I sit tonight in my usual blogging spot: butt firmly planted on the love seat and feet resting comfortably on the coffee table.  It’s been awhile, I’ll admit.  To see people commenting on the automatic race updates seems somewhat pathetic (pathetic in that they have nothing better upon which to comment), but I’m nevertheless grateful that I have a few faithful followers left in spite of my lack of motivation to do pretty much anything over the last few weeks.

You see, I’ve felt burned out.  Since the Walt Disney World half marathon, it’s been a struggle to get up in the morning to do any sort of workout and it’s been even more of a mental struggle to log my runs (or lack thereof) and blog about them.  Oddly, that all changed on Sunday.  What’s even weirder is that it all changed on a day that I didn’t meet my goal.  I mean, who would have thought that I would lose motivation after achieving my goal in the Disney half marathon by 49 seconds, only to gain it all back after falling over 3 minutes short of my goal in the Gasparilla marathon.  I can’t really explain it myself, but here’s the story of my second marathon (with pirated photos for your viewing enjoyment):

It really all started last June when I crept out of my solo running shell and met Drew and Richie for a 10 mile run along the water.  Drew had contacted me after reading this blog and beating me by over a minute in a local 5K, and I had been introduced to Richie over Facebook by a mutual friend.  My regular readers know that I spent most of the summer running with Richie, while Drew was injured with shin splints and we never trained together again- though his story is slightly intertwined with my experience in this marathon.

After Richie finished the New York City marathon in 3:01:23, he convinced his friends Justin and Steve to run the Gasparilla marathon.  Since I had been planning for this race all along, I joined them all on their Saturday long runs.  In January, Richie developed a groin injury and was unable to continue training with us, but Justin, Steve and I pressed on religiously meeting every Saturday morning for long runs.

On Saturday, Justin invited us all over to his house for a pasta dinner.  It was excellent with Meatballs and sauce from Mazarro’s Italian market.  I had two servings and Alice made me pancakes later in the evening.  In the morning Steve got up at 3 to cook pancakes, but I just had an energy bar.  I met Justin, Steve and Richie at Steve’s house around 4:15 am.  Together, we all drove over the Tampa for the marathon.  Unfortunately, Steve forgot his Garmin, so we had to turn back.  We were still there in plenty of time and each arrived in the starting corral with our respective pace groups: I in 3:20, Steve in3:30 and Justin in 3:40 with about 10 minutes to spare.

In the starting corral, I introduced myself to Chris, the 3:20 pacer.  His wife, Lauren was the 1:40 half marathon pacer so they got to run together for the first 7 miles.

After a few announcements and the national anthem, we all start moving forward without much fanfare.  There’s no horn, no gunshot, and certainly no fireworks like Disney.  It’s all pretty low key - which is just about how I feel.  I’m basically wearing my Disney outfit: shorts, a sleeveless shirt, a green St. Petersburg high school stocking cap, tube socks on my arms and the old white gloves I used to wear when I stocked the dairy at the grocery store in college.  On top of that, I’m wearing one of Richie’s son’s old sweatshirts.  It’s awkward and keeps slipping off my shoulders.  I chuck it at the one mile mark.  The temperature is in the mid forties.  The wind is fairly calm and unlike Disney, there’s no precipitation.

I’ve got 5 Chocolate flavored Clif shot gels in my pockets.  The plan is to take one at miles 5,9,14,18 and 22.  They’re a little inconvenient at the moment.  They swing uncomfortably against my thighs, but I’m mostly focused on keeping Chris in sight.

The crowd is thick and it’s hard to keep up with Chris simply because of the people.  Mile one takes us through several sharp turns and over a bridge to Davis Island.  Continuing around the residential streets of the island, the crowd remains thick.  I know I don’t have the be right next to Chris, but on several occasions,  he gets uncomfortably far away and I have to fight my way through the crowd to stay in contact.  We’re slow through the first few miles mostly due to the crowd, but we begin to pick up the pace about 4 miles in.

I’m feeling kind of crumby for the first few miles of a marathon.  The pace isn’t horrible.  My legs feel fine.  My breathing is steady.  There’s just something weird.  It’s a feeling like I’ve got a long way to go and I’d rather be back in bed.

We continue around the edge of Davis Island, running along Tampa Bay most of the way.  The crowd slowly begins to thin out and after about 4 miles, I’m able to tuck in right behind Chris.  Just before the 5 mile mark, I remove my right glove, reach into my right pocket and pull out my first gel.  It takes about a quarter mile to get it all down, but it’s timed perfectly.  As soon as I take my last swallow, we motor into a water station.  I grab a Gatorade, take two drinks, throw it aside, then grab a water.  I hold onto the water, drinking from it slowly over the next 200 meters.  Once I’m finished, I throw the cup aside, put my glove back on and wipe the excess chocolate gel from my face.  I’m feeling much better now.

Shortly after the five mile mark, we pass a house with two coolers set up at the end of the driveway.  A young girl is sitting with the coolers, offering Gatorade to the runners.  It’s pretty damned cool, but unfortunately not a scene that is repeated later in the race.  Many in the group wave at her and thank her for coming out.  Now that Chris’ wife, Lauren has taken her half marathon group about 20 yards ahead, needing to pull them back on pace over a shorter distance, our group has firmly materialized.  From my vantage point near the front, it appears to be about twenty guys - female free for the moment - and moving as a pretty cohesive unit with sporadic conversation here and there.

We head back over the bridge toward the start area.  The course has cleared out and our pack stands out pretty well now.  We’re the first marathon pace group and we get a lot of “Yeah!  3:20 pace group, you’re lookin good” types of cheers.

10K into the race, we come down the bridge and make a hairpin turn.

“Go Brian, lookin good!”

It’s Richie shouting from the crowd.  I raise my hand in salute.

“Feelin’ good, coach!”

Then, I tuck back into the group.  A few seconds later, I’m surprised to see Richie running alongside.

“How’s it going buddy,” he asks.  I’m a little bewildered that he’s just popped into our pace group.

“Going good,” I say awkwardly, “how are you?”.  He doesn’t seem to hear me and shouts some more words of encouragement to me and the rest of the group before peeling off to wait for Steve.  The other guys in the group ask me about him as we get a preview of the finish.  I tell them about how we ran together all summer and his finish in New York, followed by the groin injury.  It eats up about a half mile and we’re getting good crowd support as we pass the 7 mile mark.

Soon after, we split from the half marathoners who loop back around the finish for a short jaunt down Bayshore drive before returning for their finale.  We’re headed into downtown Tampa.  The streets are empty as we leave the cheers of the crowd and the music behind.  Without the half marathoners, the field is now very spread out, but the pace group still represents a formidable pack about 20 strong.  A young tattooed lady hangs about 10 yards in front of us as though running from a ravenous pack of horny teenagers.

As we run against the wind, one of the group members offers to hold the sign for Chris.  Chris happily hands it off, making sure to mention he can hand it back at any time.  I’m honored to be in the company of such a charitable group member, but I figure Chris can run a 2:47 and I’ll be lucky to hold onto 3:20 so there will be no sign carrying for me today.

Near the 8 mile mark, we get our first glimpse of the race leaders charging back toward us.  They’re roughly 2 miles ahead of us at this point and looking mighty lonely.  The top 4 or 5 runners are spaced over 100 meters apart and there’s very little crowd support at this point in the race.  We cross another bridge and make a hard right turn.  In the distance, I recognize Drew running alone back toward us.  I hadn’t seen his name on the registration list, so I was worried he had gotten injured again.  He’s looking pretty good and I shout some encouragement to him.  He recognizes me in a few seconds and shouts something back to me.

We pass through a water stop and I make a mental note of it since I’m pretty sure we’ll soon be running through it again on the other side of the road.  We make a hard right, cross the river again then make a hard left past the 9 mile mark.  I can see a hairpin turn in the distance.  It’s strange.  There’s just a cone.  There’s no mat to record our chips and no one even standing there.  We could have easily skipped about 3 miles of the race.  Everybody dutifully heads to the cone and loops around it.  We’ve reached the northernmost point of the course.

On the way back downtown, we see the next pace group in the distance.  I scan for Steve and find him about 15 yards ahead of the group.  This is typical.  He’s usually the one setting the pace during our long runs.  He’s in pretty good shape so I’m not too worried.  In fact, I might have suggested he start with me in the 3:20 pace group if it hadn’t been his first marathon.  I yell at him, but he can’t hear me because his headphones are too loud.  This too is typical.

We make a hard right.  I remove my left glove, dig into my left pocket (gotta even out the load) and pull out another gel.  I squeeze it in to my mouth and slowly suck down the contents.  Meanwhile, we pass the 3:40 pace group and I see Justin tucked into the back.

“Yeah J-dog!”, I yell, but he too has his headphones on too loud and I get only a smirk in return.  We make a hard left and we’re back at the water station.  I skip the Gatorade and quaff only water this time.  I slide my glove back on and wipe my face again.  My hands aren’t necessarily cold, but these gloves sure are convenient for wiping chocolate off my face and snot off my nose.

Shortly after the water stop, we approach a woman on a bike (Bike lady).  She services a few members of the group (food and water - get your mind out of the gutter) and then hops on the bike to zip ahead of us.  Tattooed lady still comfortably sits about 10 yards in front of the group, relentlessly holding off our pursuit.   We pass the 10 mile mark, head across the river again and back into downtown.  The wind is at our backs and the course declines slightly.  We all comfortably cruise through the next mile back toward the finish line.

Here, we merge again with the half marathoners - only now we’re merging with slower runners as our 7:38 pace colleagues in the 1:40 pace group are now only 2 miles from the finish.  As we close on runners, the group parts like the Red Sea, isolating each runner briefly in the pack before reforming in front.  We hear several comments from these runners:

“Jesus!”

