Red Eye Relay 2014 - Race Report

(There is a prologue to this blog here. Is a blog prologue, a problog?)

After I run Red Eye, people always say two things:

1. That sounds awful!
2. What's it like?

My replies are always the same:

1. No, it's actually a lot of fun, but it isn't for everyone.
2. I wish I could explain it well, but I can't.

The Red Eye Relay has an almost magical quality that cannot be explained; it can only be experienced. The best way that I can try to describe it is to say the whole thing is like a dream. The odd combinations of unusual locations and foreign situations is difficult for my brain to handle. So difficult, that after the event, I find myself wondering if the Red Eye Relay really even happened. My brain recalls the incongruous details, and files them under "must've been a dream."

Who, What, When, & Where

The Zoooomin' Cabbits

The Red Eye Relay is an event where teams of seven runners relay through the night to run 110 miles through the hilly country roads of Monroe County. The course, two 55-mile loops, is broken into 21 legs of varying distance and elevation, and each team member runs three legs totaling about 16 miles. My team, The Zoooomin' Cabbits, included Wendy, Tim, Becky, Doug, Elise, and Quigley, all experienced runners and great people.

On Saturday, we all met at Upland West to pack our two vehicles with food, dry clothes, and night running gear. We reviewed the legs our fearless leader Wendy had assigned to us, and we posed for a picture. I was our team's kick-off runner, so at 5:00 P.M., I donned the slap bracelet (Red Eye's form of the relay baton), and toed the line.

First exchange

Leg 1
Am I an experienced runner? Of course. However, that doesn't stop me from making the same mistake over and over. I started my first leg—an easy 5.2-mile, mostly downhill jaunt along the bypass—with a 7:42 mile. Luckily, it didn't adversely affect the rest of my run. With the exception of a long climb in the middle of the leg, the miles clicked off quickly. Entering a wooded area near completion brought some nice coolness, and I was thrilled to post my fastest ever 5-mile split (41:40). Shortly after that, I slapped the RER bracelet on Doug's wrist for Leg 2.

Here's my Leg 1 data.

"Down Time"
There really is no down time in the Red Eye Relay, especially if you are a driver. The next five hours went quickly as I shuttled runners to the next exchange point while our other vehicle followed the current runner. Once I noted exchanges for our team data, I helped the just finished runner recover with food, drink, and "senseless Wet Ones." (I kept mixing up "scentless" and "senseless.") There is still a lot to do, even if you aren't running.

Becky on Leg 6

These crewing moments are just as fun as the running portions of the relay. As we would drive by runners on our way to the next exchange, we lowered our windows and cheered for them... loudest for the Cabbits, though, of course. We chatted with teams at checkpoints. We listened to the stories our runners told as they finished a leg. We rocked out to the Pop Love 2013 remix. We even saw some fireworks on Lake Lemon.

Around 10:30 P.M., it was time for my next, and most challenging, leg. I suited up in my night gear and took off after getting the bracelet from Elise.

Leg 9
Because Tim wanted more mileage than Wendy assigned him, he joined me for this 6.5-mi. leg, and I was thankful for his company. On our third mile, a course directional sign was turned incorrectly, and we made a wrong turn. We lost four minutes as a result of that mistake (that amount of time is important later), but we were allowed to get in our crew vehicle and return to the course. Surprisingly, I was not enraged by the tampered-with sign. I was actually happy to have gotten some extra mileage.

Boltinghouse, a monstrous hill with an 18% grade, loomed ahead, and I hiked most of it. The decision to hike was a good one, because my heart rate stayed at a steady running rate throughout the hike portion. Following Boltinghouse, there were many rolling hills that were steep, but short. On each one, I could feel my strong core (made by Sam), engage to carry me up and over the hill. The last half mile of the leg dropped steeply into Lake Griffy, and we bombed the hill to pass the bracelet to Doug.

