The Blue Ridge Relay (BRR) is a 208ish-mile running relay from Grayson Highlands State Park in Virginia to downtown Asheville, North Carolina. This year’s race hosted 196 teams of 4 to 12 people who run a total of 36 legs ranging from 2.5 to 10.5 miles per leg over the course of a day and a half; the ultra runners do it less than 20 hours.
On the surface the relay is pretty simple: get a team, rent vans, run a bunch, stay healthy, try not to stink too much, don’t kill each other, and don’t die. OK, it’s not really that simple. It’s actually way more complicated.
I’m what my sports medicine doc calls a “heavy sweater.” I don’t glisten or perspire, I leak. In the summer, my sweating reaches new heights so I tend to run in the early morning. This is especially true when I go long on the weekend.
This past weekend, for example, I had the option to run two 7-mile laps on a shaded path around a lake on Saturday. I was all set to go through with this plan until my son reminded me that we were supposed to campout in the backyard (by 9:30PM I had moved the tent into the sunroom because it was too hot). Instead, I took another friend up on his offer to run a 15-mile trail run on Sunday (forecasted to be a wee bit warmer) with some folks training for a 50 miler.
Confession, I’m a bit of a Dory (or perhaps an idiot) when it comes to running. I tend to forget things like mileage, forecast, and my propensity to sweat buckets. That said, I put together an ingenious hydration strategy for the big group run. I figured I’d drink two 20 oz bottles over the course of the run, come back to the car to down two more 20 oz bottles, and knock back a 32 oz nalgene on the way home. At best, my plan was stupid.
The other day I was a having a conversation with a group of people when the topic of running came up. I mentioned that I ran and one dude followed with “How fast?” “About 7:30 pace when I’m training. A little faster when I race.” I replied. “What’s that, like 5 MPH?” he asked in a seemingly sarcastic tone. “I think it’s about 8 MPH.” I said. “8 MPH? That’s more like jogging. Do you race?” he asked. “I don’t race often. Maybe 3 to 4 races a year.” I said. “Psshh!” he responded looking around the group, “My brother runs a race almost every weekend and he has all kinds of medals to prove it.”
In October 2014, Coop and I planned an ambitious 20-mile hike with nearly 10,000′ of elevation gain through the Three Ridges and Priest Wildernesses. Ambitious because, at the time, I was two months out of shoulder surgery and I hadn’t been particularly active. Still, like my third helping at Thanksgiving, the trip seemed doable.
As the story goes, we hiked 3.2 miles along Mau-Har trail and another 11 miles over Three Ridges until returning to the parking lot at Crabtree. Then my wheels fell off, and we ended up camping about a half mile up the trail. That night, Coop vowed a return trip to finish what we started.
Flash forward a year and a half to a time between new babies and tee-ball practice. Coop asked me if I wanted to give The Priest another go. I agreed and he followed up with a plan that would take us up and over The Priest and onto Spy Rock. We’d spend the night near Spy Rock and hike back down the next day. In total, according to hillmap.com, we’d knock out 14.5 miles with ~5,000′ of elevation gain and loss. Perfect.
A race bandit is someone who participates in a race without paying the entry fee. The bandit runs (or jogs or walks) the course, drinks the water, eats the food, and accepts a medal, all things that have been paid for by other participants. So what’s the reasoning behind the bandit?
For some race bandits, money is a motivator. For others, running as a bandit is a principle-based decision. To get a better understanding of these running free riders let’s take a closer look at the arguments.
Each year my running buddies attempt to convince me that the Christmas-themed race they’re going to run is the bees knees. They do their best to pitch their race to me. Quite frankly, they’re wrong. There is only one Christmas-themed race that has my continued support as numero uno—the Reindeer Romp 5K in Jamestown, NC. The community of runners is a top notch group of elites, weekend warriors, first timers, and kids who train as part of the GO FAR fitness club for kids. The atmosphere is fantastic. Santa, the big man himself, is there. And…AND…the race encourages runners to run in a holiday-themed costume.
This year marked my sixth year running the Romp. I’ve run as a Christmas present, the Grinch and his sleigh, a Christmas tree, as a conductor pushing the Polar Express, and last year I managed to complete the race dressed as a 6 and 1/2 foot fireplace. My pattern of costumes is one that includes my son every other year. This year, he and I talked about several costumes. All of them involved me pushing him. He’s 5 years old now. He’s nearly 50 pounds. Pushing him in a stroller would be difficult enough without a costume. So we talked about what we could create and he, whilst channeling his inner Tchaikovsky, suggested something quite appropriate—a nutcracker.
It’s hard to imagine what it takes to do something unless you put yourself in the shoes of the person doing the thing that you’re trying to imagine. For me, I no longer have to imagine what it would be like to raise a child, jump out of an airplane, teach fifth graders, run a 5K as a fireplace, or dance in the Nutcracker. And thanks to my sister, I no longer have to wonder what it’d be like to support a marathoner.
This past weekend, my sister (aka The Runner) came to town for the Triple Lakes Trail Marathon. Another sister (aka The Elder) and I along with our children, planned to provide support for The Runner throughout the race. The Runner stayed with The Elder, and caught a ride with her and my niece to the start line. I, on the other hand, had to wait until my 5YO son decided to wake from his slumber. I woke at 6AM. Got showered, dressed, ate breakfast, fed the dogs, and packed the car. By seven I was ready to roll. My son, however, was not. Ten minutes later, the little fella walked into the kitchen wearing an imaginary top hat and mustache and said rather gentlemanly, “I thought I would join you.”