“Oh crap”

“3:20?  What?!?  Huh?  Oh shit, they’re running the marathon!”

These comments fuel me.  I’m no elitist.  As far as I’m concerned, the bigger the race, the better.  I don’t care how slow you are.  Jump into a race.  Barring injury, you’ve got no choice but to get better.  I was once where these runners were and I’m getting high off the fact that I’m where I am now.

I’m expecting to see Richie again, but he’s nowhere to be found.  Later, I’d find out he took a bus to the 16 mile mark and fell asleep during the ride.  We pass the 12 mile mark in 1:31 and change.  I think about my Disney finish and how I was through 13.1 miles 2 minutes faster than I’m through 12 today.

“Piece of cake,” I think.

We head back across the start line, make a left turn and wind up on Bayshore Blvd.  It’s just a long out and back now.  The pack continues to engulf half marathon runners as we head south on Bayshore Blvd.  Tattoo girl has also been absorbed by the pack and ejected out the back.  Bike lady rides alongside, yelling encouragement at us.

“3:20 pace group!” she yells.  “Looking steady!”  Someone remarks to Chris that he’s going to have to answer to her if he doesn’t bring us home under 3:20.  He laughs.

“That’s a lot of pressure”.

We’re past 13 miles and the course map indicates that there will be a water stop right at the 14 mile mark.  We soon pass a water station and this worries me.  That seems awfully close to the 14 mile stop.

Right glove off. Gel from right pocket.  14 mile mark.  No water stop.

I’m feeling a little dry.  I run along with an empty gel packet in my hand and chocolate gel on my face.  It seems like a long way, but we hit another water station just after 15 miles.

Gatorade.  Water.  Right glove on.  Wipe face.

Felling better, I run right alongside Chris with a steady rhythm.  Shortly before the 16 mile mark, we pass another water station and I see Richie darting from one side of the course to the other.

“Richie!” I yell.  He looks startled to see me.

“Hey!  Brian up in the front of the 3:20 group!  You’re looking great!  You look comfortable!  Want a gel?”

“Just had one.”

“3:20 pace group!  Lookin’ strong!  Take it home boys, take it home!”

Through 16 miles, we are looking pretty strong.  I’m not sure who we’ve lost or who we’ve gained, but the size of the pack hasn’t changed much since the 6 mile mark.  We have pulled in another woman.  She’s tall, blond and not very talkative, but unlike Tattoo girl, she tucks in and maintains the pace.  I think back to the 16 mile mark of my only other marathon at Walt Disney World in 2008.  It was at the 16 mile mark that I sadly watched the 5 hour pace group disappear into the distance.  I figure I can stop, walk the last 10 miles and still beat my 5:22 PR.  That’s pretty cool, but I feel strong and I won’t be walking anytime soon.

We soldier on as members of the group point out potholes, warning those behind to steer clear.  Bike lady continues riding alongside yelling encouragement.  The course leads us away from the water into a neighborhood setting and we see the race leader charging back toward us.  He’s more than 4 miles ahead at this point.  We pass the 17 mile mark and the markers seem to be coming more slowly now.  I keep my eyes peeled for Drew coming toward us in the other direction, trying to gauge if he’s on pace for a sub 3 hour time.  It seems like a long time before I see him, but he passes just as I’m getting ready to pull out another gel.  I shout some more encouragement and he shouts back.

Both gloves off.  Gel from left pocket.  18 mile mark.  Gatorade.  Water.  Both gloves back on.  Wipe face.

We’re in Gadsen park.  It’s the southernmost point of the course.  We make our way around a lake up against the barbed wire fence of MacDill airforce base - home of Central Command.  We’re past the 19 mile mark now.  The group numbers about 15 and the tall blonde is still with us.  We’re “out”.  All that’s left is the “back”.

“I want to be crossing the finish line by myself staring at your backs,” Chris remarks as we leave the park.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” I reply.  It also sounds pretty feasible.  My plan commits me to stick with the group through 20 miles, but I’m not feeling strong enough to make a move off the front at the 20 mile mark.  I figure I’ll stick with them and make my move in the last mile.  My quads are getting sore, but I’m in a great rhythm and it’s easy to ignore.

We miss the 3:30 pace group.  They must be rounding the lake already.  We pass the 3:40 pace group coming at us in the other direction and Justin is still tucked in with them.  Through 20 miles, I still feel good.  I feel comfortable telling the group that my previous PR is 5:22 and they they need only carry me to the finish in 3 hours for me to PR.

“I don’t want to jinx you,” says a fellow member, “but congratulations.”

I thank him as we wind through the neighborhood, passing many other pace groups coming the other direction in the process. They all yell their encouragement.  We pass the 21 mile mark still a strong pack.  We pass Richie shortly after.

“Right up front, Brian, looking great!” he says as he briefly jogs alongside. “3:20 pace group!  Taking it home!”  It’s like Richie is our personal announcer.

I’m definitely feeling it at this point, but hell it’s only about four and a half miles to go.  I try to stay in the zone, and keep my legs moving.

“You’re looking great, Brian!” remarks Chris with almost a chuckle of disbelief.

“Thank-you, I reply,” trying not to expend too much energy.

At the 22 mile water station, the group breaks apart.  I run through and it’s suddenly just me and Chris.  I’m a little bewildered and I wait for the rest of the group to catch up, but they never do.  I don’t know where they are.

I hang with Chris for the next two miles, passing another water stop.  My gel remains in my pocket.  My head is focused on the finish.  I’m getting sick of chocolate gels and quite frankly, the whole process of reaching into my pocket and tearing the top off the gel seems like too much work.  My quads are burning as we pass the 23 mile mark and it’s taking a lot of focus to maintain contact with Chris.  I scoot across the road to grab some Gatorade and fall about 10 yards off the back.  Chris looks back at me.

“Come on Brian!” he yells.

I pick up the pace and pull him back, but I only hang on for about a minute before my right calf cramps.  My foot flails out and I work into an exaggerated heel strike to stretch it out.  This seems to work, but I’m about 20 yards behind Chris again.  When I try to increase my pace to catch up, the calf hints at a cramp again so I slow down.

Finally, near the 24 mile mark, the left calf goes into a crazy spasm.  I have to stop briefly to stretch it, but I know that stopping for too long will tell my body it’s done running and once that happens…well, my body will be done running.  I walk for about a minute, then get myself back into a jog for about a half mile before both calves cramp again.  I walk for about 30 seconds, stretching out my calves as former members of my pace group begin passing me one by one.  I manage to jog for a while with the goal of making it to the 25 mile mark.

Shortly before the marker, I hit a water station.  I jog right up, grab a Gatorade and walk as I drink.  Hoping the electrolytes will do me some good, I throw it off and jog again.

“Come on Brian, you’re almost there!” someone yells from the crowd.  It’s encouraging and I pick up the pace, but my right calf cramps again.  The change to my stride is ugly.

“Oh, he’s cramping up!” says someone in the crowd, “look honey, he’s cramping up!”.  I just exaggerate my heel strike a little more to stretch it and try to continue.  It all probably looks pretty heroic to the very encouraging crowd, but in my mind, it goes something like this:

“Why the hell didn’t you take your last gel at 22 miles?  You dumbass.  You just ruined your shot at your goal.”

I manage to drag myself back into a jog.

“Hey, it’s Brian!” I hear from the crowd. “Yay!  Go Brian.  Woo hoo!”.

I’m a little delirious and I don’t immediately recognize Richie, Steve and Justin’s wives cheering me on.  Eventually, my brain starts to work and I raise my right hand in salute to them.  It’s the last encouragement I need and my feeble jog pace picks up as I carefully pick my way toward the finish.  Mercifully, I soon enter the finishing chute.

“Brian Darrow from St. Petersburg, Florida now finishing!” says the announcer.  A small cheer rises and I stop my watch.

“Are you okay?” a woman from the medical team asks.

“I’m fine,” I reply as I stagger through the gauntlet of medical professionals to my long awaited medal.  In addition, I receive a towel for finishing.  Pretty cool, I guess.  I wrap a mylar blanket over my shoulders, looking back at the finishing clock.  I make my way around and back toward the finish just in time to see Steve and Richie come across the finish line together.  Meanwhile, Drew pats me on the back and asks how I’ve done.

“I cramped up in the last 2 miles, but still made it through in 3:23.”

“Great job,” he replies.

“How’d you do?”

“I managed to finish.”

“What time?”

“2:55″

“Whoa man, you killed it!  Congratulations!”

I shake his hand and then yell to let Richie know how well Drew did.  Steve has finished just under 3:26 and Justin later crosses the finish line in 3:43.

It’s a great first marathon for Steve, an 18 minute PR for Justin and nearly a 2 hour PR for me!

Brian Darrow @ Finish in 03:23:21 (NET). Pace: 7:45. Powered By metroPCS

Brian Darrow @ 22 Mile in 02:48:07 (NET). Pace: 7:38. Predicted: 3:20:21. Powered By metroPCS

Brian Darrow @ Half in 01:39:10 (NET). Pace: 7:33. Predicted: 3:18:20. Powered By metroPCS

I’ve lived in Florida for nearly 12 years now.  The first time I saw snow in my current home state was at 5:00 am on Saturday January 9th, 2010.  I was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and shorts.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

As many of you know, I expected some cold weather for the Walt Disney World half-marathon.  It had been cold pretty much all week.  I stopped by the local running store and inquired about arm warmers, but the only ones they had were at a different store, were coated in silver and retailed for $35.99.  Ultimately, I found an old pair of long tube socks in my sock drawer, cut off the feet and Raffi sewed the ends together to make some nifty homemade arm warmers.  I tried them out on a 3 mile shakeout run after my visit to the chiropractor on Friday and they were plenty warm.

