It is Sunday and I am going into post-race withdrawal. For 24 hours on Friday and Saturday, I was stuck in a Chevy Suburban with four other runners and a driver, either waiting to run or waiting for my teammates to finish their runs. We were completing the Colorado Outward Bound Relay, a 170 mile, ten runner relay that started in Idaho Springs and ended in Glenwood Springs. I feel like something is missing right now. I am in clean clothes, I actually got a full nights rest, and I have my husband - but no other teammates - anywhere near me.

I am team captain for team Nuts & Chickens. Despite the interest from last year's team members, this year's team is much harder to fill. Only three of the ten runners from last year return and the rest of the team is a random group of acquaintances. Our team ranges largely in ability with two runners who are entirely new to the sport, four members who've run since high school, and a couple athletes who've switched over to running in the past few years. When we finally fill our team, we lose one runner to a family emergency. Then, a few weeks before the event, we lose the new runner to injury. After exhausting my list of contacts, I use the relay's website and find a runner from Colorado Springs eager to join a team. All is good until the week before the relay; I lose another runner to injury. I again go on the website and find a girl from Aspen looking for a team but at this point available runners are like blood to a shark and I see that she has five messages posted for her; there is no way she hasn't found a team yet. But I call her anyway and it turns out she doesn't have email at home and I am the only one to pick up a phone. Our team is now filled. I can relax.

The rest of the week is full of anticipation for the race. We have a team dinner, take care of last minute logistics, and are ready to go. On Thursday evening we pick up our mini-van rental which from now on will be Van #1 and a few of us head up to Idaho Springs. The race starts at 5 a.m. Friday morning for the slower teams and the start times continue hourly until 10 a.m. for the faster teams. Our team will not start until the 8 a.m. wave. Everyone is eager for the race; we meet Roger and Tammy, our newest teammates, and chatter until midnight when we try to settle down for a good nights rest.

The alarm comes suddenly and our group groggily rises and dresses for the day. The air outside is crisp and everyone bundles up. I put on fleece pants and a wool sweater over my running clothes and what will become our team signature, my chicken hat. We meet the rest of the team, pack up Tim's Suburban, which will now be Van #2, check-in, and listen to a few last minute course changes. They say there is snow - lots of it. Legs seven through 11 are affected. I am leg number six and don't know if I am relieved or disappointed that I don't have an "adventure" leg. I pass the information on to my team members, we take a team picture, and then our first runner, Steve, is off.

Van #1, which will transport runners 1-5, takes off down the road to Exchange Point #1 while Van #2, carrying runners 6-10, heads to Exchange Point #5. Our vans will play leapfrog for the next 24 hours. For those of us in Van #2, the race start is a little anticlimactic as no one in our van will run until 11:45. After a stop for good, healthy eating at McDonalds and a stop to repair our van's shredding team sign, we arrive at Exchange Point #6 where I will be the first person from Van #2 to run. I am disappointed that, due to construction, my first leg will not be running to the summit of Guanella Pass as in previous years. This stretch of the relay, just outside of Georgetown, has been my favorite, with breathtaking views from the 11,500 foot summit. Because of the closure this year, Leg 5 is not physically handing off to me. Instead I have a predetermined start time of 11:45. This takes a little away from the race for me but still I have my van mates cheering me on as I start on my first of three legs of the relay. I charge to the front of my group before the altitude hits me like a wave and the weak feeling starts in my legs and lungs. I know better, after three years of doing this relay, than to go out fast but this year my altered first leg is called a "sprint" leg and that makes me nervous. I struggle to the exchange and hand my teammate the "Buff", a stretchy piece of material which we are using for a baton.

Tim takes off down the muddy trail, the first of the "adventure" legs, and I walk with my team back to the van. I can relax; my next leg is not for another six or so hours. We munch on some food and talk, their upcoming runs very much on my teammates minds. Our van is fun for me. We have Perry who I managed to talk into running the relay after briefly meeting on a rock climbing trip. There is Traci, who I ran with in college when we were both in top form. There is Tim, the father of six kids, who I ran with two years ago on a different relay team. And there is John, who I've known for three years but barely said more than two words at a time to before. Besides Traci and myself, our group doesn't know each other and yet we are joking and laughing like we've been friends for years.

