Hoosier 200 Relay

Bloomington, IN, July 16, 2005

Hoosier 200 from a Chipmunks Perspective

Highlights of Team Chipmunk’s adventure #2 at the Hoosier 200.

The cast, in order of appearance on the course: Kevin: van owner, runner and part-time driver. Mike: runner, part-time comedian, full-time enabler. Chris: full-time runner, no-time driver, team captain/bank roll. Tony: runner, mess-maker, back-up to part-time driver, king of the snore. Rick: designated driver, eating champion, comic relief, idiot-in-training.

In no particular order, not even sorted according to humor value (possible bonus for those who make it to the end), here’s a recap of the latest misadventures of Team Chipmunk at the 2005 edition of the Hoosier 200. The Hoosier 200 is a 36-stage relay through the back roads of southern Indiana, where you will find more heat and hills than expected, lots of turkey farms, several local dog gangs and a lot of road markings that probably make sense to those who still have a mind. Stuff the cast of characters (slightly more dysfunctional than the Ozbornes), a hundred pounds of water and enough unappetizing food to feed a wild pack of ultrarunners into a small vehicles for a day and a half, turn the crank, and out pops (some say poops) a 200+-mile run/walk accomplishment where the food all tastes the same, the water is stale and smells like the inside of the van and the runners and driver all tend to look and smell alike. We have become one, no doubt, and this is what being a team is all about.

