On the Road Again

I can feel the hail pelting my back as I sit crouched underneath a gathering of aspen trees, listening to the tornado sirens echo across town. My phone buzzes against my hip, and I quickly unzip my running belt, seeing my friend Jill’s name flashing across the screen. I attempt to swipe my thumb across my iPhone to answer but the pouring rain is making it nearly impossible. One of my swipes finally takes.

“Where are you?... Find you…Race command…. Runners… off the course”.

I can hardly hear Jill between the sirens and the rain dripping down my face and into the earpiece of the phone, cutting off her sentences. I try to explain my location to her, but I struggle with directions on a good day, and the chaotic elements are not helping my cause. All I know is that I’m in the middle of a bike path somewhere near Forest Lake, and my only options seem to be to stay hidden under the trees or get back on the path and keep running.

“I’m just going to keep running”, I shout into the phone and hang up, relieved to see that the hail has stopped. 

Despite the downpour, I feel oddly giddy. Mere moments ago, I was convinced I was going to pass out from heat stroke before I reached the end of my second leg. The eighty-two-degree afternoon heat had been relentless, the sun's rays blazing against the blacktop, causing my internal body temperature to rise to abnormally high levels. I could feel my skin tingling, like my pores were on fire. The slight breeze felt more like someone’s hot breath against my face, and the water I was continually dumping on myself felt lukewarm from sitting against my hip under the hot sun. What started out as a steady jog had turned into a walk-shuffle of sorts. I imagine I looked somewhat like Quasimodo, hunched over, breathing heavily, dragging one foot in front of the other as I plugged along the path. The twenty degree drop in temperature that accompanied the incoming storm was a welcome relief. I laugh out loud as I accidentally step into a giant puddle, feeling the water squish around inside my shoes. 

The first time I agreed to do The Ragnar Road Relay, I was a little apprehensive about what I had signed up for. Living in a van for 36 hours while running 200ish miles with eleven other people sounded like something people who don’t have a lot of sense decide to do. The race is named after - you guessed it - Ragnar, a Norse Viking in the ninth century, known for being an adventure seeking, conquering, tough guy of sorts. But something about Ragnar took root, and I was firmly committed to the insanity of it all. 

The best thing about these races are the people who run them. You run with teams of twelve, and your team is split between two vans; runners 1 through 6 are in one van, and runners 7 through 12 are in the other. After everyone in your van has finished their first leg, you get a break for a couple of hours while the other van's runners cover their miles.

For the past two years, I’ve been Van 1, Runner 1. As a relative newbie to this whole scene, I believe it’s a pretty good spot to find yourself in. The energy at the starting line is palpable and having your whole team there to watch you take off is a surefire adrenaline boost, helping you get through those first few miles. I run with a group of moms - who have kindly embraced my “dog mom” status - most of whom I had never met prior to these races. But being in a small space for over twenty-four hours with a group of strangers pretty much forces you to quickly drop the usual social norms and embrace the experience while you converse about blisters, chafing, and the next time you think you might need to go to the bathroom.  

Starting line - Ragnar Road 2023

Regardless of which van you end up in, it is unlikely that you’ll experience anything close to a full night of sleep. Most of the time between legs was spent driving to the next checkpoint, cheering on teammates, or eating. At the major exchanges, where the vans swapped, there was normally space for a sleeping bag, or at least a patch of grass where you could stretch your legs and relax for a couple hours. This year, my van ended up spending the night with our sleeping bags and mats rolled out on the gym floor at a local school.  However, between all of the runners coming and going throughout the night, the loud fan whirring in the background, and the fear that someone might step on you as they tried to navigate the dark gym, it was hard to clock a solid amount of shuteye.

As I came to the end of my second leg, where the bike path meets the road, I spotted Van 1 waiting for me on the street and quickly sprinted towards them, my soaking wet clothes plastered to my body. I was immediately wrapped in towels by my teammates as they shared stories about getting stuck in traffic and driving down unfamiliar dirt roads to try to get me off the course during the rain and hail. 

Van 1 cheering me on at Mile 5, Leg 2

Hopping into the van at the end of Leg 2

Despite the challenges of Ragnar, there is something gratifying about the whole experience, in doing something together that you could never do alone. So much of this race is about teamwork; rallying around each other, screaming at the top of your lungs, and incessantly ringing cowbells as you pass runners in your van makes the day incredibly fun for everyone involved. Seeing my team at the halfway point of that hot, relentless second leg was the boost I needed to get through the last few miles. Throughout the race, there’s a fine line between “this is awful” and “let’s do it again”. The people you run with make all of the difference - which is why it was an easy yes for Ragnar Road 2024. 

Team BAMR 2023 (Bad @$$ Mother Runners)