We cheer as John takes off down a snowy slippery path through some aspen trees, closely followed by a guy in a clown suit. Tim animatedly describes his run which is illustrated by the mud splattered all the way up his legs. We walk back to the van, Tim gets cleaned up, and then we quickly head down the road to the next exchange point. Traci waits for her run, nervous because other teams have told us her leg has a "pond" crossing. Traci can't swim. Despite the pond crossing, which is thigh deep on her short frame, Traci flies in way under expected time and Perry is off. Each runner rambles excitedly about their leg when they finish, describing course details, tallying runners they passed, and how they felt. There is an adrenaline rush and a relief to be finished - until the next leg, that is.

We drive to the next exchange. Due to lack of parking, only Van #1 is allowed to the exchange point to pick up Perry and drop off Steve. Our van parks and waits. This is a good time to observe other teams, waiting as well. The weather is beautiful and there are a plethora of vans on this otherwise lonely gravel county road with snow-capped mountain vistas in the background. The vans display an array of colors and decorations. Our own van is pretty bare with only a colorful team sign but other vans are painted; some have bras hanging on them; one has a statue of a runner on top. We visit with friends from other teams who compliment the chicken hat and laugh at team names like "Freakin' Idiots" and "Big, Bad, and Way Behind". It is amusing to see random sleeping bags laid out here and there while runners try to catch some sleep. Someone is even sleeping on top of their van across from us. The driver occasionally moves the car to tease his sleeping teammate.

Eventually Van #1 arrives and we eagerly talk with our five teammates, who we've barely seen. They are all feeling good and excited; their runs have gone well and we want to stay and visit but they need to get going to the next exchange point. Steve is currently running his second leg, the toughest in the relay, and the last of the "adventure" legs. It's a 12.5 mile epic adventure on icy, snowy trail reaching 11,585 ft at the highest altitude. We will later hear that his leg involved falling and slipping as much as it did running. We say goodbye to Van #1 and head to get some grub.

We feed John's coffee addiction at Starbucks and then grab some soup at a nearby restaurant in Frisco. I keep debating what to eat. I am running in three to four hours and don't want to upset my stomach but want enough nourishment for my next legs. I have been unwisely fueling myself with chocolate all day while others in my van have been consuming power bars and sports drinks. We are now the resting van and should try to sleep but it is only 6 p.m. and we are all wide awake. We sit inside a warm sports bar at Copper Mountain, our next exchange point, and Perry and I play a little foosball and wait for my next turn to run. It is a little strange that we've been together since 8 a.m. and all we've done is wait to run and then wait for other runners to run and drive on down the road. And yet we've had a wonderful time so far.

It is 8 p.m. and I am shivering outside, waiting for my teammate. It is dark and it's hard to recognize the runners coming in but I hear "116" yelled and I know that it is Tammy. She passes me the "Buff" and I take off, flying down the path. I look for cones or glow sticks to guide my way in the darkness, my headlamp making circles in front of me. I pass a runner and then all is dark and quiet. I am on the bike trail that heads to Vail rest area. The run is all uphill but my body has adjusted to the altitude and the cool air feels marvelous on my face. I see the stars and revel in the beautiful evening. Along the 5.4 mile path I pass six runners, but am mostly alone. It is peaceful out, with only the distant sound of cars from I-70 and my own labored breathing. Before I know it, I am at the rest area, barreling up the stairs and pass the "Buff" to Tim. I am bent over for a few seconds, recovering my breath. And then I am shuffled into the car to meet Tim at the next exchange.

Our team is excited, we are way ahead of our estimated time and we are doing well. Tim hands off to John, John hands off to Traci. While we eagerly wait for Traci, I tell the guys, "She is super fast; we should see her any minute". However, any minute passes, and she does not come. I'm not worried at first. Maybe she was having a hard time adjusting to altitude. But soon she is at 10 minute mile pace and still no sign. I start to worry. The exchange volunteers call the safety numbers, while my team paces back and forth, peering into the darkness for our runner. We hold our breath with each new headlamp that appears, bobbing in the distance. The volunteer coordinator calls me back and says that maybe our runner missed the turnoff for the exchange and kept going to the next exchange point. This is plausible. It is very dark and the runners must do a 180 turn to head to the exchange point. We anxiously call Van #1, which should be at the next exchange point but they are still sleeping. I am fraught with worry and about to send half the team in Van #2 to the next exchange and leave half the team here in case she shows up, when finally Roger from Van #1 calls. Traci has signed in and is waiting at the next exchange point for us.