Tony christening the inside of Kevin’s van with what the rest of us thought was an unnecessarily large amount of Gatorade mix as we prepared to start our journey southward. Followed shortly by Tony using a rent-a-vac at the local car wash. Certainly this would be the peak of levity. Finding out later that the Gatorade mix would have been better to sit on than those towels and sheets. Rick setting up a taco bar in the back seat, on the drive to Evansville. And did anyone ever find that container of dip? Rick took first place in the category for most food consumption on the way to dinner. I’m beginning to suspect we have a hobbit in our midst. The endless banter between the van owner and the van driver. …and we expect COUNTRIES to get along! Kevin knows exactly how things should be done. He isn’t shy about voicing that knowledge, either, and he is affronted should you question its veracity. He did not afford Rick the opportunity for questioning his authority on the operation of the van. The spreadsheet with our predictions and (my) plan. Oh, where would we have been without it? It gave us something to compete with. The adage about putting time in the bank played out. We paid it all back, with interest, and we’ll do it again no doubt. I believe Kevin burned the spreadsheet in effigy shortly after Rick spilled watermelon juice all over the driver’s floorboard. Rick’s fail-safe method of driving; fall asleep = stop the van. Tested successfully on far too many occasions. The wide-eyed look of disbelief, betrayal and longing on Rick’s face when he saw “other” teams with bicycling pacers, after he had been harshly denied such by the aforementioned van owner. Another staggering high school runner. Looks like he went over the limit on a day where the limit was pretty low. Rumors abound that machismo was the rule of the day. “We don’t need no stinkin’ water!” We had tons of that in the van. Hopefully, irreparable damage wasn’t done, but a lesson was taught. Dinner the night before. As luck would have it, we arrived at the casino with enough time for the team members to have a leisurely dinner, but not enough for the captain to do so. So, I ordered takeout and they got a table. I waited at their table for my takeout while the rest of the team got served dinner. But my misery was offset by Rick throwing $20 bills at everyone, feeling some primal need to pay his share. Perhaps he will bank roll the team next year. Turkeys! They stink, stink, stink, stink, stink! Why the hey did I get all the legs though the turkey farms? Get it? Turkey legs? Where are all the rotten dog packs when you need them? I believe, in my heart of hearts, that our driver Rick was able to out eat everyone. Including Mike who spent the time stuffing himself , interspersing babbling about something non-funny. I think there was more competition in the van than outside. Woo Hoo! Those guys saved our bacon. I managed to get lost, note that the van was loitering at the previous exchange, so hold the rest of the crew blameless. Stinking middle of the bloody night, my head lamp is focused where it ought to be (like where I’m considered stepping), and for once the environment is conducive to a decent pace. It’s my longest leg at 8 miles, but I’m feeling good, enjoying being out alone in the dark. So I cruise along in what I believe to be familiar territory. No quantification for cruise. I hit the famous Y on the gravel. No markings. No problem; I remember (clearly, I believed) running through the cool tunnel, so off I went. And it was indeed off. I had had speaks with the WooHoo driver, as they had lost their runner (I still had not gotten that elusive clue). I had seen no one. We parted again. After a great run on the gravel, their van re-approached from the opposite direction. As I slowed to hear their plentiful praise for my strong pace, I was greeted by those immortal words: “You’re going the wrong way.” I did a 180, re-acquired my team mates, who drove me back to the point of my error, the famous Y you have all heard so much about, per the race rules of course. Thereupon I set out on my second mistake. I sent the van ahead to find some semblance of course markings, and I thrust forward at an awesome pace, gaining lost time. After another 10 minutes or so, my weary friends emerged from the darkness with bleak news. We decided to go back to the start of the leg and trace to our (well, mine really) errant steps. 45 minutes into my longest leg, I did not relish the thought of starting all over again. But the Woo Hoo’s were a step ahead of us. They were waiting at the Y previous to my errant Y, where the course indeed was marked on a signpost whereupon I did not train my headlamp. The Woo Hoo’s were profusely thanked; they drove off into the still night to meet up with their runner, now miles ahead. Good people those ‘hoo’s. However, I managed in one (well two) feld swoop(s) to capture the prize for the longest leg (now about 11 miles thank you), the longest duration (darned near 2 blissful hours) and the slowest effective (I wasn’t very effective at all) pace, about 14’s. The upside was that I’d had my darkest moment (to date, unfortunately as similar unfurling of the “dope” flag were in the offing), the team had gotten some well-deserved rest, and we were neck-and-neck with the spreadsheet. In a strange twist of fate, although we were a corporate team, we were all quite happy to be someplace other than work. In a corresponding twist of fate, this leisure time sure felt like work. Picture Mike lounging in the back seat, mostly in a daze of semi-consciousness. With a startling abruptness, he would sit up straight, babble something, laugh uproariously, then return to his previous state as quickly as he had arisen. Were this not Mike, it would have been disturbing. Record bat sightings. They would swoop down into and out of my headlamp’s beam. Pretty cool, and plenty of tasty bugs to go around. I was lucky enough to get sunrise duty. Well, it would have been Tony’s, but I was so slow that leg. And several others. The good/bad realization that you are in the final day, but it may be another 10 hours before it is done. Last year, there was a great deal of positive energy at the final rising of the sun; this year it only served to warn that the day would get hotter and would seem twice as long as the day before. The things that hadn’t yet fallen apart were starting to. The envy of the team tending toward rage piques when we discovered/re-affirmed two things about Tony that really annoy us. First, he has a talent for falling asleep, which none other could rival, much as we wanted to. They say an empty mind is best for sleeping. Secondly, his ability to snore is commendable. Not only in volume, but in tone depth. It turned the van into one of those vibrating massage beds. This was Kevin for foray into the world of marathoning and beyond. His calm metronomic pace was enviable. He did not complain, except about Rick’s driving and various food spillages. He continues to be the enigma on the team, refusing to sign up for events that he clearly would enjoy. Only time will tell if this one has been properly hooked. There is a rumor afoot that he may debut at Owen-Putnam this year. So we have heard before. Mike’s running a shorter leg at 6:15 pace. Rick trying to drive that fast, me trying to navigate to the next exchange and get ready. We don’t want to bring up the ugly incident from last year where I cost us a precious 3 minutes while having a moment to myself prior to an exchange. It is with great pleasure and much calmer disposition that I can report no shooting incidents. That includes those aimed at the Chipmunks and those emanating from certain Chipmunks. 2005 has been the year of the injury. As soon as one malady would flee, it would be replaced by yet another. The recurrent theme has been a pulled hamstring. Almost none of the injuries were serious, but it did prevent any valuable speed and distance training. Having had to walk with a cane just 2 ½ weeks ago, due to an injury caused by being too old to play soccer, I felt grateful just to be at the race. Recovery started slowly, then the hamstring butted (sorry) in. A week of hobbling got me to the start line. What would the course do to me? Fortunately for me, the ham just felt bad all race and never got to the point of going out completely. Uphills were fine, downhills were killers. I chose the wrong course. The pain of long term effort finally masked my complaints. Only two other problems surfaced, both recurrences from last year, but “went away”. I think I owe this one to the team, as they always exhibited an upbeat outlook, and seemed poised to take up the slack when my demise was certain. The valuable lesson is that by keeping hope (in my case I hoped I would drop out), you are able to work through the adversity and accomplish your goals. The other members were going through the same thing. Ups and downs. Tony was close to stopping, but was able to bounce back. Mike fought off cramps, we assume just because he likes to. Kevin remained stoic, but was clearly working hard to maintain his pleasant outlook. Rick was fairly weathered, but a series of 10-second naps while driving and a few runs alongside us perked him up. Anyone else note the dearth of Dairy Queen’s along the course? Rick helped pace me on some of the “legs of despair”. The conversation was delightful and positive. We played mind tricks in order to finish. One by one, the miles faded away. You cannot put a price on this help. And it kept Rick from eating out of “my stuff” while I was out running. The promise of biker nudity, from the race manual, was an unmitigated disas(s)ter. The sole biker seen was towing his wheels behind his rusty pickup. He was not even half naked. While the Chipmunks supplied some of their own, that conjures up images that I am not willing to deal with at this point. Porta-potties abound! Last year, there were approximately zero. This year, the potty stops were plentiful. A good show to the RD’s. This conjures up one more incident involving our driver and excrement, but I will relegate this to my memory’s catacombs as well. Divine intervention: film at 11. I had the unfortunate condition of having to follow Mike. His raw speed and driven nature constantly resulted in a flurry of activity right before my legs started. To wit, I never was as clean from the inside as I would like when I started. Case in point was my fateful “leg of extension” in the middle of the night. As we got to the exchange, I longed for a good sit-down, eyeing with envy the porto-pots. Looking up course, here comes Mike at about 10 mph. Poop. But not really. So, off I went. As the need progressed, there came a time when delay was not advisable. The good Lord reached down and delivered me from my trap. A pot appeared off the side of the road. It was indeed a miracle. I only hope that it wasn’t a hallucination. Waiting turns for the shower, it was always interesting to see who emerged, as we were never quite sure who went in. One of the race support crew assumed we’d shower as a team; not sure just what kind of a compliment that was.

These tales and more are part of the memories of the event. Denial starts at the finish, so I’ll say the race was a great experience. The team pulled together and we once again came out on top, if not smelling like a rose. I’ve had good experiences and bad. This one was tough. My focus was more on the finish than enjoying the event. Sometimes, that’s good enough. You cannot deny that this event is a challenge. 200 miles, even if you’re part of an elite squad, is long, and you won’t be finished for a long time. Perseverance and taking it one step at a time, being mindful of the body’s needs, avoiding contact with dogs, holding your breath around the turkeys and keeping the driver alert and fed, you too will come through this. You may be a better person at the end, you may just be tired. But you will have memories, and they should last longer than the race itself.