Way back one cold morning in February while I was
running with a group of women in Calais, it was decided we would all run the
Vermont 100 on 100 Relay in August. The 100 on 100 is a 6 person relay race
along Vermont's Route 100, starting in Stowe and finishing at Okemo Mountain
Resort. I had been meeting these 5 women for a run every Sunday for the past
several months, after being welcomed into their group by a friend. On this
particular day, August seemed so far away, and the six of us really enjoyed running
together and it didn't seem like a bad idea.
Fast forward to early August, just a few weeks ago.
It seemed like a bad idea to me. A really bad idea. I had spent the summer away
with my family, and had enjoyed many great runs, but all of them solo and I was
feeling out of sync with running in a group. Of the 100 miles we would do
collectively, I would run 17.5 of them, split between 3 legs. I started to get
anxious a couple weeks before the race. While I had missed these amazing women
and couldn't wait to catch up with them, I was realizing that it wasn't just me
stepping up to the starting line, it was all of us, depending on each other.
They were holding me accountable, and if I hadn't done my training I may let
them down. And, these ladies are FAST runners, often effortlessly cruising up
hills. (I know how they look running up hills, because I'm always behind them
on the hills. Way behind). Gulp.
For a little perspective, these ladies were not
putting the pressure on me. They seemed to be approaching the race as if
someone was going to hand them a glass of chardonnay while they sat on a dock
dangling their feet into the lake. Our team name was "The
Hillbillies" after all.
The morning of the race arrived, and as soon as I
hopped in the car with them, I could tell we all had our varying degrees of
anxiety. We all saw the team aspect of race, and we wanted to keep up the
"team" pace. As Katie, our first runner, lined up at the starting
line, the weather was still cool and a quiet fog hung over the race banner and
hills surrounding Trapp Family Lodge. I have to admit something here, which I
haven't confessed to anyone yet. I always get emotional at the start of
a race. It doesn't matter if it's a one mile race or a half-marathon, there is
something about the energy of people lined up, nervously jumping
around, watches at the ready, that fills me with emotion. The awareness of
the miles logged, goals made, friendships solidified over early morning runs,
basically everyone's hopes and dreams seem to fill the air around me at the
start of the race. Without fail, tears blur my vision just before the gun goes
off.
So, when Katie stood in the fog surrounded by all
the other first runners, and the rest of each team gathered around the starting
line with cheers and whoops, I had to turn away for a moment as my eyes filled
with tears. It was too much amazing-ness to take. I was so proud of Katie, and
so proud of all of us, for taking the time to train for this race. We are all
mothers, between the 6 of us there are 12 children, yet we all make time to
run. Which makes us pretty darn awesome.
This sense of awe did not leave me once the race
started. Because I was the 5th runner, I had the morning to cheer my teammates
on. Each time we drove past a "Hillbilly", or stopped to hand them
water, I was impressed with each woman. I'm usually running with them,
so I don't get the chance to cheer them on like that. In the car, we chatted,
laughed, and complained about how grueling the race was, but whenever we passed
one of our runners, the car filled with cheers as we shouted out the window to
our teammate. Then the car would be silent for a split second, followed by
exclamations of how strong she looked, how fast she was running, how inspired
we were.
Yes, the race was hard. After my first leg I wasn't
sure how I could run again, let alone run 12-plus more miles. After my second
leg I had a splitting headache and wanted to crawl to the floor of the car for
a nap. But we kept moving, we continued to hand off the bracelet, and we did
not stop cheering for each other.
By my third leg (5 miles flat or downhill), dusk
had settled in and I ran into the darkness. I seemed to have gathered up all
the energy from the day, the awe and amazement, and the emotion of it all, and
it simply carried me along those 5 miles. I don't think I ran that leg, I
floated it. Granted, I was probably on some crazy endorphin high or having
dehydration hallucinations, but whatever, I felt amazing. I had an overwhelming
sense of being a part of something greater than me, much like the sense I get
at the start of every race.
In my drunk-on-running state, I handed the bracelet
off to Alex, and she began her last leg that would bring us into the finish.
Despite the darkness, we still managed to recognize Alex's gait as we drove by
her, and we once again cheered wildly. We then drove to the Okemo lodge, where
the race actually ends in the lodge, and waited for Alex to run in. That
feeling of seeing her finish the race with such speed and strength can best be
summarized by this photo:
AMAZING!!
Here is my endorphin-induced epiphany I had while
running my last leg of the 100 on 100: even when you're running alone, you're
not really alone. You are a part of something greater, a team of runners around
the world. The running community has runners of all shapes, sizes, ages,
abilities. Fast runners, slow runners. Anyone who puts one foot in front of the
other repeatedly, day after day, week after week. Running connects us
all.
So, if someone asks you to do the Vermont 100 on
100 Relay, say yes! You will undoubtedly regret saying yes at some point, but
you will also surely be inspired by your teammates, and by all the runners out
there. Who knows, maybe you'll see me next year again at the start. I'll be the
one crying just before the gun goes off.