We hop in the van and go pick her up. She says she has food poisoning. She has just stood shivering for twenty minutes, waiting for us to show up, after running 11 miles while battling food poisoning and she looks awful. Van #1 takes off to collect their next runner while we head to our next exchange point. Van #2 is almost out of gas and Traci desperately wants a real bathroom but it is 2:30 a.m. and we are on back roads and even the gas stations are not open. We are now the resting van and should be sleeping but I am wired from stress and worried about Traci. She can't sleep and keeps making trips to the port-a-potties. Finally, it is decided that I will take Traci and her husband to a hotel, while our teammates try to get some rest. I drop the pair off and after two tries, find a working gas pump. Everything is now fine.

I head back to the exchange point, uncomfortable driving the big SUV, but relieved that our little incident is resolved. Suddenly, I hear a tidal wave of water flowing over the back seat. I try to stop the car as water keeps sloshing out.

Without the support of Tracy and Hiro's two bags, our water jug tipped on its side and sent its entire contents out. I grumpily stop the car, pick up the jug, and head back to the exchange. There I am relieved to see that most of the clothes remain dry, but the back seat is drenched and John's cell phone and shoes are completely soaked. I turn on the heat full blast and desperately try to dry the phone while I also push button after button, trying to figure out how to turn the car lights off. John comes back and tries to use his phone. It doesn't work. This is the last straw for me. I am normally a cheerful person but now I am just plain grumpy. Usually in this relay, I will get at least four hours of sleep but it is now 4:30 a.m., I haven't slept at all, and I will be running again in approximately 30 minutes. I'm tired; I don't feel like running; I am at a mental low. Van #1 comes and my husband jumps cheerfully into the suburban and gives me a hug. "You have about five minutes," he tells me.

I put on my chicken hat and unenthusiastically head to the start. But our team morale is still high and everyone else is laughing and I feel better. I start to see the humor in the events of the night, and when I see Tammy flying towards me, I mentally am back in the race. I grab the "Buff" and take off down a dark frontage road right next to I-70. This leg is a crazy surreal experience. I am alone in the dark running as fast as I can, the clouds from my breath blocking my vision slightly. Occasionally I pass a runner but otherwise all I can see is the painted white line of the road a few feet ahead of me. The lack of sleep creates a haze in my thoughts - I think that I may be part of a team but in this moment of utter solitude, I could just as easily be stranded in the middle of nowhere, a lunatic crazily flying down a random road. After what seems an eternity, I am at the next exchange and I hand off to Tim who will be heading into Glenwood Canyon. There is a sense of relief knowing I have finished my final leg.

We head to the next exchange with half the van sleeping. John is driving but he is tired and quiet. The rest of the exchanges go this way - half-conscious runners shuffling out of the car waiting for their last legs when all they want to do is sleep. But soon the sun comes up gloriously and we wonder at how eternal the night seems when you are awake the entire time. Our last runner is off and we meet Van #1, bright and cheery eyed, having gotten a generous five hours of sleep, at the finish line. Our team waits expectantly for our runner and soon he comes around the bend and we roll in behind him to the finish. Nuts & Chickens are done!

We enjoy the post-race festivities together and then, slowly, our team disperses. In the previous 24 hours I feel like we've made new friends and strengthened existing relationships, pushed our bodies to the limits, and learned to appreciate the outdoors, running, and each other. It's amazing what pain, sleep deprivation, and being smelly together can do for camaraderie! So at home, I am excited to be alone with my husband again, but for a few days I miss the sound of my teammates beside me and the waiting to run my next leg. So now, I look towards next year's relay, eager to experience it all again.

Quick Facts
The Colorado Relay is Outward Bound West's largest fundraiser of the year. The relay is held annually on a Friday/Saturday in September. There are ten runners per team or five for an ultra team. The total mileage for each runner ranges from approximately 9.9 to 27 miles. Event information and registration instructions can be found at www.coloradorelay.com.

Marcie Glass is an avid runner who enjoys long training runs and racing at events near her Fort Collins home. She can also be found rock climbing, reading, or working on her latest literary projects. You can contact her at runninggreat@earthlink.net.