My strongest memories of this leg include seeing, "Shut up, legs!" spray painted on the pavement on Boltinghouse, watching my running shadow in the bright headlights of the crew vehicle behind me, and making shadow shapes and puppets with Tim while we ran. Tim's company made this leg pass quickly, both mentally and physically. I wouldn't have run as fast as I did without him.

Here is the Leg 9 data.

Choo-Choo
The funniest moment of the night happened close to 1:00 A.M. We had been waiting for Doug at the end of the first loop, and he was taking a lot longer than we thought he would. (He was racing well, but we thought his leg was 5.2 mi. It was actually 6.4 mi.) Due to some information from another team's runner, we had reason to believe that Doug had been caught by a train.

When Doug finally got to the checkpoint just ahead of a group of several runners, we had a funny exchange:

Jo: It's OK! We know what happened!
Doug: What do you mean?
Jo: We know about the train!
Doug: What train?
Jo: There was no train?
Doug: No!
Jo: Then what happened?
Doug: What do you mean what happened?! I ran hard! (pointing) I PASSED ALL THOSE PEOPLE!

Indeed he had! Of course, we quickly learned he ran 1.2 mi. farther than we thought he did.

Late night RER selfie

Bizarre RER
After 1:00 A.M. is when things start to get interesting. Your body is fatigued. Your appetite is strange. The locations you saw in the daytime look eerily different in the night. Your brain starts to take sensory information and distort it into information that isn't quite real. Luckily, Wendy and Quigley helped me do the driving on the second loop so I could rest my brain for a bit, though not sleep. With all of the exhaustion and almost supernatural strangeness, one can't forget that a run awaits. I took off again at about 3:30 A.M. after getting the bracelet from Quigley.

Leg 15
Leg 15—advertised as 3.8 mi, but really more like 4 mi.—is a fun one to run because it's a downhill bomb. However, that doesn't mean easy. There are plenty of uphills, too, and the road is potholed and mostly graveled. Plus, the downhills can be almost as difficult as uphills if you don't manage them well. I focused on staying in a steady rhythm with my cadence. Within a mile, I was passed by a member of Team 105, a team with whom we'd been jockeying for position all night. I made it my goal to catch him by the time I finished my leg.

Little by little, I reeled him in. When we were side by side, he surged to match my pace. Reasoning that the experience would be a lot more pleasant if I weren't running alone, I said, "Want to work together?" He replied breathlessly, "YES!" We ran the last two miles together, chatting about the RER experience and our families. Where else can you run the backroads of Monroe County at 3:30 A.M. with a total stranger you'll never see again and finish with a big high five? Red Eye Relay. It's the stuff of dreams.

Here's the Leg 15 data. I ran the third mile sub-8 while having conversation. That statistic and my whole performance at RER make me very encouraged about my current fitness.

Finish
I was thrilled to have only support and encouragement as my focus for the remainder of the race. It felt great to put on some dry clothes, too. Luckily, I brought flip-flops, because those downhills created a terrible toe problem. (Only click the link if you're OK with yuck-pics.) I spent the rest of the night shuttling my friends to their exchanges and cheering like a fool for all the runners. We all watched the sunrise together. We celebrated and lamented about the impending finish. Then we watched as Elise crossed the finish line for The Zoooomin' Cabbits in 15:39.

We learned later that we earned second place, something difficult to know during the running of RER, because teams can choose start times. We were second by three minutes and nine seconds. Remember the four minutes I lost when I made a wrong turn on Leg 9? Yeah. Bummer.

However—and this might be the magic of the Red Eye Relay—I didn't care. We could've finished last, and I wouldn't have cared. Running is often a solitary sport, even when you run with friends. Your goals and training are individual. Running for a team fulfills me in a way that individual running doesn't. Everything is more: the motivation, the encouragement, the fun.

Writing this blog was necessary because it convinces my brain that the fantastic experience I had was real. It was a privilege to be a Zoooomin' Cabbit for one crazy night in the middle of a southern Indiana summer.