Friday evening, I arrived with my family at the race expo.  It was the typical Disney race expo - large and crowded.  I quickly collected my race number and chip, then got my goody bag and browsed through the expo while Raffi, Alice and Wendy made signs at the Sharpie booth.  We spent about an hour at the expo and then headed to the Animal Kingdom Lodge to check in.

After check-in, we headed to dinner at the quick service restaurant at the hotel.  I had a chicken flatbread.  I had thought about meeting Patrick at Downtown Disney later in the evening, but I was feeling relaxed and a little sleepy after dinner, so I seized the opportunity to get a good night’s sleep.

Back in the room, I tried out my racewear, then placed it in a neat pile.  I set the alarm and called for a wakeup call at 3:00 am, then went to bed.  I slept pretty well, though I was waking up every ten minutes from 2:00 am on.  The alarm roused me at 3:00 and I canceled the wake-up call.   I immediately went to the bathroom.

It may seem weird to mention, but part of my training this year has been the post-wake-up poo.  I haven’t necessarily consciously trained myself for this, but it’s just kind of happened.  I used to have to have breakfast and move around a bit to get the gears going, but now I can pretty much crap right after waking up.  It rocks.

Anyway, I dressed myself, quadruple checked my gear, then headed down to the bus. The bus was pretty cold, but I was wearing my running jacket and an old pair of mesh lined nylon pants that I had left over from a trip to Salt Lake City.  I was extraordinarily calm.  I felt confident.  I had been here before.  I knew what to expect at the start and I was ready.

We arrived at Epcot and I stepped off the bus.  It was cold, but there was no rain like the weather channel had been predicting all week.  The temperatures must have been in the low thirties.  I chatted with a guy who was running the Goofy challenge for the first time.  He had lots of questions about the course and I was delighted to answer them.  I shook his hand when we arrived in the staging answer, then dug into my bag for my homemade energy bar and orange juice.

I have to note at this point that the wind wasn’t fun.  There was a DJ playing some tunes, but everyone was pretty much huddled behind tents, trucks, trashcans and whatever they could find to block the wind.  I found a spot in a crowd and slipped my jacket off to pin my number on my sleeveless shirt.  Once I had it on, I slipped my jacket back on and went to work on the D-tag.  The D-tag always takes me awhile.  I’m no genius, but I do have a Ph.D. and I always have to read and re-read the instructions for the D-tag before I finally get it attached to my shoe.

Once that was done, I started to jog around the staging area.  There was plenty of open space since everyone was huddled around the edges.  I kept speeding up as I did 100 m strides and it felt nice.  It also warmed me up.  Eventually, the green army men came out and started to herd everyone through the baggage claim area.  I stopped near the baggage claim and removed my jacket.  I put on my homemade arm warmers and replaced the jacket with an old torn poncho.  I put the jacket into my bag with my cell phone and checked the bag.  It was almost time.

On the other side of the baggage claim, the crowd steadily built.  People were waiting in line for the port-a-potties and others formed a big mob waiting to be released to the starting corrals.  Knowing there would be more port-a-potties near the corrals, I just kept walking laps around the holding pin to stay warm.  Eventually, they paraded the wheel chair participants through and to the start.  Then, we were released to the start.  That’s when it got a little weird.

“Hey, is that snow?” I heard someone say.

There were giant floodlights illuminating our way and as I looked up into the lights I saw small gently falling flakes of snow.  I pulled the hood of the poncho over my head to keep my hat from getting wet.  I pondered the whole snow thing all the way to the starting corrals.  I figured it was better than rain - at least better than driving rain anyway.

I hit a port-a-potty near the corrals, then set about running warm-up strides on the road alongside the starting corrals.  I had no idea what time it was and I just kept running to stay warm.  The good news was that race pace felt pretty comfortable.  The bad news was that the light snow had turned into a moderately hard sleet.  In the carnival-like atmosphere, music pulsated from giant speakers and the cameras focused in on small pellets of ice gathering on the road.  There were news crews interviewing participants about the cold.  There were people bundled up and huddled in corners.  Others were running back and forth along the road.

I headed to the woods and peed one more time.  The announcer mentioned we were 9 minutes from the wheel chair start and I entered Corral A.  It wasn’t yet very full and I easily made my way to the front.  I parked myself on the far right side, up against the fence.  As the announcers introduced the national anthem singer, I pulled the poncho off and threw it over the fence.  I stood calmly as she sang the national anthem.  I looked around and managed to find the 1:30 pace group some distance behind me on the other side of the corral.  My race plan developed.  I’d start off very slow, wait for the pace group to catch me and then follow them the rest of the way.

The lady next to me asks me if I want the poncho.

“No,” I reply.

“I know someone who does,” she says.  She hops the fence and grabs it, handing it to a man who has been hiding behind a truck on the side of the road.  He wraps it around himself and they both hop the fence back into the corral.  As the wheel chair participants depart, I strip off my pants and throw them over the fence.  My legs don’t feel as cold as I expect and that’s a good sign.  I look back to see 18,000 people behind me launching their outer clothing in giant arcs over the fence.  It’s a beautiful site, but I also notice that many more people are keeping their outer clothing on compared to last year.

Soon, Mickey, Minnie, Donald and Goofy take the stage and they start the countdown.  At 10 seconds, fireworks go off and the elite runners take off.  It’s a little early, but that’s cool.  I’ve been anxious to start.  I take it easy through the starting chaos.  I’m near the front and the road is fairly empty.  I look back and can’t see the pace group.  I float along as people streak by.  I keep looking back and still can’t see the pace group.  My planned pace is 6:50 and I’m well over 7:00 now.  I’m through the first mile in 7:35.  I’m 47 seconds off the pace I need to be on to finish in 1:30:00.  It’s manageable, but I don’t want to get myself any further in the hole.

I look back again and still see no sign of the pace group.  I start to think I might have to do this without the pace group.  It’s disconcerting, but I focus on putting my pace around 7 minutes per mile and dig in.  We head down an exit ramp and onto World Drive.  At the bottom of the ramp, I see a giant silver ball.  I’m briefly disoriented.  I’ve just left Epcot at my back, but now I’m staring at Spaceship Earth!  After a few seconds, I realize that it’s a hot air balloon.  Thankfully, I haven’t gone insane.  I pass the 2 mile mark, still about 40 seconds in the hole.  I do some math.  I’ve got to pull back about 4 seconds per mile.  That’s doable.

There’s still no sign of the pace group and the wind is blowing in my face.  The ice pellets bounce off my face and begin to sting.  One falls into my mouth and I crunch it in my teeth, slightly amused.  Another pellet flies right into my eye.  The novelty quickly wears off.  Ahead, I can see the entrance to the Magic Kingdom parking lot and I know that means the 3 mile mark.  At 3 miles, I’m about 36 seconds in the hole.  I’ve pulled back 4 seconds and that’s all I need.  I’m satisfied with that as I cross the 5K mark and head into the transportation and ticket center.

I’m looking forward to this.  It will be the first crowd support and the next few miles will be the most enjoyable of the race.  I run through the parking lot.  The race is strung out, basically in single file with moderate gaps between runners.  There are a few groups of 3-4 here and there, but the crowd is sparse considering the situation in the starting corral.  I can hear the crowd in the distance and I pick the pace up, passing a few people.

The course takes a left turn and we head down and into the transportation and ticket center.  The crowd is enthusiastic and I pick up the pace again, passing a few more runners.  I feel a little worried about this, but I decide to take advantage of the crowd and hold the increased pace.  I’m surprised to find that I’ve pulled back no time as I pass the 4 mile mark.  I don’t let it bother me - I haven’t lost any time either.  I hold the increased pace through the crowd, then ease back as I exit the transportation and ticket center.

As I head toward the Contemporary Resort, a lone, cold and wet DJ reminds us that we’re almost to the end of the headwind.  Soon, we’ll turn and head back to Epcot.  The thought bolsters me.  I tell myself to hold onto my pace now and I’ll be able to make up my lost time on the way back.

“Piece of cake,” I tell myself, though I’m still not 100% convinced I can do it.  My thoughts drift to mile 9 and I wonder if I’ll hold up.  The course dips down underneath the Seven Seas Lagoon and then comes steeply back up on the other side.  I focus on getting up the rare hill in this race and pass another runner.  I pass the Contemporary resort, then hit the 5 mile mark, still 32 seconds in the hole.

I make a sharp left turn and look back over my shoulder.  I don’t know why.  I’m not sure what I’m looking for.  Is it the pace group?  Do I want to see if the guy I just passed is coming back on me?  It doesn’t matter.  All I can see is a blur of lights and traffic cones.  I hear Richie’s voice in my head.

“The race is in front of you, buddy.”

I curse myself.  I don’t care where the pace group is.  I’m pretty sure they’re still behind me, which means they’re further off pace than I am.  If I’m going to hit my goal in this race, I’m going to do it by myself.

I’m entering the Magic Kingdom.  I dip down an incline, under the railroad tracks and into a backstage area.  A left turn leads me through a gate and into the park.

“You go, you little studmuffin!” yells a woman carrying a purple parasol and dressed  in 1920’s garb.  I can’t help but smile and my pace picks up.  I make a sharp right turn onto Main Street USA.  The crowd is large and a beautifully lit castle fills my view.

I charge up Main Street, then veer right into Tomorrowland.  This is the best part of this race.  I cruise through Tomorrowland and into Fantasyland.  I’m feeling fanatastic.  The air is now calm.  The park is lit up.  There are characters and other cast members everywhere.  I fly through Fantasyland, past the Dumbo road and make a left turn to the back of the castle.  The timing is perfect.

