Man: That guy did Ragnar!
Woman: What's Ragnar?
Man: I've heard about it. You have to be crazy to do it
and so on . . .
I smiled a little, tugged my sweat stained Ragnar technical T away from my chest to cool down a bit, and walked slowly back to the car. I was tired after this simple day-after three-miler with fairly sore quads but otherwise alert and happy.
Was this crazy?
No, not especially. On the scale of 1 to 10 of crazy running a 187-mile relay with 11 of your closest friends, or casual acquaintances, or total strangers as the case may be runs maybe a 3. There are crazier things I can think of—Base jumping seems like a good candidate for an 8 or a 9.
- 222 teams
- roughly 426 (possibly as much as 444) highly (or snidely) innuendo decorated vans pulling on and off the roads in the 187 miles from Blaine to Langley
- contents of said vans spilling out in snoozing bunches every once in a while on stretches of grass and the inside of school gymnasiums
- 426 rolling running frat parties
- XXX numbers of volunteers monitoring all the runners, ensuring course safety, serving food, and shivering in the cold
- an alternative universe in which external happenings recede crazily into the background
- the intensity of forming relationships and bonds in the compressed environment of the task and the van knowing that in the end there would be a little awkward and bittersweet farewell (Facebook to the rescue!)