After a pasta dinner and a peptalk from the race directors, we headed back to camp to try and get some sleep. The Diamond Lake Campground is a bit hilly, and we found that we had to put our tent on a slope. So much for getting some valuable sleep - we spent all night climbing back up the hill to our pillows. Who needs sleep anyway? (Next year, we're discussing staying in Sunriver the night before and driving down for the start.)
At 5:45 a.m. the next morning, we were at the start line, ready to go. Our first runner started us off strong around a beautiful trail skirting the shore of Diamond Lake. The bugs that had plagued the race director as he set the course must have been sheltering in the cold, because our runner reported that they were not an issue. Some complained of the "off-roading" through a field, but our runner enjoyed the trail.
We continued on through the cold morning, up the big hill out of Diamond Lake and down the endless straight stretch of highway that leads to 97. Finally, as we hit the highway, it was my turn - 6.6 straight miles down 97. Only problem - I thought it was 6. And I was being chased by our friendly rivals. So after busting my tail for 5.5 miles, the activity up ahead that I knew must be the exchange seemed awfully far away. That was the "1/2" mile ever!!
After leaving 97, you enter a long stretch of red cinder road - dusty, hot, and very difficult to run on. Thank goodness we had brought spray bottles, which we used liberally on our own runner, and any other runner who happened by. This did, of course, lead to a mini water fight with another van . . . And while many of my teammates would like to see that gravel section go, I think it led to one of the prettiest spots on the course:
Our final runner finished out our van despite her pressing IT Band injury (and the rough cinder road to aggravate it), and we passed off to Van #2. They would battle the heat (which, thankfully, wasn't that bad for the time of year, but was still tough at altitude) and the hills to get in to Silverlake, letting us have a chance to clean out the van and take a nap in the limited shade of the Silverlake Fire Department's lawn.
Revitalized (sorta), we headed back out on the road for our second set of legs. The second set of legs for Van #1 are almost entirely gravel . . . dusty and hot. A bandana would have been helpful, but unfortunately, none of us had thought to bring one that could be worn around the nose. We were now heading north, and soon, Fort Rock came in to view.
With the sun just starting to set, the high desert took on a brilliance that is unmatched. I've never taken so many photos of scenery during a race before . . .
As our injured runner headed out for her second leg, it soon became clear that it was really bothering her. We made the tough decision together to pull her rather than risk really injuring her leg, and so one of our tough Bend runners (she would run between 27 & 28 miles before the race was over) took over for her. At this point, it was getting dark - fast. We city girls were unprepared for how dark it can get out there in the high country, and sure enough, imaginations started taking over. We began to "follow", which means driving directly behind the runner at a distance of 25 to 30 yards. This was allowed in this section of the course since it was so dark and remote (hmm . . . anyone else thinking cougar?). This technique, while soothing to the runner, is pretty tough on the vanmates. As I used their following the entire time, let me just say "thank you!!" for taking it slow for me.
My leg began up in the middle of nowhere, and as I headed out, I could only think about how much I wanted the van to be right behind me, right now. I had managed to calm my cougar fears, even when I overheard a Bend native mention that she had seen a cougar on China Hat Rd. I wasn't going to be near China Hat (which I know from SE Bend), I told myself, and then I spot the sign that says "China Hat Rd 12 mi". Ahh!!!! No doubt, I had a better pace because of those potential cougars, but the frustrating part of the run was that I was on the cinder, hopping from gravel pile to gravel pile in an attempt to find firm footing. Hit the wrong spot, and you feel like you are on the beach in the deep sand. The long uphill miles were slow there in the dark, and I was glad to pass off to our last runner.
At this point, we're reaching the time in the relay that a team, if it is going to self-destruct, will begin coming apart at the seams. We were thrilled to pass off to Van #2 and begin the drive in to Lapine for some desperately needed sleep. However, once we reached Lapine, there was confusion on how to get to the truck stop which had hot showers (Gordy's - highly recommended for their showers, by the way!) which brought the tension level up, and then we weren't sure where to sleep. With only 31 miles on Van #2's second legs, there really isn't a lot of time to do much. We finally settled on driving to our next exchange and sleeping in the van - with a bit of success.
As our time to begin again rolled near, we reluctantly rolled out of the van and tried to eat some breakfast. A light rain had falled, and it was still quite cold. Greek yogurt, bananas and brown sugar worked as early morning fuel for me as I prepped for the leg 26 in this third round of runs. I had chosen to run this leg because it promised a trail that was different from the van route - I've always been a sucker to go where no one else gets to. It was a nice gravel (again!) road around Crane Prairie which seemed to end on a constant uphill. As I passed some beautiful marshes, I had to marvel at the scenery this race provides. It was a moment that I could stop and appreciate what I was doing, and even feel a bit sad that it was coming to an end.
As I pulled in to my final exchange, my teammate held a cold Corona for me that I exchanged for the sweaty wristband. An excellent tradition that is now illegal on Hood to Coast, it was one of the best beers I have ever had at 8:00 am - or any time! After 21 miles of running, I was finally done and could enjoy cheering on my teammates and the beauty of the Cascade Lakes Highway.
We finished up our legs (nearly losing one of our runners to the open lake swim at Elk Lake - she was ready to quit running!) and headed down the mountain. How often can you look out your van window and see a scene like this?:
We were surprised to find a criterium in progress at the finish line, and we soon learned that runners were being held up at the exchanges until the race was over so that they would have a place to finish. The race directors worked out the timing, and it seemed to resolve itself. Finally, around 3:00 pm we saw our last runner digging it in down the final stretch. We ran in to the street to make a bridge for her and then join her across the finish line . . . only to realize that we hadn't seen any other women's teams. We had come in first!
And so, our race was done. As with any of these events, the feelings are bittersweet, the promised to return the next year easily made. I know that I want to return next year. The relay was truly a runner's relay, with many legs running over 8 miles long, a challenging course, and incredible terrain. Because it is a smaller relay, we could support our runners, bond with the other teams, and enjoy the exchanges rather than dread them. It was the kind of weekend that affirms your choice to be a runner.
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