misadventures at relay races

(Taken at the finish line of my first Hood to Coast back in '98 before I moved here, that's me in the background with a relieved expression on my face!)

There's something about relay races that spark drama. Stuff six people into a minivan for 24 hours, add a lack of sleep plus endorphins, stir, and everyone usually ends up a little loopy by the finish line. This month, I’m heading to New Hampshire to run the Reach the Beach relay, where what I lack in speed, I hope to make up for in entertainment value. It’s what I do. If you have a relay on your race schedule soon, heed my words of wisdom first, learned from my last Hood to Coast experience:


Don't wear new shoes the night before. Pre-race, I took my boyfriend, Eric, (a Hood to Coast first-timer) on a blister-prevention shopping spree as he prepared for his race, including bandages and special blister-proof socks. For him. I didn't bother buying anything for myself -- I had made it through 15 blister-free marathons, so I figured I would cruise through H2C without a prob. That, however, was before I decided to wear -- and walk a couple miles in -- new shoes to a pre-race dinner. High-heeled shoes. The next morning, two huge blisters adorned my pinky toes. A quick rummage through my bathroom revealed that I didn't even own a bandage. Luckily, I found a medical tent along the course (they were impressed I had amassed huge blisters before I ran).
Lesson: BYOB (buy your own bandages).


Do let your food digest. The hardest part of relays is that delicate balance of food-and-water intake combined with running three times in a 24-hour period. When we stopped for pizza before our first run, I was alternately stuffing my face and looking at my watch. Math isn't my strong suit. A mere two hours later, as I waited to start running, the pizza sat in my stomach like a rock.
Lesson: When in doubt, skip that third slice.

Don't fall. The relay bracelet snapped in place, I took off down the six-mile course, concentrating on getting my legs into a comfortable rhythm. The next part is hazy: Somehow, during the very first mile of my very first leg, I twisted my left ankle and landed on my right elbow and right knee, and ended up sprawled on the road for all to see -- including all 11 team members in the team vans.
Lesson: If you have to face-plant, at least have the dignity to wait until after your van has passed by.

Do keep your lunch. After my first leg, my ankle started hurting. I iced with the best of them, popped some pills and crossed my fingers. Luckily, adrenaline was on my side, and I felt no pain while running my second leg. Afterward was a different story. Driving to a rest area, I started battling nausea. One minute I was chatting in the van amiably. The next, I lurched out of the van wordlessly and was soon on my hands and knees in an open field losing my midnight snack. When I climbed back into the van, they were silent. My teammate Ben finally spoke up. "Want a mint?"


Lesson: More ibuprofen isn't better. Pace yourself.