Ragnar, you sneaky little bastard…read more...
You took me by surprise, and won me over with your ragged looks and smelly ways in just over 2 days.
So much so that I keep thinking about you, and consider flying all down there this winter for more.
Yup, that's intense.
Yup, people are going to believe you are cuckoo up there.
Yup, being in a van with 5-6 other runners half of whom you have just met quite literally stinks.
But oh the fun you'll have!
Before you start dismissing this review on the pretense that we don't have the same definition of "fun", listen: I was highly skeptical as well. The first time I read about it, I felt this weird mix of emotions. Anticipation was not one of them. But after giving it some thought, I decided that it was worth a shot - if only for the running experience.
I am so glad I did.
Running a Ragnar Relay Race is like nothing else. Read the testimonies on the web: people are ecstatic about it. Yes, you have to run 3 legs of various lengths within a rough 24- to 36- hour period (depending on how fast you are), and yes, you have to stay in a van pretty much the whole time. No hot meal, no shower, no mani-pedi, no room service. In a word, no comfort.
But the sense of camaraderie that develops in that van, and builds up more and more with every passing mile is unmatched. You live your team, you breathe your team and after a while, you love your team. And it gives you all the juice you need to keep pushing on your legs at 3 a.m. when you pound the pavement of a deserted road in Wisconsin, piercing the night with your little headlamp, trying to avoid the mosquitoes that fly in your eyes (idiots).
There is no other word: it's exhilarating.
You will get lost, and pile up the u-turns, screaming mindlessly at your phone: "What is wrong with fucking you?" (to which the appropriate response coming from right behind you is, of course: "As far as I am concerned, nothing at all").
You will add your stench to the ones of dozens of male teenagers who sweat there before you while sleeping on the wrestling floor of a high school.
You will publicly acknowledge your lack of skills at peeing.
You will be spooked on the trail by a snake or a couple of rockets who call themselves runners and leave you (and dust) behind.
You will hear in dismay that boobs (bibs?) have to stay visible at all times.
You will pass some town folks chilling on their porch who will ask you, "Where are you running to?", and when you answer, "Chicago", you will smile at their incredulous "What the fuck?"
You will queue for the porter potties, drink water from the wells, eat pretzels, Twizzlers, cinnamon almonds and spinach pie and call it "breakfast".
You will cross the finish line with your teammates at Montrose Harbor, and experience the biggest high of your life.
And, just like me, you will sign up for more.