D.C. Lucchesi
Running a relay race is like going out with that good-looking girl – or guy – your friends warned you about. And not necessarily in a good way. Seems reasonable enough. Some running buddies, a rental van, a few hundred miles. It’s only 24 hours, give or take. And just as that hot chick’s “cute little laugh followed by a snort” was hardly noticeable on the way to the restaurant, by dessert you were ready to read to her from the obits to prevent another accidental chuckle. Being on a relay team is kind of like that. Folks you wouldn’t mind carpooling with to the race are now your cellmates in a rolling, stinking prison of a van that will have you pining for your turn in the rotation not for the sport, but to be free of your teammates if for just a few miles.
Organizing a relay team isn’t any easier. There are team members to coerce, papers to fill out, entry fees to collect, vans to rent and return, schedules to coordinate. Storming the beaches at Normandy required just slightly more orchestration. Then, as deadlines for roster changes approach, team members you thought were a sure thing begin to drop like cicadas in late summer. Team captains then begin the ritualistic calling down of their running groups’ friends of friends in order to find suitable replacements. Gotta be a tough call to make. Might as well start it like this, “Hey, I didn’t think enough of you to call when I first organized this team, but now my ass is in a bind and I really need you to give up a weekend for me and a bunch of other folks who are clearly ahead of you on my list since they’re already on this team …”
If you’re willing to take the leap under such conditions, you can view your new status as a team member in one of two ways: like the new kid at school, or the fraternity legacy. As the NKOTB you will politely assume the rigid and unforgiving seat over the van’s drive shaft, bring snacks for the entire team, and take the most remote, hilly, and stray-dog infested routes on the course. You’re just happy to be here. Or you can eat those snacks, snore, fart with the windows up, refuse to pay for gas, and never sit on a towel when taking your seat in the van after a particularly sweat-soaked leg. After all, they should just be happy you’re here, right?
By its very nature a relay would entail that you’d do some running. Well, you’ll get your chance. But this ain’t the 4 x 100, folks. This sort of relay involves teams of four to 12, covering upward of 200 miles or more and dozens of exchange zones. When your turn in the rotation finally comes along you’ll likely be so strung out on gas station coffee and Red Bull you’ll be seeing colors, or so stove-up from the hours of “companionship” in your team van you’ll need a Jedi master in origami to unfold your legs. And here’s hoping you can read a map there, too, Magellan. Don’t think for a minute that the course is marked with glow sticks and caution tape at every tricky turn and intersection. Start weaning yourself off that onboard GPS in your minivan, too. No matter which relay you’re running, it won’t be on the interstate, so those little dead spots in satellite coverage that go unnoticed at 70-plus mph will likely blanket the bulk of your backroads route.
I’m not trying to convince you that you shouldn’t run a relay. On the contrary. I consider running a relay like going to Vegas, only smaller, a lot less neon, different costumes, and without all the buffets. Everyone should go there at least once. Much in the same way that I’d suggest you have your own children, or hand you the carton of milk and ask for your opinion when the grimace on my face clearly indicates the expiry date has long since passed. No, this kind of racing is for the serious competitor, the fun-seeker, and the morbidly curious alike. And the opportunities to experience this kind of circus continue to increase, with more events turning up on the calendar each year. So … by any chance are you free next weekend?
# # #
D.C. Lucchesi runs, rides, and writes from Charlotte, NC. When D.C. isn’t planning or participating in his own “next adventure,” the award-winning writer and former television producer can be found freelancing and waxing poetic on subjects ranging from health and endurance to schools and politics. When he’s not volunteering or coaching in some capacity with school-aged kids, he still enjoys interacting with grown-ups. Find him at dclucchesi@gmail.com.
