Oregon Prelay

Last weekend I ran in the inaugural "Prelay" relay.  I have heard several people describe the Hood to Coast Relay, so I thought I had some idea what to expect, but it turned out I was not mentally prepared.

I did not know the start would be staggered, or that the relay would have only 9 teams; with staggered starts and so few teams we rarely saw other runners or their vans.

I did not get a copy of the route before the day of the event.  When I got a copy in the van the legs were on individual pages and I could not make sense of it.  I brought a GPS along.  Good thing, because it became the primary navigational tool for our vehicle.  Once I figured out where the exchange points were, we could find our way and also tell the runner how far they had to go.  Programming the GPS with the minimal information on the maps was the hard part.

Tip to organizers: use street addresses for the exchanges.  Assume the vans have GPS.  Tip to self - get the route before the ride and program the GPS.

I was also not prepared for the difficulty of the hills.  I thought we were running from Portland to Eugene, so we would basically follow the Willamette River with few hills and little gain in elevation.  I was also not prepared for the sleep deprivation.  I thought I'd sleep in the van and get 6 hours of sleep while the other van runners were running.  I never slept in the van, and hardly slept on the grass lawns.

I had 11 teamates and my race leg numbers were 12, 24, and 36.  It was the hardest ranked position on the team. 

I was ready for leg 36.  I know it from countless bike rides and runs, including "Run to Stay Warm" and the Eugene Marathon.  It followed the bike path from its terminus at Delta Highway, across Owosso footbridge up the west side of the River to Autzen foot bridge to the Pre Trail ("Prelay" is for Prefontaine) and back one mile to Alton Baker Park.

Our team was made up of Eugene and Portland residents.  Three of us drove to Portland on Friday, leaving about 9:00 A.M., and picked up two others.  We got to the start of leg 7 and waited for the other van, monitoring their progress with text messages.  We started our legs and I got to watch the other five runners do their legs, which gave me a view of the support - water, food, and clothing drop every couple miles. 

Our van's fifth runner was my wife, who worked Friday and caught a ride to meet us in Mollala.  She got caught in traffic on the I-5 and I was ready to switch the first legs with her, but she made it to the exchange with a couple minutes to spare, took the bracelet, and started running.  It was hot and muggy and she got passed in the first half mile, then ran the longest leg of the entire relay - 7.9 miles.  She was miserable. 

Waiting on the side of the road was hard.  I ran a half mile or so to get my legs warmed up.  Leg 12 of the relay is ranked "very hard."  It started with a 450 foot climb in the first mile.  I was nervous.  Standing at the exchange site I could see the start of the hill, which looked really steep.  There was another team there, a group from Roseburg.  The runner who had passed my wife had come through and his team was gone.  I really wanted to pass their runner, and I also wanted to not get passed.  I decided to start with a stamp of authority, so I took the bracelet and practically sprinted up the hill.  About 100 feet into the climb my single hope in all the world became keeping up the pace until I got out of sight of the runners I had left.

I knew I had 450 feet of climb, but I also knew it was going to be my hardest mile of the relay.  I was determined to climb strong, and get to the downhill.  It was about 5:00 p.m.  The air was about as humid as Oregon gets.  I was gasping.  I kept thinking I was near the top of the hill, but every summit was false.  My team van showed up at about mile 1.5, and gave me water, which I put on my head.  The second time I handed off my glasses, which were fogged with sweat and salt.  About the third time they passed I shouted "Ice" and they dug in the cooler and gave me a handful of cubes.  I rubbed some on my head and chest, put a cube in my mouth, and held the rest in my hands until they melted.  It was wonderful. After I got to the top of the long hill and was doing a series of rollers (photo) I passed the red van from Roseburg and someone yelled "you've got roadkill just ahead!" meaning I was close to passing another relayer.  I felt like walking, but I kept going until I saw her.  Every downhill I used a long stride to gain more time, and every uphill I just kept moving.  Finally I passed her and continued on.   

The last part of leg 12 was downhill, then over a bridge and to the left and uphill into a park.  I had nothing left for a kick.  I handed off the bracelet, stripped off my shirt and got a beverage from a teammate, then realized the park had a stream, so I walked to a dam and laid down in knee deep water.  Instant relief. 

I should have stretched, but I walked around a bit, met some of my van 1 teammates, talked with some other teams, and then we got in the van and headed into Salem for dinner at Las Palomas Mexican Restaurant, where I ate so much warm bean dip I had little room left for the Mole Mexicana I ordered. Our spirits were pretty high, but people were starting to doze off at the table. We were supposed to sleep at Scio High School. (Scio allegedly got its name because it was located near the Section 10 mark on a map.) I thought we’d be in a gym, but the volunteers pointed to a cluster of people lying on a well-lit lawn. We had brought a sleeping bag and no ground cloth. It had rained and hailed in the afternoon. Lightning was still flashing within sight. I was sure we would get soaked sleeping outside. (Tip to self: Motel with a hot tub.)  My wife and I laid out our sleeping bag, crawled in, and I got the best 3 hours’ sleep of my life. We should have spent less time at the restaurant and more time in the sack.