Trumpeters atop the castle raise their trumpets and begin playing a royal welcome.  I charge through the castle and emerge on the other side in a flurry of flashbulbs.  Ahead, I can see runners entering the Magic Kingdom and momentarily, the whole park seems laid out before me.  I veer right and down a ramp from the castle.  Then, I make a right turn into Liberty Square and the 6 mile mark.  I’m about 28 seconds in the hole now.  I’m pulling back time at the prescribed rate, but it doesn’t sit quite right.  This is the most magical mile of the whole thing and much of the rest will be lonely miles on the road.  It’s time to kick it up.

I pass several runners on my way through Frontierland and stride over the 10K mark.  Now backstage, I pass a replica of the Black Pearl and raise my left arm in salute to Captain Jack Sparrow and his pirate crew.  Like good pirates, they yell a hearty “Arrrrrr!” back at me.

I make a right turn, cruise through a water station, passing several more runners, and then make a left across a small bridge.  I’m halfway home.  The next few miles will be dark.  The runners are all strung out and I’m running like I ran the Race for the Taste.  I’m catching a runner, hanging with him and then accelerating past to catch the next runner.  I hit the 7 mile mark, only 3 seconds in the hole.  I’ve run the 7th mile in under 6:30.

My chase of runners continues as I do the math in my head.  I need to hit the 8 mile mark in 54:56 to be on pace.  My spirit is lifted greatly when I spot the mile marker in the distance and the first two numbers on the clock are a 5 and a 3.  I run a celebratory fartlek to the mile marker and pass it in 54:48.  I’ve got 8 seconds in the bank now!

The crowds start to pick up as I pass the Grand Floridian and Polynesian Resorts.  I’m still passing a runner every minute or two, but I’m starting to feel winded.  The next runner ahead is a young woman in 3/4 length tights.  I catch her and run just behind her for a few minutes.  By now, we’ve reached the Magic Kingdom parking lot and I can see the throngs of people just entering the parking lot.  They’ve just passed the 5K mark.

I pass the young woman and pull into a large gap.  There’s a group of about 15 runners around 100 meters ahead.  I pass the 9 mile mark with 20 seconds in the bank.  At the 15K mark, there’s a lift over the course with some photographers.  I raise my arms up over my head as I pass under the lift.  I’m all by myself.  The road is empty around me.  Across the median 4 lanes of asphalt are completely crowded with people who are only 2.5 miles into the race.  The feeling is incredible.

“Catch that group and you move up 15 places in the standings,” I tell myself.

Shortly, we run through a water stop and the group splits.  Some go left, some go right and others go through the middle.  I pass those who’ve stopped for water and tuck in with the 5 who’ve run through the stop.  We pass the 10 mile mark and I’ve got 40 seconds in the bank.  I realize I can run 10 seconds slower than my goal pace and still make my goal time for the race.  It’s a good feeling, but I don’t slow down.

We reach a cloverleaf in the highway and make our way up the entrance ramp.  There’s a slight incline around the curve and the group begins to break up.  I pass a few runners and hang with a few more.  Together, we start to reel in the runners ahead.  Atop the overpass, I look down to see the runners below.  It promises to be an awesome sight, but I’m blown away by the rush of wind that has hit me again.  After 4 miles with the breeze at my back, the cold crosswind is slightly shocking.  I suddenly realize how sore my butt is getting and it becomes a struggle to turn my legs over.  The course begins to climb up to another water station and the 11 mile mark.  I cruise through the middle with about 50 seconds in the bank.

I’m getting tired, but I know I’ve just got to keep going to the finish and my goal will be achieved.  The good news is that the next mile is almost entirely downhill.  I cruise down, letting gravity pull me.  It’s glorified falling, but apparently that’s a pretty efficient way to run (if perhaps a bit damaging to the knees).  I pass a few more runners and then make a sharp right turn.  I quickly head up another small overpass and then downhill into the Epcot parking lot, passing a few more runners in the process.  I pass the 12 mile mark in 1:21:50.  I’ve got 8:10 to run 1.1 miles.  I can do that.

I pass into the backstage area of Epcot and then out next to Spaceship Earth.  I want to fly, but the legs just aren’t turning over as fast as they were earlier in the race.  I’m still under 7 minutes per mile, but I’m pretty sure I’m off the 6:52 pace.

“Just don’t fall down and you’ve got it,” I tell myself.

I run out into Future World toward World Showcase.  I round the giant Christmas tree thinking I’ve only got a half mile to go.

“A half mile to go!” yells a cast member, confirming my suspicions.  I charge back toward Spaceship Earth, passing another runner.  I veer right backstage, pass a Gospel Choir singing hymns and zip past another runner.  I’m past the 13 mile mark with time to spare and I enter the finishing chute with a great sense of accomplishment in my heart.  I cruise through the finish line with my arms raised in victory.

My chip time is 1:29:11.  I’m 120th out of over 17,000 finishers and 20,000 entrants overall.  I’m the 102nd male to cross the finish line and 20th out of 926 in my age group.  I slow to a walk and smile.  It feels good.

I get my medal, collect water and powerade, then get my picture taken with the medal.  I then go through the food tent and grab some breakfast for the family, trying to hold everything in place along with the mylar blanket around my shoulders.  I enter the baggage tent and throw everything on the table.

It took them 10 minutes to find my bag, during which the cold weather finally managed to give me a chill and my legs started to tighten up.  I pulled my jacket out of my bag and put it on, then walked to the family reunion area to find my family.  I checked my cell phone and found out they were lost and now weren’t being allowed into the Epcot parking lot.  They had to go back to the hotel, so I just took the bus back and met them there.  With some complaints to the hotel staff for the idiocy of the marathon staff giving Raffi directions to closed roads, we were granted a free night’s stay, 8 park hopper passes and a special safari in the Animal Kingdom the next day.  Raffi, Alice and Wendy had spent more time in the car trying to get to the race than I had spent running.

On the  bus back to the hotel, I finally ran into the leader of the 1:30:00 pace group.  He told me it took the group 8:10 to get through the first mile, but he got them to the finish only 25 seconds after me.  Kudos to him for pulling them back from that deficit and through the finish just under their goal.

Today, I found out I was the top local finisher in the race.  The local paper devoted a small paragraph to me.  It’s buried in the middle of an article about a completely different event.  Hey, you gotta start somewhere :-).

BRIAN DARROW @ 15K in 01:03:38 (NET). Pace: 6:49. Predicted: 1:29:30. presented by CIGNA, Disney Destinations LLC

BRIAN DARROW @ 5K in 00:22:00 (NET). Pace: 7:04. Predicted: 1:32:49. presented by CIGNA, Disney Destinations LLC

We registered for the Jingle Bell run primarily as a bridge for Alice between cross country season and track season.  Of course 3 miles along a waterfront lit with Christmas lights and luminaries with live music every half mile was a pretty good draw as well.

I wasn’t quite prepared for the lack of general organization of the race.  There were no numbers, no clocks and most definitely no awards.  We did get T-shirts and our money went to support the Boley Centers so we can feel good about ourselves.

Alice and I warmed up for about a mile before the race and I caught up with Richie at the start.  Of course, he had to pee first, so he headed back to the restrooms at the St. Petersburg Pier (site of a previous Richie bathroom meltdown).  Of course, the line was too long and he soon returned to the start.  We worked our way up near the front.

“So, you think we should run 6:30’s?” he asked.  This was exactly what I had in mind.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

The mayor said a few words, rang some jingle bells and we were off.  Mind you, I was wearing jingle bells on my racing flats and had a yellow glow in the dark rubber halo on my head.  The Jingle Bell run is all about high fashion.

Richie zips through the rather unorganized crowd.  Within 50 yards, we’re off the road and cruising down the sidewalk.  We run this section of the pier quite frequently in training.  Normally, Richie runs in the middle of the road.  Ironically, the road is now closed - reserved specifically for runners - and he’s running on the sidewalk.  Of course, I’m right there with him.  For some reason, I’m keeping up with him.  He said 6:30’s right?

“We’re a little fast,” Richie says several times, though he shows no signs of slowing down.  We’re weaving in and out of walkers, joggers, dogs, strollers, men dressed like bananas, and people break dancing in the middle of the street.  What the hell?

We pass the half mile mark and I try to look at my watch.  Eventually, we pass under a street light and I read about 3 minutes through the first half.

“We’re 3 minutes through the first half,” I tell Richie.

“Yeah, we’re definitely fast,” he replies.  We run on a few more yards.

“Hey, I gotta go catch those kids,” says Richie.  I chuckle, happy for the excuse not to have to hang onto him anymore and quite amused that I can still chuckle and chat at the pace we’re running.

“Enjoy yourself,” I say as he takes off.  I settle down and start picking off runners, albeit at a much slower pace than Richie.  I lose sight of him after about a quarter mile.

We pass Santa and many merry children ready to sit on his lap, then make a right turn in front of the Vinoy resort.  I pass the 1 mile mark in 6:07.

“Hey, much faster than planned,” I think to myself.  Fortunately I feel pretty good, so I just settle in behind another runner and match his pace for a while.  I run like that for about a quarter mile before taking an inside line on a turn and passing him.  We enter a parking lot with a giant searchlight.  It marks the 1.5 mile mark and the turn around point.  I look for Richie coming back the other way, but don’t see him.  I round the corner and head back for the pier, still feeling great.

Soon, I pass Alice running toward me, heading for the turn around.  I give her a little clap and a “go Alice” before making a quick left turn.

“Yeah Darrow!” I hear from the other side.  It’s Meredith, of Twisted Blister fame.  I let out a yelp and raise a fist - the universal Ragnar Relay symbol of “I’m still alive and running!”.  I’m amazed at how many people are still coming toward me.  The two mile mark is on the back side of the 1 mile mark and it’s kind of comforting to know I’m twice as fast as these people I see in the other lane.  I pass the Vinoy and make a left turn back toward the pier.  I’m starting to feel the pace a little, but hey there’s less than a mile to go and I’m certainly not hurting.

