A Brief History of My Time on the Wild West Relay (Part 1)

NOTE: This post was originally published back in August 18, 2006.

195 Miles. 36 Legs. 12 Athletes. 2 Vans. 30 Insane hours. 1 Crazy weekend.

It is incredibly difficult to sum up the experience of participating in the Wild West Relay from Fort Collins to Steamboat, Colorado (with a considerable dip up into Wyoming). It has been almost a week since its conclusion in Steamboat Springs Middle School track at around noon, and I'm still "processing" what really happened. (I told my wife that it was a life changing situation, and as part of the larger "going West" experience, there has got to be a book in there somewhere.)

While I did take a ba-jillion digital pictures (and my teammates took some as well), from the two-day experience, of which the time between legs was much more challenging than the running of the race itself, I've only included a few here to serve as points of reference. (I feel like a could write and write and write about this...)



After meeting at one of our teammates' house at 5:30 a.m., we, as the entire Team Skinnydipper (including the honorary mascots--one baby and one dog) made our way in two vans to the starting line, which was at the Budweiser Brewery in Fort Collins. It was as we pulled into the parking lot that the scope and distance of the race (195 miles!) finally began to sink in. There were 94 teams running, in five different divisions (open, flatlanders, hash house, mixed, high school  and our team was among the fourth wave of starters beginning at 7:30 a.m.

Van 1, holding six runners (actually, in our case, only four as we had received special permission for a "Baby Mobile"--two of my teammates had a baby, and dog--my brother-in-law Mike and his girlfriend Jodi among them), which would be accompanying us) would take care of the first six legs, while we in Van 2 would travel to the seventh exchange point and wait. And wait. and wait. It was about 90 degrees out in the sun so we stringed a tarp between our van and the one next to it in an effort to hide from the heat. It kind of worked.

As we drove to the start in Van 2, our team captain inquired as to what we should name the van. She also came up with the only suggestion: The White Shadow, and this is the name by which the van was referred throughout the day(s).

The Bud Plant was where our "baton," a yellow LIVESTRONG bracelet, was to begin its journey, moving from runner to runner, wrist to wrist...



Our second four to five hour waiting period began in the early afternoon and ended at dusk. Then it was time for our night legs, a period during which we would be running through very rural Wyoming/Colorado between 10:00 p.m. and 3:00 a.m. Rules (and safety) dictated that all runners had to wear a reflective running vest, head lamp and blinking light. Fortunately for me, the moon was so large and bright that the technological light was unnecessary. The dark did motivate me to run harder--too many killer hillbilly movies, I guess.

By this time, our van had worked out the process of following the person running, to offer support and fluids. Prior to receiving the "baton," the runner would work out where or when the remainder of the team would meet them along the route. Because the only race markers were for the final mile (allegedly), I would ask for the team to touch base with me half way through each leg. This would give me a better sense of how far along I was. Some of my teammates would ask for us to wait for them at two or three different points, primarily to offer moral support. This strategy was wildly effective in pulling each other through the larger challenges of the relay--which was (at least) as psychologically draining as physically. Apparently, our Van 1 did not use this approach, but my guess is next year our whole team would buy into this.



After our night legs were complete, we barely made it to the last wait point which we had been led to believe would be a field on which we could camp with tents. In reality it was a hilly sage field with two port-a-johns. We were among the first vans to arrive, crawling into the "lot" at about 3:30 a.m. For some inexplicable reason we were prompted (actually directed) to park in what in effect was a gully.



When I woke up at 6:00 a.m., I noticed that all the other vehicles that had been told to park with us in the gully had been moved while the White Shadow remained alone were it had come to rest only a few hours before. After spending three and a half "sleeping" in the seated position, I wasthe first to make a break for it, pushing open the door and falling out onto the Colorado landscape. In the shadow of the Rabbit Ears rock formation, I donated two dollars for a cup of warm "camp coffee," which consisted of a few coffee beans boiled in a pot of water on a small grill. I could have been drinking a cappuccino in Italy for all the satisfaction it brought me... I've never been one to drink my coffee black, but this trip was about making exceptions to rules, right?



My last leg was among the hardest of the 36 (the race director's designation, not mine!) as it was five miles almost straight downhill running into traffic. Fortunately for me, the rain that had harassed those running the two legs prior to mine had subsided (for a short time), and I had brought two pairs of sneakers which allowed me to choose my Montrail trailrunners, providing me more traction and support. I had been wearing both knee supports during all three race legs, and they were most beneficial during this leg which, by the nature fo the steep grade of the descent, would beat my legs senseless. I passed three of the competition team's runners in this leg, a feat that my colleagues had also accomplished during their legs. We all felt pretty good about the manner in which we maintained our overall position during our time with the "baton."

My brother-in-law Mike ran the last leg onto the Steamboat
Springs High School Stadium Track.

"Exchange 35" was the last transition point where the thirty-fifth leg would hand off to the last. Our final runner would run the trail-leg to the middle school track, where the entire team (vans 1 and 2) would meet him with a hundred meters left and run in the baton together cross the finish line.

