At just before 12:30pm last Saturday, I crossed the finish line with Team Fly by Night to complete the Ragnar Northwest Passage Relay. We were tired, sweaty, and in one case, fighting stomach issues after a recent trip to Mexico. Despite this, we completed the 168 mile relay course! And we did it in a respectable 26 1/2 hours.

It felt like much further in the past, but it was just the morning before when our team met up at the Northgate Park n' Ride in Seattle to count our gear and begin this adventure.

After making sure we had enough head lamps, reflective vests and food, 12 runners piled into a minivan and an SUV, and headed north to the relay start in Blaine, Washington.

Over the next day, teammates in each van took turns running legs of the race lasting 3-9 miles, while runners in the other van rested and ate.

Now to be honest, my squad, van 2, started our day pretty relaxed.

Because we were running second (slots 6 - 12), we first stopped in Bellingham, baked cookies at a teammate's house, napped on plush couches and watched Ferris Buelers Day Off on a 50'' TV. This was all while the other van of Fly by Night teammates hit the start line and began the run southbound in 85°F weather (guess life just isn't fair).

We killed a few hours at Kelly's house, then headed to the first exchange point for a safety briefing and warm-up run. After getting confirmation by cell phone that Joe, the last runner in van 1, was just under a mile away, we crowded the hand-off point. Kelly, our next runner, stood bouncing with energy, yearning to go.

In a blink of an eye, Joe screamed around the corner, crowds cheered and Kelly took the "baton", an organge slap bracelet labeled with the Ragnar logo.

Bam, she took off. Kelly's 5'1' frame soared down the road.

Van 1 would now get a few hours to rest and drive to the next hand-off point. Meanwhile me and Van 2 began leap frogging Kelly to make sure she had water and food, and that she stayed on course as we pushed south.

Team Fly by Night did this for the rest of Saturday and through the early hours of Sunday. Runner after runner would hop out of the van, strap on a head lamp and beat a path into the darkness. It felt like some crazy game.

I started my second leg, a downhill trek of 5.4 miles, at the groggy hour of 3:15 am. While I promised myself that I'd hold a steady and slow pace, the excitement of the night got the best of me, so I furiously chased the bobbing white and red lights in front of me (runners from other teams). My pace sped up from 9...8... then 7 min/mile as I burned downhill.

The descent was taking its toll and by the time I reached Deception Pass, my quads were numb. Finishing this leg was the only thing in my mind.

As I crossed the Deception Pass bridge, the ground was lit only by my headlamp and the full moon. This was probably a good thing. I'd be too scared to run if I could see the dark water far below the narrow bridge walkway.

Just before dawn, my van got to La Conner High School. Some of us grabbed showers, while others slep on the floor of the gymnasim. The sight of hundreds of bodies laying on the floor was surreal--a cross between a camping adventure and an emergency shelter.

After less than two hours, our team woke, dressed and prepared to receive the baton once more. Luckily everyone was healthy and energized. As we had done before, we met Van 1 and the runners exchanged the slap bracelet. The race for us was on once more... south to Langley.

At a quarter to noon on Saturday I received the last handoff just east of Rt. 525, the last 4.8 of our 168 mile relay. This leg would finish the race.

Unlike my previous routes, I had some elevation to contend with, with a big hill just before I entered town. I pushed hard and was coated in sweat as I entered Langley. Shirtless, I dodged tourists on the sidewalk and closed in on the final mile.

A few hundred feet from the finish line, my teammates Heather, Bob, Kelly, Catherine, Joe, Michele, Mike, Natasha, Ed, Molly, and Ted joined me and we finished the relay together as a team. A perfect ending.

The Ragnar Northwest Passage Relay was an amazing journey with Fly by Night. We met wonderful people, saw beautiful parts of Washington and traveled hundreds of miles by foot. Incredible.

We'll be back next year!

In the meantime, I have bigger things to worry about. Below is a video from our Northwest Passage journey.

[Youtube="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIhB6GuHF2U"]

Running a marathon is hard. Now, take those 26.2 miles and add another eight, spread the aid stations out by about nine miles, and swap the wide and smooth paths of a road race, with a single track, rooted, ankle-crushing trail. Oh, and to top it all off, you're running this race up and down Mt. Chuckanut, gaining over 8,200 feet of elevation.

What do you get? The Lost Lake 50k (really 33-34 mile), an amazing race just outside of Bellingham, Washington.

This was my first official ultra-marathon and probably the hardest thing I've done so far.

Let me back-track for a moment. I've run the distance of 50k (31.2 miles) before. On city and county roads, I've looped out and around until my watch read just over 30 miles. This was tiring, and I enjoyed a beer and a burrito when I was done, but this was no ultra-marathon. This was me just running around town.

What I learned yesterday from running the Lost Lake 50k is that this shortest of "ultra" marathons (usually set at 50k, 50 miles, 100k and 100 miles+) has less in common with the marathon, then it does with an adventure race or mountaineering expedition. What I learned is that it's an entirely different beast.

Walking Race: Almost all the competitors walk/hike up the major mountain ascents that can pitch upward until you're crawling hand over foot.
Self-Motivated: Almost all the race you spend by yourself or maybe with a few other runners. No cheering fans, just you finding strength to keep moving forward.
Sightseeing can be Limited: For five, seven or twenty hours you're staring at the ground to ensure your feet don't land unevenly on a root or a rock. If you do twist your ankle, you might have to hobble miles until you get to an aid station.
Distance only Kinda Matters: Yes, 50k is far, but distance isn't your problem. What you need to worry about are stream crossings, rationing food and water properly, mountain scrabbling and accidentally wandering off the course.

I'll write a full review of this race another day, but I did want to share one observation. The Lost Lake 50k had a few hundred competitors, with many women and men not fitting the traditional sterotype of an ultra-marathoner (you know, wearing a Red Bull t-shirt, over-using the phrase gnarly).

I met a woman in her 40s that would easily fit in walking her dog at Greenlake (just before her knitting club), a man in his late 50s who looked more like a cheerful grandfather, than one of the top competitors, a pet control business owner and a military maintenance civilian. This list of unique personalities goes on, and on.

It was inspiring to learn the stories of so many people who the traditional athletic stereotype might have overlooking. No mountain dew, heavy metal music or fawning fans. Just guts, without glory.

These are a few insights into my first official 50k. Feel free to add a comment if you have any ultra-marathon suggestions or inspirations.

-R4C