When I was in high school taking piano lessons, I would tackle classical compositions that would take the musician and listener through a series of distinct emotions, feelings, experiences and sensations. One would be energetic, one melancholic, one thoughtful, etc. For some reason, trying to write this blog about my experience at the Ragnar Del Sol Relay Race feels a lot like trying to master those piano compositions.
So, what are the distinct movements of this adventure?
First Movement: Camaraderie. We took 24 people from diverse backgrounds -- stuck them in vans for 24+ hours, asked them to run really long distances up and down mountains at all hours of day and night. What did we get? New friends, different understandings of old friends, trust, faith and fun. And, the camaraderie went beyond our team. On every leg, I was encouraged by other teams, offered water and assistance, offered encouragement and support from strangers. We can learn a lot from this -- perhaps Congress should be required to participate in a Ragnar together. Maybe then, well ..... I don't want to get political.
Second Movement: Laughter. All day and all night, we laughed. You could hear people in the other vans laughing too. You knew that the guys running in tutus were laughing. The clown with the horn was clearly laughing. People running in hotdog, pizza, grape costumes were laughing. I know this was a race and we joked about smokin' the competition -- but it was just fun smack talk to get us pumped for the next leg. We laughed so much that post race, my abs hurt almost as much as my quads.
Third Movement: Sadness. Late into the night we received word that a race participant had been hit by a car. Rumors about the circumstances and severity were rampant. Confusion raged as the course was diverted, the race redirected and we were all struggling to understand what was before us. When would we run again? Could we run again? Was it safe to run again? But more than this kind of inward questioning was this somber beat, beat, beat of thoughts, prayers and sorrow for this runner most of us never knew, never saw, would never know. We now know his name. That he was 18 and a beloved son, brother and friend. He was running with friends, living life to the fullest. His prognosis is not good, and on the afternoon of March 2, I learned that he passed away. So, this leaves me wondering -- clearly adventures of all kinds -- running a relay, climbing a mountain, riding in a bike race, taking a stand for a cause-- are full of opportunities and risk. It's clearly safer to stay home not taking the risks, not putting yourself in harm's way. But what does that do to the quality of life? I don't know the answer and I will not have the wisdom to answer by the end of this blog. Henry (if you have read my previous blogs you will know Henry) would have suggested that a life without risk is a life lived un-fully. He would say .... jump the fence, run down the roads so you can experience what life has to offer. If you don't - you are clearly alive but not truly living -- that was Henry's philosophy. This doesn't mean the grief of tragedy is less when an adventurer is struck down -- but somehow it makes it more understandable when the person is doing something they love with people they care about.
Fourth Movement: Elation. Joy. Relief. I can almost feel what this movement feels like playing out beneath my fingers. As previous blogs have revealed, I do not fancy myself a runner. But, I was challenged, I agreed and I ran. Slowly, but I ran. And, as I am learning is the nature of runners, no one cared that I ran slowly. They cared that I ran with them. Laughed with them. Mourned with them and stepped through the movements of this adventure with them. I thank my van for the elation. I thank my team for the joy. I thank the finish line for the relief.
So, what are the distinct movements of this adventure?
First Movement: Camaraderie. We took 24 people from diverse backgrounds -- stuck them in vans for 24+ hours, asked them to run really long distances up and down mountains at all hours of day and night. What did we get? New friends, different understandings of old friends, trust, faith and fun. And, the camaraderie went beyond our team. On every leg, I was encouraged by other teams, offered water and assistance, offered encouragement and support from strangers. We can learn a lot from this -- perhaps Congress should be required to participate in a Ragnar together. Maybe then, well ..... I don't want to get political.
Second Movement: Laughter. All day and all night, we laughed. You could hear people in the other vans laughing too. You knew that the guys running in tutus were laughing. The clown with the horn was clearly laughing. People running in hotdog, pizza, grape costumes were laughing. I know this was a race and we joked about smokin' the competition -- but it was just fun smack talk to get us pumped for the next leg. We laughed so much that post race, my abs hurt almost as much as my quads.
Third Movement: Sadness. Late into the night we received word that a race participant had been hit by a car. Rumors about the circumstances and severity were rampant. Confusion raged as the course was diverted, the race redirected and we were all struggling to understand what was before us. When would we run again? Could we run again? Was it safe to run again? But more than this kind of inward questioning was this somber beat, beat, beat of thoughts, prayers and sorrow for this runner most of us never knew, never saw, would never know. We now know his name. That he was 18 and a beloved son, brother and friend. He was running with friends, living life to the fullest. His prognosis is not good, and on the afternoon of March 2, I learned that he passed away. So, this leaves me wondering -- clearly adventures of all kinds -- running a relay, climbing a mountain, riding in a bike race, taking a stand for a cause-- are full of opportunities and risk. It's clearly safer to stay home not taking the risks, not putting yourself in harm's way. But what does that do to the quality of life? I don't know the answer and I will not have the wisdom to answer by the end of this blog. Henry (if you have read my previous blogs you will know Henry) would have suggested that a life without risk is a life lived un-fully. He would say .... jump the fence, run down the roads so you can experience what life has to offer. If you don't - you are clearly alive but not truly living -- that was Henry's philosophy. This doesn't mean the grief of tragedy is less when an adventurer is struck down -- but somehow it makes it more understandable when the person is doing something they love with people they care about.
Fourth Movement: Elation. Joy. Relief. I can almost feel what this movement feels like playing out beneath my fingers. As previous blogs have revealed, I do not fancy myself a runner. But, I was challenged, I agreed and I ran. Slowly, but I ran. And, as I am learning is the nature of runners, no one cared that I ran slowly. They cared that I ran with them. Laughed with them. Mourned with them and stepped through the movements of this adventure with them. I thank my van for the elation. I thank my team for the joy. I thank the finish line for the relief.
