hipster runner: M'n'M's: a race recap.

Trail Mix

One small handful, just never enough.

That’s how I looked at the last two weeks. One relay just wasn’t enough. So I chose two. And a lot of trailmix, granola, water, Gatorade and coffee were involved. I probably will still need a lot more coffee in the coming days and weeks, but I survived.

The first relay was a local jaunt from Spokane to Sandpoint, ID. I had been asked by a friend, supporter, and customer of the store to join the team. Now, rewind a little bit and we all know that I have been struggling getting back into shape. Honestly, I have been struggling with everything, so this wasn’t something to take lightly. But what did I do? Said yes, even though I would be totally unprepared and would be afraid of the expectations and probably be supremely disappointed and scared and angry by the end of it.

tired feet after leg one

I wasn’t. Thankfully, I was placed in Van 2, a handful of m’n’m’s, and although my projected times were far and above what I thought I might muster, I went in with a happy, contented and straight mind. The people in my van were outrageous, supportive, hilarious. We had way too much fun for running nearly 100 miles between the six of us. From bullhorns to blaring Macklemore out the windows, to handing out the extra Krispy Kremes, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Learning is something I try to embody in running and in writing. You can learn from everything if you just open up to it. There is always something more to be learned. You may think you know it all and you get to the end and realize there are more miles to be run and more books to be read.

During this relay, my biggest learning experience happened during my last leg. One of our women early on had twisted her ankle pretty severely and was unable to complete her last two legs. Now, in my mind I had prepared myself to run 6 miles. That was all I had to do. 40 minutes was what I was hoping to run. Which for most of my training partners is pretty easy, but I am out of shape, remember?

Well, let’s just tack on an extra 3.5 miles why don’t we?
Ok. It’s go time.

Speaking of training partners, one of my dearest was actually running the same leg, and having to do the same thing. So we thought if we could run it together it wouldn’t be too bad. Well her team handed off to her and I said I would catch up. Nearly 12 minutes later, I set off. There would probably be no catching up, there would be only holding on.

morning of leg 3.

I consider myself extremely lucky to have run this leg. I rolled through Priest River, ID, following the waters as they flowed through farmland and countryside. It was just starting to get hot and that was only complemented by the rotting road kill I was forced o endure through some of the early miles. The only things that were truly frustrating were the hills. My legs were not ready for hilly. This was where the girls became men I suppose. Or just grew a pair and hung on for dear life. Excuse the graphic detail.

My team, God Bless them, rolled alongside in the silver Suburban, bullhorns in hand yelling support and sarcasm all the way. Spartan cheers and water were handed out, and even the occasional, “You’re running too slow.” Which indeed made me run faster.

Seeing my final mile to go sign at 8.5 miles, I began to climb this hill. Now going back it might not be that big, but right at this moment, this was bigger than Doomsday, and though I’ve never been there, it has to be bigger than the elusive “Heartbreak Hill” in Boston. My legs churned, my body ached, and my stomach was about to explode when finally, I heard our bullhorn, I saw my teammates and I smiled. I smiled at the top of the hill and raced the sweaty wristband-baton onward. I handed it off, congratulated our next runner and nearly fell to the ground.

I was done. But we weren’t. I got back in the van and cheered our way onward. My job as a runner was done, but not as a teammate.

As the heat rose we took turns passing out water and videotaping ourselves doing outrageous stunts. Hanging out car windows on back country roads probably not for the faint of heart. But when you are delirious from the sun and the run, it is all worth it.

We crossed the line that day on the beach at Sandpoint, third overall and the winners of our division.

Tired, spent, and completely elated (although unable to truly show it) we rode home.

I made some amazing friends that day. We struggled and fought the good fight. I learned how to love the run. Even in the most difficult of times.