. Although I was passing enough people to keep me motivated, my thoughts went to Steve Prefontaine. I had watched the movie “Without Limits” earlier in the week to get pumped up and one thing he said had stuck with me. He talked about how he knew he would win because he could endure more pain than anyone else. If Pre could endure enough pain to run close to a three minute mile, I can keep running uphill. This is where the race is more about guts than speed. It doesn’t matter how fast you cross the Cascades, all that matters is that you don’t stop running.
Despite the night runs being challenging because they’re in the dark, they are often the most fun. It’s pretty rare that you opt to go running in the middle of the night on your own, and even more rare that you have the chance to do it with thousands of other runners. Everybody is wide awake and hanging out at the exchanges. The granges along the way sell pancakes all night long. It’s a testament to how amazing our bodies are that they know when it’s okay to collapse and when its time to keep going. Everyone does great until we make the exchange with Van 1 at Mist and then your body shuts down. It’s all you can do to get to the next van exchange so you can sleep for a couple of hours. As you get to exchange 30, a volunteer asks “sleep or exchange?” Seven weary voices (six runners and a driver) adamantly respond “SLEEP!”
It doesn’t even matter that it’s misting out, a tarp is thrown down and sleeping bags piled on top of it. You make sure alarms are set and everyone collectively passes out. Two hours later, alarms start to go off as we expect our Van 1 to be here shortly. The boys utilize the woods in close proximity while the girls go hunting for a Honey Bucket. Teeth are brushed camping style, any form of caffeine available is inhaled, and everything gets stuffed back into the van, including us runners.
Sooner than we expected, it’s time for us to run again. Amazingly, we all feel pretty good only running on two hours of “sleep.” The thing to understand about the third leg is this: it hurts. It doesn’t matter how good of shape you’re in. You’re running on little to no sleep, you’ve already ran around 10 miles and been stuffed in and out of a van with no real opportunity to stretch. One of the bad things about this not being the first time I’ve run HTC is I know exactly what that third leg feels like. My goal on the third leg is only to survive. No time records need to be set here, it’s all about finishing. After being cheered on by the various volunteers and other vans, including the Japanese team, the end is in sight. Nothing feels quite as good as handing off that baton for the last time. I can take another bath using baby wipes and put on dry clothes and relax till we get to Seaside.
27 and a half hours after we started, team “Dude, Where’s My Van?” is crossing the finish line. Medals are picked up, pictures are taken, the final time sheet is turned in and we’re officially done. We’re exhausted, sore, sweaty, smelly and wet because the weather gods thought it would be fun to throw rain into the mix this year. But we’re done. While some part of me is relieved that it’s over, another part is mourning that this is the end. We leave the beach in good spirits piling into the van one last time. With visions of showers, clean clothes and our own beds in our heads, we head back to Portland. It’s only a month and a half before registration for next year is due.
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