It was great to be reunited with the entire Skinnydipper squad after being separated for most of the race, and to finally cross the finish line. Despite some conversation around who ran the hardest leg, or did "the best," I think that each one of us in the White Shadow ran to the best of our ability on each leg.

To use a tired sports saying, we "all left it on the court" and then sense of elation (I know I felt) once the relay was complete was incredible! I felt an incredible bond with my teammates, forged as a result of our shared space, effort, H20, and relay experiences. I'm looking forward to sharing some more personal anecdotal type stuff from the relay trail in future posts, but until then...

Breathe in, breathe out... YOU AND I ARE ALIVE!

Walking Down Board Game Lane

Au revoir, Jumanji, Sorry and three different iterations of Scrabble...

Now that it's once again nearly the turn of the calendar year, I have begun my traditional exercise in rounding up of stuff to donate.

The first "collection" dealt with yesterday was sifting through the significant assortment of board games that have settled on a dusty shelf in our attic. The overwhelming majority of these are were my children's when they were younger, though some have been passed down from other relatives who thought the kids might enjoy them when they themselves were thinning "stuff" prior to household moves.

Now that our "kids" are seventeen, they have moved on from cardboard playing surfaces with molded plastic thing-a-ma-bobs, and while it saddens me to see so many games relegated to the donation pile, this melancholy walk down memory lane is a necessary trip as I conclude the process of neatly tucking each box into a large black plastic bag (or two or three) for transport to the Volunteers of America. I have especially fond memories of playing Jumanji and Small Soldiers, two games which were only purchased as a direct result of motion picture cross-promotion, and both that, as of this day, I still have zero idea as to how to actually play. But, they remain favorites because my son and I spent so much time moving the character totems around the room playing and imagining with them--something which makes letting them go even more challenging.

But, the hope in donating these once meaningful things is the same each year: hopefully they will find their way to homes or communtiy centers where someone else will enjoy them as much as we (breifly, it seems) did.

Flashback to 2007: Snow and a Snyder Poem

Just prior to the start of our Winter Recess last Friday, many students (and some staff) were bemoaning the fact that we would (and did) have a "White Christmas." For anyone else with that itch to scratch, what follows is a post from December 7, 2007, that includes photos from our first substantial snowfall of that year...

"The Snow on Saddle Mountain" by Gary Snyder

The only thing that can be relied on
is the snow on Kurakake Mountain.
fields and woods
thawing, freezing, and thawing,
totally untrustworthy.
it's true, a great fuzzy windstorm
like yeast up there today, still
the only faint source of hope
is the snow on Kurakake mountain.

Embrassez votre été invincible!

Recalling The Best of All Possible Worlds!

As an undergraduate student in my first semester in college, I had little understanding of the far reaching impact even the most random of breadth component courses could would have on my life. In restropect, and given the twenty(!) years that have since passed, I can reflect on my wonderful good fortune of having taken Introduction to World Literature.

This afternoon as I was sitting in my classroom doing some reading and listening to the local public radio station, the song "The Best of All Possible Worlds" from the Broadway production of Candide came on, and I  was again reminded of that class. Taught by the kindly Peter Marchant, Intro to World Lit introduced me to so much I might otherwise had never been exposed to: Mishima, ballroom dancing, Dostoevsky and Voltaire; which is why I've posted the video above.

It is with great frequency that I preface any number of comments in class with a sing-songy "In the best of all possible worlds..." in an attempt to mimic the tune from the song, part of  Leonard Bernstein composed operetta in two parts based on Voltaire's Candide. An important (though sarcastically supported) component of which is maintaining an optimistic outlook in the face of life's trials and tribulations. I recall being so taken with the story, and especially, I suppose, the small piece of music shared in class (held in the basement of old Hartwell Hall) that I walked to the record store in town to purchase the music on LP.

It was wonderful to hear the old song again, and not just filtered through the years since having listened to the record many moons ago--in the best of all possible worlds it is now available on CD (still not that modern but at least more hip than cassette tapes)...

The Training Week That Was... 3/2-3/8

A photo of me coming across the finish line at last year's
Runnin' of the Green--a race I have registered to run this coming Saturday.
Another good week of training, with the only "bump in the road" being an increasingly annoying ache in both of my knees. If memory serves, this seems to be an annual personal "Rite of Spring" (I recall some photographs from previous March-April runs where I am wearing two knee "braces" at the finish!), so a small part of me has just accepted that reality as the way it will be.

A fair and logical concession to age and miles might be to wear the polyurethane Cho-pats for training and minimize the "brace work" during races. This support strategy has been effective in the past.