I pass Santa once again and there’s lots of great live music.  I make a left back onto the pier and pass the half mile mark again.  I pick up the pace and cruise down to the end of the pier, passing as many people as possible.  I see Raffi, and Richie’s wife along the side of the course with Richie stretching behind them.  I cross the finish in 18:58, breathing heavily, but feeling great about the run.

It was a 3 mile race, but the pace translates to a 19:37 5K - or 3 seconds off my PR.  The difference is that I felt like I was going to die after my PR and I felt like  just phoned this one in.  Really, it was like a hard workout.  Richie finished in 17:28 - good for 8th place.  He was pumped about all the high school runners he passed - like a little too pumped for the Jingle Bell run, but he was couped up at the office all week and you have to admire when a competitive guy lets the adrenaline flow.

Alice finished in 23:09 and we somehow missed the finish of Meredith and Scott, but they came around and chatted for a while afterward.  Overall, I was quite pleased with my effort.  I’m in much better shape than I thought I was.  My knee is definitely better.  I’m getting over the flu and the only major thing I have to complain about is a little tweak on the top of my right foot that seems to be due to some kind of friction with the tongue of my 5th pair of Adidas Supernova Sequence.

Richie talked me into a half marathon this Sunday.  We’re going to try to pace Justin and Steve to a 1:45.  It should be a good workout - roughly marathon race pace.  It’s nice to be back in the game.

It’s been over a week since Team Twisted Blister finished the Ragnar Relay. Finally, I’ve gotten a chance to sit down and write about it. Overall, the experience was pretty cool. I’d definitely do it again (though not in the near future). The team was a fantastic group of people with whom to spend two days couped up in a van - even if I didn’t really know any of them when the whole thing started.

The team was composed of 12 runners and 3 drivers spread over 2 vans. Van #1 consisted of Sara, Jake, Daphne, Sarah, Nicole and Britt with their loyal support crew of Tim and Eric. Van #2 consisted of Brian (me), Bryan (not me), Duffy, Scott, Meredith and Mike along with our loyal driver, Kelly. As I was not privy to many of the goings on of van #1, my report focuses primarily on van #2. Fortunately, Sarah has already composed a great write up of the race with many details of van #1.

After packing van #1 Thursday night, we all arrived at Scott and Meredith’s house around 8am to finish packing van#2 and head over to the starting line in Tarpon Springs.  We arrived at the start around 9:15, with just enough time to spare before our 10:00 am start.  Meredith retrieve our race packet while Sarah busied herself decorating van #2 (she had already done a bang up job on van#1 the night before).  We had time for a couple of team pictures:

Since we were going to finish on the Atlantic Ocean, we thought it only appropriate to get a team photo in front of the Gulf of Mexico:

9:55 am

As we’re finishing the last photo, the race director gets on the mic and calls for the starting runners.  Sara makes her way to the starting line and Meredith realizes that she’s forgotten to give her the slap bracelet that we’ll be handing from runner to runner throughout the race.  Meredith races (in flip-flops) back to the van.  Fortunately, team introductions take a bit of time and she makes it back with plenty of time to spare.  The bracelet is handed off to Sara, the horn sounds and 30 or so runners rather anti-climatically run from the starting line and out the front of the park.

As a member of van#2, I’ve got nearly 6 hours to kill before my first run, but we’re all pretty excited this thing has finally started so we pack up the van and hit the course.  We pass Sara on the course, and honk like crazy.  We find a parking lot ahead of her and stop to cheer her on.  At first it seems like we could just do this every half mile or so but we realize that we’ve got a long race ahead of us, so we head for a Dunken Donuts.

After some breakfast, we set out to find some ice and a watch for Bryan.  He’s left his Garmin charging in Chicago.  We find ice at a gas station, get lost for a while, then locate a Dick’s Sporting Goods near exchange #6, the first major exchange point (where I’ll start my first leg).  We also decide lunch is a good idea, so we stop at a Buffalo Wild Wings right across the street from exchange #4 before heading the Dick’s.  I have some water and some naked chicken tenders with the mildest sauce they’ve got.  Not having to run for about 8 hours, Mike enjoys a beer while Meredith and Bryan rekindle their sibling rivalry on the Big Game Hunter Machine.

We head out of the restaurant and spot van #1 across the street, so we hurry across (making sure to do so at the light, thus avoiding a 15 minute penalty for jaywalking).  Soon, we see Sarah in the distance and we cheer loudly as she hands the bracelet off to Nicole.  We chat with van #1 for a while, then load back into our van and head to Dick’s.  Bryan finds a watch, Scott loses his sunglasses, Kelly grabs some pillows at Bed, Bath & Beyond and Duffy picks up a bright pink snuggy.  So far, this has been the easiest race ever!

We make our way to exchange #6 and figure we’ve got about an hour to kill.  It’s at a Winn Dixie.  I change into my running shorts, shirt and shoes, then jog around the parking lot a bit.  There are a lot of other teams here, but the mood is fairly relaxed.  Having loosened things up a bit, I head to the bathroom in the Winn Dixie for the pre-race potty break.  It beats the port-a-potty, but not by much.

When I return to the parking lot, we run into Sarah’s boyfriend’s team.  They’re an “ultra” team meaning they have only 6 runners - in theory.  Unfortunately, one of their runners is stuck in Europe and they’ve got to make due with 5.  They’re in good spirits so far and they make their exchange before us, despite having started a full hour after us.

After warming up some more, I make my way to the actual exchange point.  I’m pumped.  The warm-up has gone well.  My knee feels good and I’ve been waiting more than 5 hours since the start for my chance to contribute to this effort.

3:42 PM

I can see Britt approaching in the distance and I’m dancing around in the exchange “gate”.  Team members from both vans are yelling encouragement to Britt and pumping me up to go.  She hands the bracelet off to me and I take off running.  A few runners have passed in the minutes that I’ve been waiting for Britt and I’m hoping to catch and pass them.  I keep telling myself it’s a long race and I need to go slow, but there’s some serious adrenaline flowing through me.  I run the first mile in 6:50.  I’m surprised that I still can’t see any of the other runners in front of me, and I begin to realize that I’m unlikely to catch them.

“At least nobody is going to catch me at this pace,” I think to myself.

2 minutes later, I hear breathing behind me.  Soon, I see a shadow creeping up.

“No way!” I think, holding on to my relatively fast pace across a wooden boardwalk.  I’m nearly 2 miles into the leg and the route turns back onto the shoulder of a major road.  The guy behind me takes the opportunity to accelerate and pass me.  I don’t let him go easily.  I tuck in behind him and match his pace for about a quarter mile before realizing we’re doing about 6:20/mile.  I back off and reluctantly let him go, satisfied that perhaps I’ve at least hurt him a little.

I end up staring at his back for the rest of the leg, watching him slowly get further and further away.  We make a left turn and find ourselves in a headwind.  My knee feels good and I maintain a nice pace for the rest of the leg.  My “planned pace” is 8 minutes per mile and I know I’m pulling back significant time on that.  I pass the “one mile to go” sign feeling winded, but still fairly strong.  Soon, I see the guy in front of me run right through the exchange ahead (He’s clearly on an “ultra” team).  I can see the colors of Team Twisted Blister standing around the “gate” and Bryan waiting there for the bracelet.  I pick up my pace, stride into the gate and hand off the bracelet.  My first leg (6.5 miles) is finished in 47:29!

Scott has brought along a solar shower, so I strip down and become the first person to test it out.  It’s not at all warm, but the water cools me down nicely.  I finish off with some baby wipes and then get dressed, shielding myself from the team with the van door, and realizing hours later that I’d mooned the road behind me.  I also realize that I’ve somehow forgotten my deodorant.  Fortunately, there’s a CVS store across the street and I’m able to quickly run in.

5:00 PM

It’s rush hour and we’re trying to make our way to exchange #8 before Bryan finishes his leg.  We’re stuck in gridlock and we contemplate taking one of the bikes from the roof and letting Duffy ride ahead for the hand off.  Eventually, we notice that the road goes from two lanes to one lane ahead and once Kelly makes the merge, it’s smooth sailing.  We pass Bryan, honk like crazy and hit the exchange point.

Bryan passes off to Duffy, takes a quick shower and we’re back in the van.  We soon pass Duffy, perform the requisite honking and yelling out the window, then find exchange #9.  It’s getting pretty dark and we’re making our way into more rural areas.  We find the exchange, pull in and hang out.

I’ve been feeling a little weird since my run, but figure maybe I’m just hungry so I pop a PB&J.  I’ve manged to stretch and I’ve had my knee wrapped in ice in the back of the van on the drive from the last exchange.  While we’re waiting for Duffy to arrive, one of the “ultra” runners arrives in the exchange saying that he’s already been there and that the signs have pointed him on a 2 mile loop back to the same exchange.  There’s some discussion and some consultation with the map.  Scott takes some time to look at the map to make sure he won’t make the same mistake.

Scott’s leg is 8 miles and it will be the first time he runs 8 miles - ever.  We wish him luck as Duffy arrives at the exchange and he’s off.  Duffy cleans up behind the safety of her snuggy and we hit the road again.  We wind through a neighborhood and make a left onto a major road, looking for Scott.  He’s tough to spot now that it’s dark, but we spot him and then we spot the hills.  Sure it’s Florida, but these are some serious hills.  They’re fairly steep and they’re long.  We feel bad for the van having to climb them.  We feel worse for Scott on his first 8 mile run.

We find a place to stop and offer him some water.  I’m still in the back of the van, but I hear him yell,

“When did Florida become Mt Everest?”

