No ball to chase

One of the confounding things about running is the lack of opportunity for team play. This could be why so many of us are drawn to the sport in the first place. Let's face it. Most of us are just not that into playing team games.

Other athletes tell me they just can't seem to get into running. Yet, give them a ball to chase and they will run all day. Is it the ball that gets these nonrunners running or is it the team component that motivates them to go long - running that is? Who knows?

In the past few weeks I have seen what happens when runners are put in a team situation. I must say it is pretty impressive.

In mid-August, I was privileged to be part of a 12-man relay team for the 193-mile Ragnar Great River Relay from Winona to Minneapolis, Minnesota. This was a new race for most of our team, although some of us had run these types of events before. This also was a first of its kind for a few team members. Our group consisted primarily of guys in their upper 40s to early 60s. We did have three younger teammates that mandated our entry in the Men's Open division. As is usually the case with these long relays, everyone was a bit apprehensive about holding their own against the course, the weather, sleep deprivation and the competition. And just like every other time I have competed in a relay event, my team raced hard.

Part of relay racing involves taking an active role in supporting the other runners on the team. Ragnar race organizers encouraged teams to use two vans. One van at a time was to be designated "active," meaning it's supposed to provide support, fluids and directions to the runners while transporting the next runner in queue to their exchange. The "inactive" van was to stay about six legs ahead and wait a few hours in a parking lot for a turn to be active. This has never been the way we have done things. Maybe it's our innate desire to be connected to a team, but we have always had two active vans. One van transports the next runner to the exchange while the other provides support, fluids and directions.

I have always loved competing in events like this. Even though there is no ball to chase, there most assuredly is a team component. The fellows I ran with this year were willing to turn themselves inside out in order to turn in their best effort. The weather was challenging with high temperatures and humidity that ranged from 70 to 100 percent. Driving along the course at 2:30 a.m. in fog so thick you could barely make out the bobbing of the reflective vests along the edge of the road, left you wondering how you would ever spot your teammate to offer some much needed fluid.

Standing on the roadside with a water bottle in hand, I got my answer during one memorable leg. I heard a voice belonging to one of our faster runners from nearly a quarter mile away. There is something about dense fog at night. Sound seems amplified. Even though I couldn't see farther than 20 feet in front of me as I watched water molecules dance in and out of my headlamp, I could hear my teammate making his way up a mile-long hill. "@$!!%$# hamstring! @$!!%$# cramp! @$!!%$# hamstring!" (You get the idea). Once he finally made it to the top of the hill, I ran along and gave him a bottle as he tried to get enough fluid to help quiet his "vocal" hamstring. We repeated this process every mile or so for the remainder of an impossibly long leg.

Need a ball to chase? No way. He just kept powering through. And when his turn rolled around again a few hours later, he did it again.

Sleep? No chance if your team needs you. A younger teammate, who had taken a red-eye flight from Los Angeles to the starting line, said he spontaneously started crying before his last leg. He had no idea why. My guess had to do with his running 21 miles of hills after being awake for 53 hours straight. I guess it's good to be young. However, with his teammates waiting in the wings, he just had to pound out his last 8.5 miles in the rising temperatures of the early morning.

One of the things we prided ourselves on was our ability to suffer well. At some point everyone had a tough patch. Personal difficulties are hard to avoid when a race goes through the night and covers nearly 200 miles. This might not sound like that much fun. Yet, none of us would have denied ourselves the experience. Even for us older runners, there is something unique about playing as a team.

We ran as a team and competed quite well, finishing fifth overall out of nearly 300 teams, and second in the Open Men's Division.

Adolescent boys can be a tricky group to figure out. You just never know what will grab their attention and how long it will hold. I am lucky to get to be a high school cross-country coach. Spending time at the end of a school day and on weekends with the team is one of the highlights of my day.

This year cross country must have been the "cool thing" to do at our high school. We have over 80 boys of widely varying abilities running on the team. I'm not exactly sure why so many boys came out this year, but I think the team aspect had something to do with it. There is no ball to chase, but everyone gets to play every day and in every competition. No one sits on the bench waiting their turn.

Cross-country runners are a different breed. Most teams have their traditions and methods of bonding. Team clothing and slogans are big in the sport. Each team tries to come up with their own unique way of showing each other that they belong to a select group. Our team has always picked slogans no one else understands and chooses clothing designs that rarely have anything to do with running or the school. That's the way it appears to the untrained eye anyway. So when the team chose to purchase neon green running shirts with a large giraffe printed on the back, it seemed perfect. The guys loved them and it helped cement the bond that had formed through hours of work toward a common goal.

I got to see just how tight that bond had become when I took 10 runners to compete at the large and very competitive Roy Griak Invitational at the University of Minnesota. This meet features 200 college teams and 200 high school teams. There were over 500 runners in our race, the high school boys gold division. Compared to a mega-sized road race, 500 runners might not seem that large. However, most high school cross-country races feature fields of 75 to 150 runners. The starting line at Griak is nearly 100 yards wide.

My boys were justifiably concerned about losing each other in such a crowded field. They chose to wear bright yellow shorts in lieu of their regular navy gear. The shorts didn't match the tops, but they didn't care. They knew who they were and who to look for.

As at Ragnar, members of the team turned themselves inside out in order to run their best. They could look through the morass of bodies, spot those shorts and know that everyone on the team was doing all that they could. There were no balls to chase, but they were a team in every sense of the word. Our results on this day were surprising and exciting as we ended up on the top of the podium.

Had we not won, the resolve and connection would have remained unchanged. On this day, whatever transforms a loose group of individuals into a team with a shared purpose had happened. I have no idea what else we might accomplish during the remainder of the season. Hopefully we will see more success.

I do know that these boys have gotten to experience something that will stay with them forever. Running may be an individual pursuit, but belonging to a running team can be transcendent. I would hope everyone gets the chance to run on a team. Find a relay to enter. Find a club to join. We may not be chasing balls, but we can surely connect with others in our running community.

Good running to you!