Here is what went down with my running this past week:

Legend: R = Running, B = Stationary Bicycle

Monday & Tuesday: Rest
Wednesday: Key Run #1 6.2 miles
Thursday: Rest
Friday: Key Run #2 6.6 miles
Saturday: Rest
Sunday: Key Run #3 16.3 miles

TOTAL MILEAGE: R 29.1 (-2.1 miles from the previous week)
Weigh-In*: 189.5lbs. (-2 lbs. from the previous week) [* @ 6:00 a.m. on 3/9/09]

This coming weekend is the first race in the 2009 Rochester Runner of the Year (RROY) series, and shoudl I follow through and actually compete, would mark my first race since January 1. I can't say that I miss competing (as I have not really been in shape), but I do miss the camaraderie with the other runners so I am hoping, barring any further complication--which is unfortunately a possibility--making out for the Johnny's Runnin' of the Green next Saturday.

Breathe in, breathe out... YOU AND I ARE ALIVE!

Flashback : Mendon Ponds Park, Winter 2007

While perusing through some old posts I came across some photos I had previously posted from a walk my wife and I took at Mendon Ponds Park in January of 2007.

I was just in Mendon this past week for the GRTC Freezeroo run, and was struck by how consistently beautiful the environment there was in the winter time, so much so that I couldn't help but pull the car over and take a look.

We still have not replaced our digital camera, these images are very representative of what I observed this time out, very much like in 2007 (and 2008), though this time without the benefit of my wife's company...









Fortunately, there is much more winter weather ahead for walks together at the park!

Embrassez votre été invincible!

Barefoot... On the Track?

The temperature outside this morning in River City, upstate New York, is 3°F, with a windchill of -10°F signalling the fact that winter has finally arrived (this time for sure!). So, as schools are closing and the local newscasts are sending reporters into the cold to discuss driving in snow, one's thoughts naturally turn to... being barefoot?

This topic comes courtesy of a "seventeen degrees of separation"-type thought process which began with my backtracking through the search engine that brings visitors to this blog. In going backwards I stumbled into the search terms which bring (brought?) folks here, and it was there that I realized that the terms "run feet" also lead folks to a website called the Society for Barefoot Living which espouses a more "bare" lifestyle.

My first memory of really being aware of the art of running outside what I was required to do in physical education class was during the 1984 L.A. Summer Olympics. Like most 14 year-olds, I did not have a crush on super-cutie (and freshly minted 39 year-old) Mary Lou Retton, but was more smitten with American track star Mary Decker Slaney.

So what does that have to do with being barefoot?

Wikipedia can summarize better than I:

Decker was heavily favored to win a gold medal at the 1984 Summer Olympics, held at Los Angeles. In the 3000 meters final, (South African) Zola Budd (now Pieterse), running barefoot half a stride ahead of Decker, moved to the inside lane, inadvertently crowding Decker, who collided with Budd and fell spectacularly to the curb. Decker's hip was injured and she was unable to resume the race... Track officials initially disqualified Budd for obstruction, but she was reinstated just one hour later once officials had viewed films of the race.

Zola originally shot to international fame in 1984, when at the age of 17, she broke the women's 5000 meter world record, while running barefoot. Unfortunately for her, since her performance took place in apartheid South Africa, the world track and field establishment refused to recognize the record, until she later broke it again, this time in Europe.

So are folks still participating in the niche art of running barefoot? I do seem to recall reading in one runner's magazine or another about folks who still use this practice...

Adio, wli nanawalmezi.

Flashback: A Reflection on My Days as a Collegiate "Activist"

In a previous post, I mentioned how, while taking on a recent roadie to a media presentation on Darfur, I could not help but be saddened by the memory of a past self I had forgotten. To clarify, there was a time that I thought I mildly, socially inept, English major could make a little difference in the world, and how at some point, I lost that sense of myself... at least as to its application to the world outside my window.

While an undergraduate English major at a local state college, I, along with some fellow students, and under the mentorship of a beloved English professor, began organizing a campus Amnesty International (AI) chapter. For those who are unfamiliar, AI is a letter writing organization in which members seek to promote social justice through participation in letter witting campaigns. At least that's how it used to work--I've been out of this particular loop for a while.

Watching the DARFUR/DARFUR exhibit, I remembered how I used to meet with four to six peers and together we would write letters to governments and officials around the world, in an effort to help fight for the human rights of peoples and political prisoners. Each week I would receive two to three Human Right Updates via snail mail(!). Upon receipt, I would carefully log the name and location of the person for whom we would be writing, before traipsing to the meeting room in the lower level of the campus student union. In some way, I felt I was playing a role in the bigger picture... you know, the whole "power of the pen" thing.

Sadly, most of the people on who's behalf we were writing were not famous or deemed "important," and as a result, were not covered my the mainstream media. Because of this, they and their tragic circumstances did not really exist in the American mindset.

Now, some twenty years later, I am ashamed to admit that I, too, in some way have forgotten about the fact that these terrible events are occurring, except even now they are closer to my home in the United States. While my recognition of, and disdain for, human rights violations surfaces while watching movies or reading news, I, like most Americans, forget minutes later when the next "important" television show or celebrity sideshow begins. Terrible.

But, rather than wallowing in self-pity, where do I go from here?

Adio, wli nanawalmezi.