What it's like to run the Hood to Coast Relay
The night before the 198-mile Hood to Coast (HTC) Relay last month in Oregon, 12 runners and two van drivers waited at Trattoria Sapori in Sandy, Oregon for the delivery of Van No. 2 for the "CoPa Bananas." Our team name morphed from runners from Colorado and Pennsylvania with a large dose of craziness.
The First Leg
Race morning involved a 40-minute drive to majestic Mount Hood where it was a cloudy, breezy 54 degrees. We decorated our vans, took team photos and bought race souvenirs before Runner 1 (Walter) lined up for our start time of 9:15 a.m.
I only knew Walter as the oldest Banana, but upon arrival in Seaside the next day, I learned he was a retired professor, a wine expert, a strong coffee fiend, and a closet potato chip lover. When he was 22, Walter had half a lung removed because of an illness caused by the Donora Smog in the Pittsburgh-area. He is a survivor, and a tough, compact runner. He brought quiet civility to our van.
After the start, Van 1 and Van 2 separated. Van 1 would soon learn the logistics of Exchange Zones and changing weather conditions. Van 2 was four hours away from running. I was in Van 1 as Runner 5, so I had time before getting my "Hood to Coast legs." However, as Walter passed the bracelet to Greg (Runner 2) at 10:02am, the van started to get into race mode. It was on.
Greg had a super-fast leg, with a mix of adrenaline and serious downhill. His humor proved helpful during edgy moments.
Runner 3 was Jeff aka Jefe. Jeff, besides my wife, was the only teammate I knew well. In 2008, I paced him in his first marathon. We share a balance of quiet seriousness and silliness. Jeff handed off to his significant other, Katy (Runner 4).
Katy is relatively new to running. However, soccer is her sport, so she knows about competition, running and endurance. She handed off to me.
In a race relay, you develop a bond with your teammates, particularly with your exchange partners. The moment is brief, the bond lasting.
The Exchange is that moment you're able to cheer on your teammate coming in — "Great job" — and they, in turn, send you on your way with encouragement of their own — "Go get it", Or as one super-competitive team kept saying: "F**KING CRUSH IT!"
As Runner 5, veteran HTC runners told me that I had the toughest part of the race — "You got the shaft". The sun finally came out as my leg was about to start, the temperature soared to 80 degrees.
Adrenaline carried me quickly through my first three miles. I started to labor during miles four and five, and the last mile was completely uphill. My pace suffered; however, I still managed 18 "Kills," a term for passing another runner. In the sport of relay racing, you either Kill or become Roadkill.
At the top of the hill was Runner 6, my wife Jill. She was a sight for sore eyes and legs.
Jill ran back to Sandy, where we met up with Van 2. Just before 2 p.m., she handed off to Tim (Runner 7). Seeing members of Van 2 was a morale boost, reminding us we were a team of 12, not six.
We had four-and-a-half hours before meeting with Van 2 again in Portland. Fortunately, Sarah, our driver and wife of Runner 2, had a friend in Portland where we showered and rested before gearing up again.
Sarah was the real MVP of our van. She drove ALL 198 miles while dealing with six personalities, parking challenges at most exchanges, and not to mention her own fatigue. She remained even-keeled throughout the race. This kept the rest of us calm and focused.
The Second Leg
At 6:37 p.m., Paul (Runner 12) handed to Walter, and our van resumed running in Portland. For our transition to nighttime running, we wore reflective vests, headlamps and additional lights.
After dark, the weather changed. It sporadically rained. Just before Jill handed to Tim, lightning and thunder cracked, and at 11:29 p.m., our van completed the second leg.
Sleeping was difficult. It was stuffy, so we opened the doors; however, it was noisy outside. The exhaust from the other vans was not ideal for breathing. Furthermore, we were all haunted by rain pounding our roof. We worried about Van 2 running under such conditions.
We managed about 40 minutes of sleep, and before we knew it, Walter was dressed and ready. At 4 a.m., our van collectively (and coldly) sent Walter on his way to meet Van 2.
The Third and Final Leg
I barreled down the hill and saw Jill. I attempted humor by mocking the "F**KING CRUSH IT" team with a CoPA Banana-centric: "PEEL OUT!" I proceeded to miss her wrist and sheepishly tried again. Off she went.
Jill became visible again with wet leaves all around, but she was smiling from ear to ear. As she handed off to Tim at 8:45 a.m., it poured, and the winds worsened.
With downtime before meeting the team at the finish, we had one goal: Coffee. We went to Three Cups Coffee House in Astoria before driving to Seaside to await the arrival of Van 2.
Around 1:30 p.m., we joined Paul to finish together. The moment was surreal. We were awake for 30+ hours, yet we were smiling, relieved, weary. We did it — 198 miles, 36 legs, 29 hours — and we were safe.
But something amazing occurred while in the van for nearly two days. We became insulated from the outside world. We became protected by the Hood to Coast Bubble. We were unknowingly "in the moment" with our van mates and running mates )and we all know how difficult it is to "be in the moment"). To me, being in the moment is rare and beautiful. It helps us feel alive vs. simply being alive.
A collective "I don't want to let the team down" philosophy evolved. I hadn't felt this way since my track and cross-country days. Even though the van has long been returned and we are all back at work, we miss the "Bubble."
When you're in the bubble, you eat, travel, run, plan, laugh, sleep, bond, bicker in a tight space. Despite being confined, it is freedom.
This is an abridged version of Pescatore's full recap. The read the original post, visit themusicofrunning.tumblr.com.
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