The Rombout Middle School was a disaster relief area. Hundreds of bodies lay along the sidewalk under the awning like refugees from a tornado. One or two of them slept on cots, but most of them were lying on nothing more than a thin sheet or blanket. A lone volunteer sat against the brick wall, head hung between her knees, a red flashlight dangling from her limp wrist as though directing traffic in her dreams. It was almost midnight. The parking lot was wet from a short, heavy rain that had fallen an hour before. The line to the port-a-potties was twenty deep, which was twenty more than it had been when I arrived about two hours before. It had already been a long day; it was going to be a long night.

Ragnar Relay refugees at Rombout Middle School, Beacon N.Y. Photograph provided by the author.

I was in Beacon, NY, with the other members of my ultra-relay team for the halfway point in the 183 mile Ragnar Relay foot race that had started Friday morning in Woodstock and would end Saturday in Dobbs Ferry, New York. Of the more than 215 teams registered, only fifteen consisted of teams of fewer than twelve members–ultra teams. Of those fifteen, only ten would go on to finish the race. My team, the Magnificent 7–“We are six but we run like 7”–was one of them. The basics of the Ragnar Relay are simple: run, rest, drive, repeat. A team member runs a certain distance then hands off to the next team member. The non-running teammates drive a van that has been specially decorated for the race to where runner number two will finish her leg. Runner number three takes over and all pile into the van and drive to the next exchange point. This process is repeated until the last runner crosses the finish line.

In a 12 person team, each team member runs from 12 to 15 miles total. In an ultra team, each runner takes on from 26 to 36 miles.
I slowly wound my way through the port-a-potty line where I discovered the wondrous things that running all day can do for the intestinal system. (As a runner on another team put it: “Ten years from now, we won’t remember our time, but the constant diarrhea.”) I had already run my first leg, a grueling 16.5 miles over some of the most mountainous terrain of the race during the hottest part of the day. Promised rain had failed to materialize and I ran with the sun blistering my shoulders. I had hoped to use the Rombout exchange, where our van would have a few hours downtime, as an opportunity to get some sleep. But the rain finally fell while I was snuggled under the stars on the grass next to the school’s parking lot. I scrambled back to the van amid other runners desperate for shelter. I found my two teammates unable to sleep. The Dodge minivan was just too uncomfortable, and we were all too wired.

I took the baton—actually a slap bracelet—shortly after 1am and ran 10 miles through the dark, humid night, most of it along Route 9 which traverses the Hudson River and is a major thoroughfare for cars and trucks looking to reach the little towns along the water. I figured out quickly that when a car or truck approached—I was running against traffic, as the law and the rules of the course required–I had to put my head down and look off to the side, using my peripheral vision to watch the road and the car. If I looked straight ahead for a brief moment after the car passed I wouldn’t be able to see anything. My headlamp and the small flash I carried illuminated the road before me, as well as the bill of my fluorescent green running cap. The night was quiet; all I heard was the sound of my own breathing, my feet pounding the pavement, and the occasional van full of runners slowly drive past, cheering. I kept thinking of the fact that it was two in the morning and that the bars in New York are open until four AM. I wondered if I’d be quick enough to jump out of the way before someone decided to turn me into the next Stephen King. (Actually, that might not be so bad, come to thing of it–being the next Stephen King, that is, not getting hit by a car.)

26 hours 41 minutes after we started, we crossed the finish line together, arms raised in triumph. We were only about an hour off our pre-race estimate, not bad for a team that only came into being six months before. The Ragnar isn’t about finishing fast or coming in first, though; it’s about doing something as a team, about cheering on other runners and having other runners cheer for you. Towards the end of my first leg, I was overheated and thirsty, which meant I was already dehydrated. Another team van pulled up alongside me and gave me a bottle of water. Then they drove away and I never saw them again. It was a touching moment in a day full of team spirit and the camaraderie of being one part in a unique event. Every spectator on the course, every cheer we got, was from another runner, another racer. Short races don’t have that kind of all around camaraderie. Just another thing that made this event so special.

Not long after we finished, we began talking of our next relay race. Right now, it’s planned for September, from Virginia to Washington, DC. There may be only five of us this time, as one of the Magnificent 7 has decided not to join. If so, that’s fine with me. I’m happy to run more miles. As long as there are lots of bathrooms and short lines.