We pull out, see another huge (by Florida standards) hill and quickly decide to get the beach cruiser off the van and offer him an escort.  We stop in a strip mall parking lot and Mike gets to work getting the bike.  I get a call from Alice who’s in a hotel with her own teammates for the Florida State cross country championships.

“Where are you?” she askes.  I look around.

“Ummmm, I don’t know,” I reply.  Then I spot the Dade City Chevrolet.   “Hey, I’m in Dade City!  I’m probably only about 3 miles up the road from you.”

“Well, there’s free ice cream in the hotel lobby from 8-10,” she tells me.  I acknowledge that sounds good, and petition the team to stop should we pass the Holiday Inn Express.

Mike jumps on the bike and quickly catches Scott, scaring the crap out of him.  We jump back into the van and soon make a right turn onto a dark and desolate 2 lane highway.  Eventually, we reach exchange #10 which is nothing more than a few port-a-potties along a dirt road off the highway.

7:20 PM

Meredith is pacing next to the port-a-potties at exchange #10.  She kind of sort of needs to go, but she doesn’t want to be stuck in the port-a-potty when Scott arrives for the hand off.  Both Mike and Scott are wearing headlamps and flashing red lights.  We don’t see any in the distance.  Duffy encourages Meredith to jog around to loosen things up.  She does.  She hits the port-a-potty and she’s out before we see Scott’s bouncing headlamp in the distance.  I stand calmly by the road as though this is a spectacle I witness daily.

Meanwhile, we’ve outfitted our driver, Kelly in a reflective vest and headlamp.  Scott arrives, hands off the bracelet to Meredith and Mike hands off the bike to Kelly.  They disappear into the distance, but the leg is only 3 miles so we all jump back into the van and head off to exchange #11.  We expect Scott to be exhausted, but he’s exhilarated.  He’s experienced the runner’s high for the first time of his life.  For the next 24 hours, we’ll hear about how he conquered leg #10 - uphill the whole way - many, many times.

Exchange #11 is even more desolate than exchange #10.  There’s not even a dirt road here.  It’s just a couple volunteers sitting in chairs alongside the highway.  The shoulder is thin and large trucks are zipping by at high speed.  It’s pretty scary.  The volunteers are a little frazzled.  They’ve had problems finding the exchange and things are a little disorganized.  Mike is ready to go and Duffy dons the vest as his bike escort.

Meredith soon arrives and the hand off occurs.  Kelly hands the bike off to Duffy and she catches Mike for a little husband and wife bonding over 8.8 miles of dark highway.

Back at the van, Scott and Meredith are trying to shower, but they’re getting eaten alive by the infamous Florida “noseeums”.  They give up and jump in the van.  We pull ahead, honking at Mike and Duffy, then turn onto another highway.  It’s so dark, we can hardly see a thing except for the occasional headlights of a large truck bearing down on us.  We stop shortly after turning and wait for Mike and Duffy as Meredith and Scott change clothes.

We see a few runners pass and then Mike and Duffy appear around the corner.  We cheer and honk, then hop back into the van for the next major exchange.

Exchange #12 is a rustic state park.  We find van #1, explain that we’ve been using the bike in the dark and they fill us in on what they’ve been up to since handing the race off to us.  It turns out that exchange #6 was only a few miles from Nicole’s house, so they’ve had some pizza and comfortable digs during their down time.  We’re all pretty exhausted and very jealous.

The grassy area at the park is very dark and it’s quite buggy, so Bryan, Kelly and I make an executive decision to head over to exchange #18 during a potty break.  We head over to the “gate” just in time to see Mike arrive.  Duffy rings the bell on the bike as Mike hands off to Sara.  Van #2 is officially off duty.

10:00 PM

After stopping at a gas station for some ice and snacks, we arrive at exchange #18 - a giant grass field adjacent to the Mascotte, FL city hall.  The scene is like Woodstock.  There are vans almost as far as the eye can see.  There is music playing.  There is a small booth selling spaghetti to runners.  We pull into the field and look for a place to stop.  We drive as far from the actual exchange “gate” as possible, nearly running over a couple of people sleeping on blankets in the middle of the field.  We find a spot, but it’s crowded.  Mike and I scout out a new spot on foot.  We find a small gap between two vans and a tent and Mike thinks he can squeeze our van through.  He manages to do so, but I can tell the people in the tent are nervous.  Once through the gap, we’ve got a lot of space on the far end of the grass lot.  We park the van and I set up the tent.

Bryan, Kelly and I share the tent while everyone else sleeps in the van.  Scott sets an alarm for 1:00 AM.  I settle into the tent, but sleep is nearly impossible.  A van door slams almost every five seconds.  Every so often, headlights shine into the tent as vans are coming and going.  A dumbass loudly jokes about four feet from the tent.

“I wuz tellin jokes in the van,” he claims,” They wuz saying it was funny and I wuz like.  If you think it’s funny now, it’s gunna be real funny at 3 in the mornin!  Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-ooooooo!”.  It’s 11 PM and it’s definitely not funny.  It’s the lowest point of the whole experience for me.  I’m exhausted.  I’ve been queasy since finishing my leg at 4:30.  I’m mentally down.  I want to go home to my own bed (as uncomfortable as it is) and the last thing I want to do is get up at 1:00 AM and run 7 miles.

After tossing and turning for 4.5 hours, 1:00 AM rolls around and we get moving again.  Mike takes care of the tent as I get changed into my running clothes.  I opt for a long sleeve shirt since it’s about 60 degrees.  Soon, van #1 rolls into the exchange point and they tell us about their strategy with the bike.  Other than a few legs where one of their drivers has manned the bike, they’ve been having the previous leg’s runner ride the bike behind the next runner.  Collectively, we decide to adopt this strategy.

I hit the port-a-potty, but don’t have much time to spend, so I just pee and the queasiness sticks with me.

1:35 AM

I’m standing in the gate of exchange #18.  For the first time, I’ve donned a reflective safety vest, headlamp and blinking red light.  Mike stands with me, donned in the same gear and ready to take over bike duties.  Although I’m in a long sleeved shirt, he points out that I might want a jacket for the bike portion following my leg.  Scott joins me and asks if I want them to stop with water.  I decline, but ask him to have my running jacket ready at exchange #19.  I tell him how to find it in my bag, then focus on the road behind.

A slight fog rises from the road.  The music, the vans, the spaghetti booth and the random cheers of various teams all begins to meld into some surreal dream.  I start to wonder whether I really am dreaming.  Soon, Britt’s bobbing red light appears in the distance.  There’s cheering, but I’m mellow this time.  I remember very little of her approach.  I don’t remember the exchange at all.  I find myself running through the small town streets of Mascotte.  I briefly think that I don’t know how to pronounce the name of this town.

I make a right turn and cross the street, running on a sidewalk with traffic now.  In less than a quarter mile, my knee pain has flared up with a vengeance.  I curse it.  I’m less than a mile into my second leg and my knee hurts like hell.  In a normal race, I’d abandon, but that’s not an option now.  Aside from Mike, I’m the strongest runner on the team.  I’ve got the longest total distance and each successive leg is longer than the next.  I’ve got to figure something out.

“I’m right behind you, Brian.”

It’s Mike.  I’m about a half mile in and he’s caught me on the bike.  He points out a couple dancing red lights in the distance.

“There are your carrots,” he says.  The dancing red lights represent runners ahead.  I acknowledge that it’s nice to have a goal, but I’m in pain.

The headlamp doesn’t help much.  I have to look almost straight down to get any light on the pavement.  Fortunately, there are streetlamps and Mike flips on the headlight of the bike when it gets too dark.  We eventually see a sign that instructs us to make a left turn.  I mistakenly assume I’m just crossing the street and running against traffic.  Mike follows suit.  Fortunately, I spot another sign a block away and correct myself, running the next block and then making a right turn to run against traffic.

We pass a bar.

“Hey, let’s just stop for a drink,” I remark.

“Looks like we’re a little late,” Mike says.  Indeed, it’s about 2:05 AM.  Just past closing time.  Mike remarks that this is probably the worst time to be on the road.  It’s not very reassuring, but getting hit by a car right now might just put me out of my misery.

Shortly afterward, about 3 miles into the leg, I figure out a way to compensate.  I’m not generating any power from my left leg.  My left knee isn’t really bending much.  It’s kind of flailing out to the side while my right leg generates all the power.

“My left leg is basically just a crutch right now,” I remark.

“That’s not good,” Mike replies.

“Thanks.”

It ain’t pretty, but I’m no longer in pain and I start to focus in on the dancing red light far in the distance.  The middle of the leg features a “mountain”.  It’s an incline of about 75 feet over the course of a half mile.  We’re pretty far away from the town now, but the odd street lamp reveals the incline in the distance.  I can see the red light dancing up, and it’s getting closer.  The incline is hurting the runner in front of me.

I hit the incline and focus on shortening my stride and maintaining my rhythm - if you can call it a rhythm.  I’m not just chasing a red light anymore, though.  The rare street lamps are now revealing a runner.  I’m getting close.  The runner ahead crests the hill and I lose sight, but it’s not long before I also crest the hill.

I’m worried that the downhill will be tough on my knee, but I focus on a quick turnover and close in on the runner ahead.  As we hit another, shorter incline, I kick myself into gear and pass the other runner rather quickly.  I hear Mike conversing briefly with the runner and his bike escort before he rejoins me.  Soon, I see the blinking red light of the “one mile to go” sign.  Before long, I can see the exchange halfway up another incline.  I push hard up the hill and hand off the bracelet to Bryan amid cheers from my teammates.