Our teammate woke us with the news that our lead runner was about 10 minutes into leg 19. Our team had been passed by every other team save one. It was cold and dark and the bathroom was a plastic outhouse. While we were packing up our bags, the last runner came in and the race volunteers packed up and evacuated the area as though it were a sinking ship. The relay took on a whole new lonely, dark, depressing aura.

We found our runner on the road, reflective vest, flashing red light on her back, headlamp ahead. She was in a state of ecstasy, lighted by the near full moon. (photo) She declared her love for all teammates as we drove by.

I navigated through the night.  With no scenery to look at, I played scrabble with the driver on a travel board while we watched for runners' headlights.  My best play was "yacht" with "y" on double letter counted both horizontally and vertically, and the "t" on triple word score for a turn score of 56.

At some point our team was passed and we became the last team on the road. 

I kept hoping the sun would rise before my leg 24, but my team was strong and I got kicked out into the dark night.  Leg 24 was ranked "hard" unlike the "very hard" leg 12, so I was optimistic.  Within 100 yards I was gasping and my right achilles tendon and left calf were on fire.  It was a recap of my Newport Marathon mile 7 on May 30th.  I went up and down long gradual inclines.  As I ran it started to get light.  I looked out on fields on the right and hills on the left.  I passed drowsy cattle.  Horses fled at the sight of me.  There was a headwind, but I was not cold nor warm.  I did not know the road.  I wished we had ridden it on the Strawberry Ride in June so I would know the hills.  My thoughts were with Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador on the other side of the world, two seconds apart in the GC after Contador's climb into Andorra.  They would have scouted this hill.  I was counting every fourth step.  I got to 600, I think.  

Hardly a car passed, but the relay U-Haul came through and the driver asked me my team name.  He said I was looking strong.  I felt sorry for keeping him out there.  Guilt joined anxiety, loneliness, fear, and hurt on the list of my depressing emotions.  

My team van waited on the hills.  I took a bottle of water, carried it and drank it a bit at a time.  My wife said I had 2 miles to go when I thought I had over 3, which was the best news since bedtime.  I grew happy.  I was running toward a finish in Brownsville, the well-preserved historic Pendleton Wool mill town.  It is my favorite cycling destination.  My wife met me at the city's edge and cheered me on.  I passed her and crossed the street toward a cone, assuming "Pioneer Park" would be downhill to the left.  Again, my glasses were in the van.  My wife shouted from behind me "turn RIGHT."  I had a small hill to cross.  Horrors, then the sight of the exchange, I ran down the last little hill to the park where my team waited with warm arms and cold beverages. It's 5:00 somewhere. 

Our six legs over, we drove to Harrisburg and found the high school, and got another hour or so of sleep on a lawn near the exchange point, trying to ignore the cowbells and celebrations every time a runner passed off the bracelet. At some point I heard that a team had already finished. Tip to self: ear plugs and eye shades. We woke long before our other van arrived, and ate some bagels and tried to hydrate. I stretched and stretched.  Our last six legs were pretty short, but mine was 5.9 miles. Two legs before mine, we got within sight of another team, and when I got the bracelet I really wanted to pass their runner and come in next to last instead of last, and suddenly I had a goal again.

I talked to my teammate about meeting me with the van at the various points where the bike path touches streets. We agreed on the two points along River Road. About 2 miles into it I had passed both points with no sign of the van. I hoped that meant I was running faster than they expected and not slower. I asked several people if they had seen a runner ahead with a number like mine, and finally someone on a bike said yes, about 45 seconds ahead. I got pretty excited but 5 minutes later I had not passed him and started thinking, was that "runner seconds" or "bike seconds," or did that guy simply have no sense of passage of time?

I wanted to see my team, so I started asking people if they had cell phones. Finally someone said he had a phone and would call my wife, so I gave him the number and said tell her I’m at the Owens Rose Garden. I did not tell him my name or hers, and I ran off. My wife got a call saying, you don’t know me, but your husband wants you to know he was at the rose garden. Within a half mile my team met me behind Skinner Butte. They met me again at EWEB, this time with the news I was seconds behind the next runner, who was alternating running and walking. He was accompanied by most of his team (isn’t that against the rules?) I gave my wife my glasses, lifted the front of my shirt to cover my number, and I put the bracelet in my pocket so that if his teammates saw me they would not recognize me or know I was on the race and passing them. I followed them across Autzen footbridge with about a mile left, and when I caught them they recognized me from my initial strong start on leg 12. I ran and walked with “Steve” from Roseburg for a quarter mile or so, his teammates teasing me and threatening to block me and use their elbows to prevent me from passing.

I understood that they started 15 minutes after my team, so even if I passed him, unless he laid down for a nap, my team’s time would be behind his. I thought about crossing the finish with him, but at one point he stopped and walked while I was running next to one of his teammates, and when she stopped I was alone and pressed on for the finish. (Team photo) We ended up 7th out of 9 teams, Steve’s team was 6th. We’ll get you next year.

Thank you to my team for letting me run 12th position. It was an honor.