I can’t believe I’ve run this leg so well, considering how bad I felt at the beginning.  I’m dazed.  There isn’t much light at the exchange.  Mike gets off the Bike as I try to catch my breath.  One teammate puts my jacket on me as another explains she’s placing water and a Gatorade recovery drink in the backpack.  Someone removes the light reflective vest from my body and Mike places the backpack on my chest.  Someone puts the heavier orange safety vest over the backpack and hands the bike to me.  I step on, but I’m on a hill and my legs are sore.  It’s like I’ve never ridden a bike before.

I walk the bike to the top of the hill, jump on and finally get myself going.  In an attempt to catch Bryan, I ride quickly through a series of turns.  I had been worried about how my knee would perform on the bike, but it feels great.  It beats the heck out of cramming into the van after running.  I follow the signs through a neighborhood and eventually turn onto a paved trail.  I can see Bryan’s blinking red light in the distance, but there’s something else on the trail.

It looks like maybe there’s a pole in the middle of the trail - perhaps one to prevent motor traffic from using the trail.  I fumble with the bike’s headlight and eventually it flicks on.  There’s no pole in the middle of the trail.  It’s two teenagers making out.  The guy flips me the bird.

The trail passes a gazebo near a lake.  I wonder why they’re not making out in the gazebo.  Why are they in the middle of the trail?  It’s not like I was looking for a show.  I didn’t want to run into the pole.  Would they rather be exposed or run over?

Soon, I catch Bryan.  I make sure he’s doing okay and then stop to open my recovery drink.  I catch Bryan again and leisurely ride alongside, sipping my Gatorade.  The trail runs along a lake.  We’re close to Orlando now and the trail runs through some pretty ritzy neighborhoods.  It’s a stark contrast to the streets of Mascotte I had run through.

The trail has lamps, but they’re all off.  Despite the fact that the battery is running low, I have to run the bike’s headlamp for much of the route.  We pass several runners, but a few very fast people pass us as well.  At times, the trail runs into thick woods and the minimal lighting from the bike creates a Blair Witch Project feel.

I have no idea how long the leg is, and falsely encourage Bryan with “Hey, there’s the one mile to go sign” a few different times.  These wind up being turn signs, but he’s unfazed as he’s actually studied the leg and knows I’m just a dumbass.  We roll up and down hills.  The “valleys” are surprisingly cool compared to the hilltops.

Eventually, we do pass the “one mile to go” sign and crest a hill.  I can see the exchange in the distance so I coast downhill, happily announcing our arrival with the bike’s bell.  I jump off the bike as Bryan arrives, handing off the bracelet to Duffy.  We dress Bryan for the bike and he takes off in pursuit.

The team offers me some spaghetti from the previous exchange, but I decline.  Now that the action is over, I’m queasy again.  Duffy’s leg is only 4.2 miles and we’re quickly off to the next exchange.  Duffy hands off to Scott and takes over the Bike.  Bryan hops into the van and we head off to the next exchange - only 3.7 miles way.

The exchange is at a large church and we get Meredith ready for the longest leg of the relay - 9.1 miles.  Bryan and I take the opportunity for a baby wipe shower as Meredith takes the bracelet from Scott and Duffy makes her way to the van.  We clean up the van a little as Duffy cleans herself up and Mike naps on a bench in the van.

As we’re about to head to the next exchange, Mike gets a call.

“Meredith and Scott are lost,” he announces.  We load up and Kelly drives off along the course at an urgent pace.  What follows is a chaotic frenzy of Mike giving directions while on the phone with Scott and Bryan also giving direction from his i-phone.  Noone knows where Scott and Meredith are.  Eventually, the series of urgent instructions gets to Kelly.

“Will everyone stop yelling at me?” she exclaims.

“No one’s yelling,” Mike says calmly.  “We’re just trying to find Meredith and Scott.  Just pull over to the side of the road and let’s figure out where we are and where they are.”

As Duffy and I doze in the back of the van, Mike and Bryan eventually figure things out and Kelly drives us to a point on the trail where we figure we can establish contact with Scott and Meredith.  We stop in a dark spot on the side of the rode and I finally get some sleep.  Scott was thinking he and Meredith were about halfway through the leg.  We dispense Bryan to give them the news that they are actually only 2.5 miles along - figuring it should come from family.

Bryan thinks Scott is a little delirious, but we figure that being boyfriend and girlfriend, Scott and Meredith need a few more miles to get over getting lost before we replace Scott.  About 6.5 miles into the leg, we meet up again and Bryan takes over for a very relieved Scott.  The van heads for exchange #23.

Mike’s leg is only 3.6 miles and he’ll cover it quickly.  He’ll finish around sunrise and the bike will no longer be allowed on the course.  We also know that Meredith will be in no mood to ride a bike after getting lost and running even longer than necessary on the longest leg of the relay.  Unfortunately, at Mike’s pace, we likely won’t have enough time to get the bike back on the van and get to the exchange before he finishes.  I volunteer to ride with Mike.

6:15 AM

We’re in Apopka, Florida.  Exchange #23 is on a small road.  I grab the trusty baby wipes and head to the port-a-potties.  I purge my intestines and instantly feel incredible relief.  The queasiness is gone and I feel like a new man.  I’m suddenly upbeat and starving.  On the way back to the van, I run into Mike.  He notes a similar experience.

We hang around the “gate” talking to the local volunteers.  They inform us that we’re about to go through a pretty rough part of town.  Mike appears to be full of energy.  He’s doing striders up and down the road and appears antsy about the arrival of Meredith.

Meanwhile, van#1 is getting worried.  They’re up and ready to go at exchange #24.  I inform Tim that Meredith and Scott got lost, we’re about to exchange and Mike’s probably going to run the next leg at 7-7:15 min/mile pace.

Meredith arrives at the exchange and hands off to Mike.  Mike takes off like a bat out of hell.  Bryan hands off the bike to me and I jump on in hot pursuit.  The spokes on the rear wheel are noisy.  One of them had broken earlier in the evening during van #1’s legs and now it’s bouncing off of something making music.

I work hard to catch Mike almost a mile down the road.  He hears me coming.  Sure enough, we emerge from some trees into an industrialized area full of abandoned warehouses.  We’re still on the trail, but we’re joined by several homeless people pushing their shopping carts and strollers full of various possessions.

The bike keeps getting noisier so I tell Mike I’m going to pull over and see what’s up.  I find out that the spoke is bouncing off the chain, so I bend it around another spoke and hop back on.  Pushing hard, I finally catch Mike again just as the bike makes a horrible noise and I find I know longer have the ability to pedal.  I look back to find that the spoke has dislodged into the chain and derailed the chain.

I pull over, flip the bike and go to work on the chain.  I’m envisioning the Tour de France where some guy jumps out of a car and fixes the bike in 5 seconds.  That’s not the case here.  I’m fumbling with the chain.  I can’t get it to go back on.  I’m standing on a trail in the middle of cracktown USA in my pajamas, fumbling with the chain on a beach cruiser bike.

After seven minutes, I’m realizing that Mike is a mile down the trail.  Fortunately, the sun is rising and the light helps me to get the chain back on.  I flip the bike and ride hard, following the signs to the next exchange.  They lead me around a 360 degree spiral up to an overpass, then back down a 360 degree spiral on the other side.  This pisses me off as I could have simply ridden across the street, but I spot the exchange and ride through.

“Where’s your runner?” the volunteer asks.

“He beat me,” I reply.  He gives me a strange look and I quickly add, “I had mechanical problems”.

The members of van#1 cheer loudly as I pull into the exchange.  Mike has beaten me by several minutes.  He averages 6:18 min/mile for the leg and takes van #1 by surprise.  Sara is not ready for the exchange when he arrives.  Furthermore, our van is nowhere to be seen.  Somehow, they’ve gotten lost in the 3.6 miles between the two exchanges.  Tim works out directions to a Dunken Donuts about a quarter mile away.  Van #1 drives to meet van #2 there.  I turn the bike over to Mike and walk alongside him to the Dunken Donuts.

Van #1 grabs some breakfast and heads off to meet their runner at exchange #25.  Mike gets busy putting the beach cruiser back on top of van#2 and retrieving his $5000 Cervelo road bike.  He’s arranged a 50 mile ride with a local group.  We bid him farewell and head to the nearest IHOP for some much deserved pancakes.

8:30 AM

We arrive at exchange #30.  In the full daylight, exchange #30 doesn’t have quite the same mystique of exchange #18, but there are many vans here.  The day is turning out the be quite beautiful.  There’s not a cloud in the sky.  Exchange #30 is a recreation complex in Sanford, FL with soccer fields and baseball fields.  The grass is short and there aren’t nearly as many bugs here as there were at the previous major exchanges.  Meredith, Duffy, Kelly and Bryan spread out a blanket on a baseball field and nap in the sun while Scott and I sleep in the van.  I get another hour of sleep.

Eventually, Mike returns from his ride and places his bike back on top of the van.  He joins the ladies for a quick nap on the field as Kelly takes the opportunity to stretch her legs with a run before resuming her driving duties.  I change into my running shorts one final time, pair them with a sleeveless running T and lace up my racing flats.  I figure my legs already feel heavy so the lighter my shoes are, the better I’ll be.

I jog off for a little warm-up.  It’s turning out to be pretty hot.  On top of that, I’m pretty exhausted.  I can’t even get a nice deep breath during my warm-up.  When I get back to the van, I find out I’ve got at least 40 minutes before Britt arrives.  I sit around for a while in the shade, then resume my warm-up with some more jogging.  My breathing is still off and the next leg does not look promising.

I make my way to the “gate” and I’m soon joined by the rest of the team after van #1 arrives.  They’re all pretty jubilant.  Britt is still on the course, but the rest of van #1 is finished.  They’re just waiting to pick up Britt and head to the Hilton in Daytona Beach.  The thought of a hotel room with it’s comfortable bed and warm shower is the only thing that’s motivating me to start this leg.

Soon, we see Britt in the distance and the van #1 team runs out to greet her, running the last quarter mile with her.  Mike pats me on the shoulder.

“You feeling it?” he askes.

“No,” I reply.  “I’m definitely not feeling it.”

Britt reaches the gate and hands the bracelet to me.  I turn and head down the course.  I’m not feeling very good, but there are a few runners in sight in front of me.  The knee is still hurting, but I quickly shift to my compensation stride and it’s not a big deal.  I’m suffering from the cardiovascular standpoint right now it’s not good.  I’m a half mile into an 8.6 mile leg and I’m already spent.

I head down a sidewalk, then make a right turn.  I cut through the grass, trying to cut as much distance off as possible.  The runner in front of me walks for a moment, then stops and stretches.  At least I’m not the only one feeling crumby.  The heat is pretty bad, but nothing compared to what I ran through during the summer.  I pass the guy who’s stretching, cross the street as the sidewalk ends and run against the traffic.  I quickly catch and pass another runner before making a left turn onto the shoulder of a main road.

I take a quick glance over my shoulder and don’t see the guys I’ve passed.  I hit the 2 mile mark in 15:20 and slow to walk.  I figure that as long as I make 8 minute miles, I’m not losing any time for the team.  So, I walk until my watch hits 16 minutes and start running again.  I hit 3 miles in 23:20 and follow the same pattern, walking until I hit 24 minutes.  I make a left turn directly into a headwind and stare at a bridge spanning the St. John’s river.

I’m nowhere near 4 miles and I already want to walk again.  I tell myself I can walk if I make it to the top of the bridge.  I do and I gratefully walk.  This time, I walk for awhile.  I’m off the 8 minute mile pace and I’m just looking to survive.  I start jogging again and the van passes me shortly afterward.  They honk and I salute them with a raised fist.

They stop a half mile ahead and Bryan stands behind the van.  I make a drinking gesture and he crosses the road with some water.  When I reach him, I walk, drink and pour some water into my hat and down my back.  I thank him and start into a jog again.

Now, I’m on the run 0.4, walk 0.1 mile plan.  I’m managing a decent pace while I’m running so I’m still passing runners.  I pass two more.  At this point, everyone is very encouraging.  I get lot of cheers from the other teams’ vans as I pass them along the road.  One woman from another team offers me water, but I already see Mike ahead on the road holding a water bottle.  I thank the woman and tell her I’ve got some water ahead.

When I reach Mike, I walk again.  I drink, pour more water in my hat.  Mike points out the next runner ahead of me.

“It’s brutal,” I tell him.

“As tough as leg #10?” he asks with a smile.  I chuckle and raise my voice, directing it back toward the van.

“It’s painful, but it’s nothing compared to leg #10!  It’s hot, but at least it’s not uphill the whole way!”

At least I still have my sense of humor.  I hand him the water and start back into a jog.  Over the next two miles, I slowly pull the next runner in.  When I hit the “one mile to go” sign, I’m almost on him, but it’s time to walk again.  I walk and I’m astounded to find that I’m not losing any ground on the guy in front of me even though he’s still running.  After 0.1 miles, I start running again and pass him.  I offer as much encouragement as I can manage while I pass.  I manage to accelerate to the exchange and very happily hand off the bracelet to Bryan.

Scott is there with the video camera.

“How do you feel,” he asks as part of my post leg interview.

“Like Shit!” I reply between gasps for breath.

“What are you going to do now?”  I look straight into the camera.

“I’m going to lay around for five legs in the back of the van. Then, I’m going to go to Daytona and get really, really drunk.”

With that, the interview is concluded and I hit the solar shower back at the van.

Done with the solar shower and with little white bits of baby wipes caught in the stubble of my head and my beard, I hop back in the van.  With the heat and general exhaustion, we’re stopping every 2 miles to cheer and dispense water to our runners on the road.  I get out 4 miles into Bryan’s run and offer him a choice of Gatorade or water.

“If you squint a little, you can make out your one mile to go mark in the distance,” I tell him.  He sees it and perks up.  It turns out his new watch is not very accurate and he wasn’t expecting to see it for quite a while.

We drive ahead to the exchange and Duffy readies herself to take over.  Bryan soon makes his way in and Duffy is off.  Again, we drive ahead 2 miles and stop to get Duffy some water.  Another 2 miles up, we spot a BP station outside a small local racing track and stop.  We can hear the roar of race car engines when we exit the van.  Bryan has stripped off his shorts and stands in spandex and a T-shirt.  I’m ready for some alcohol, but I don’t like beer, so I find the next best thing - a 24 ounce Smirnoff Ice.  Sans pants, Bryan realizes he’s forgotten his ID and asks me to buy a couple of Heinekens for him.  I’m grateful for the opportunity to pretend the Heinekens are for me and I’m buying the Smirnoff Ice for some chick, but the locals are already giving us a strange eye.  We apparently make a good couple.  It would never work, though.  We have the same name.

Shortly after popping the top on the Smirnoff Ice, Duffy runs by and Mike attends to her needs.  We drive on to the next exchange which is located in the parking lot of a biker bar!  The bar sits on a dusty corner.  Most of the patrons are inside, or across the street at the race track so the outdoor seating is mostly empty.  Several chickens run loose around the parking lot.

Newly minted “runner for life”, Scott is restless.  His leg is only 3 miles and he’s ready to bust it out in record time.  He takes the bracelet from Duffy and tears down the road.  We’ve been instructed to offer him water 1.5 miles in.  With the sun now lower in the sky, it’s significantly cooler and I’m calling bunk on the water break during a 3 mile run.  We stop.  He refuses the water.  We continue on to the next exchange.

I finish my Smirnoff Ice as Scott thunders into the exchange and hands the bracelet off to Meredith.  He’s quite curious about his time, but unfortunately nobody has really kept track of it.  After some figuring, we establish that he’s probably run sub 23 minutes.  He’s happy with that and walks off behind the van with some post run nausea.

Back in the van, we approach civilization once more.  I get a call from Richie who wants to know the details.  I give him the lowdown while Meredith runs by concerned that she’s lost.  Scott jumps out and reassures her that she’s on the right track.  He runs with her for awhile.

About a half mile later, Scott and Meredith misinterpret a sign and actually do turn when they should go straight.  Fortunately, we’re there to witness it and Mike corrects the mistake quickly.  Bryan takes over escort duties from Scott and finishes the leg with Meredith.

At the next exchange, an exasperated Meredith hands the bracelet off to Scott, who takes off down the road.  We’re to meet him 2 miles into the leg with some water.  Scott is reassuring Meredith behind the van, but we’ve got to get going at the rate Mike is running.  We hop into the van and continue down the road.

We catch Mike as he’s tearing up a bridge, passing people like they’re standing still.  At the top of the bridge, we can see over the high rises to the Atlantic Ocean.  We’re almost there.  At the bottom of the bridge, we stop at an abandoned gas station.  Mike is already flying down the bridge.  He takes some quick water without breaking stride, makes a left turn and flies out of sight.

We drive another 2 miles down the road and Duffy offers Mike some more water.  He takes the bottle, doesn’t break stride as he drinks and tosses the bottle to me.  His show of force in this leg is contagious and I run alongside him for about 100 meters - just to prove I can more than anything else.

We meet him one last time 2 miles down the road.  He’s still flying along, passing people almost as fast as we pass them in the van.  We find a cowbell in the van (where was that during the rest of the relay), give him one last cheer and make our way to the finish.

We arrive near the finish with some confusion. We’re not sure where to park and it seems like the designated parking garage won’t accommodate our height with the bikes on top.  Once again, Kelly is getting directions from 5 backseat drivers.  Finally, she drops us off in front of the Hilton and we bolt through a small mall to the finishing area.  We meet up with the van #1 runners, make our way to the walk along the beach and 30 seconds later see Mike tearing down the beach walk with great speed.  We run out the meet him and he blows by us like a man on a mission.  The group chaotically follows in the darkness and we finish more or less together with much fanfare from the announcer.

The finish is festive.  There’s pizza and beer and stories to tell everyone in van#1.  After some photos, we empty van#2.  Mike and Duffy will be driving it back to Miami tonight, while the rest of us pile into van#1 to return to St. Petersburg in the morning.  I shower and set up an air bed on the floor of the hotel room, then head downstairs for the party.  It takes awhile to get everyone away from the beer, but we eventually make our way to the Winghouse where I can finally enjoy some real booze in the form of Jack Daniels and get some comfort food.

There’s about 15-20 minutes of celebration before people start to fade to exhaustion and head back to the hotel.  I’m impressed with the team’s stamina on the run (32 hours, 6 minutes for 203 miles), but not so impressed with their party stamina.  Tim, Sara and I close out the post race party at 10:15 PM.  I’m sound asleep before well before 11.

A few weeks ago, I was impressed by Lindsay’s ability to agree to run on a relay team with a bunch of people she didn’t know.

“That crazy Lindsay,” I thought. “I certainly wouldn’t do that!”

Unfortunately, Lindsay got sick and was unable to run the relay. I had been looking forward to the report of her zany adventure and so I was saddened that I wouldn’t be able to live vicariously through her.

As luck would have it, I received notification through a Facebook message to Raffi about a Ragnar Relay team who had lost a couple of runners and were in somewhat desperate need of runners to fill those slots. At first, I was skeptical, but the more I thought about it, the more excited I got about it. So, I showed up to their team meeting. They all seemed like decent (dare I say, downright fun) people so I quickly agreed to join their team and run the toughest leg of the relay!

Thus, on the weekend before Thanksgiving I’ll be running/traveling by slow moving van from Clearwater to Daytona Beach as a proud member of Team Twisted Blister. Check out the course map. I’m runner #11.