Red-ribboned Cabbits (minus Doug and Quigley)

A Pre-Red Eye Conversation With My Body

(Note: I will write a Red Eye race report soon. However, this exchange can serve as a little prologue.)

Saturday, July 19, 2014.  9:00 A.M.  Bedford, Indiana.

Jo's Body: Jo! Jo! Wake up!

Jo: What? Why?

Body: It's Saturday.

Jo: I'm sleeping in.

Body: We run long on Saturdays! You've overslept!

Jo: Oh. Yeah. No. I forgot to tell you about that.

Body: We aren't running?

Jo: No, we are. We're doing things a little differently this weekend, though.

Body: Oh. OK. What's up?

Jo: Instead of one long run, we're going to start a little later and break it up into three smaller runs over a 12-hour period.

Body: That's easy. 

Jo: (pause) Yeah... 

Body: (pause) What aren't you telling me?

Jo: Well, the 12 hours are going to be overnight.

Body: Overnight? When do we sleep?

Jo: We don't.

Body: Surely you can sleep in between runs.

Jo: No. We have to drive our teammates to their exchange points on dark, winding, potholed, backwoods roads, and encourage and support them.

Body: Teammates? We're relaying?

Jo: Yes.

Body: Sleep deprived relaying?

Jo: Yes. It's called the Red Eye Relay.

Body: Cute. Can we take a nap today?

Jo: We can try, but we will be unsuccessful.

Body: OK. So if you're sleep depriving me, surely you're going to give me some excellent fuel.

Jo: About that...

Body: Oh, no.

Jo: We're going to subsist on Saltines, animal crackers, jelly beans, and one small piece of pepperoni pizza.

Body: Jo. We have Crohn's disease.

Jo: I am aware. It's just for one night. 

Body: Can't I have a banana or some apples?

Jo: No. I'll give you fruit-flavored Gatorade and plenty of water, though, since you insist on sweating so much.

Body: Gee, thanks. I'm helping to cool you, you dork. I'm going to remind you in the early morning hours that the pizza was a bad idea.

Jo: Fair enough. Also, we're going to have to be the team statistician.

Body: Being a mathematician is your department, not mine. How far are we going?

Jo: I'm going to tell you 15.5 mi., but it's going to be more than 16 because I'm going to make a wrong turn, and one course is measured incorrectly.

Body: That's doable, even though you are denying me sleep and basic nutrition. (pause) There's something else you aren't telling me.

Jo: Well, we're going to go a little faster than usual.

Body: How much faster?

Jo: About 1.5-min. per mile faster.

Body: That's half marathon pace!

Jo: Look who's the mathematician, now.

Body: Hey-o! Elevation?

Jo: It's going to be hilly.

Body: Define hilly.

Jo: Over 3,000 feet of elevation change.

Body: What?! Nothing too steep, I hope?

Jo: Well...

Body: Oh, no.

Jo: There's one hill that's pretty steep.

Body: Like, higher than a 6% grade?

Jo: Yes.

Body: How much higher?

Jo: 12%.

Body: 12% grade?!

Jo: No, 12% higher. 18% grade. 

Body: WHAT?! JO!

Jo: It's only a quarter-mile long, though.

Body: "Only." I won't let you run it. I'll make you hike it.

Jo: Fine. 

Body: You are such a champ at hills. They never kill races for you. This is a really good idea, especially deprived of basic needs.

Jo: Stop being sassy.

Body: "Hi, pot. I'm the kettle..."

Jo: Really original.

Body: May I ask what the reward is for completing this endeavor?

Jo: It's going make us stronger and prepare us to handle unusual stressors, like November's Monumental Marathon.

Body: Good heavens. That again?

Jo: Yes. Why do you think we've been running 30-mi. weeks in July? Plus, you did so well at Monumental last year...

Body: Sarcasm becomes you. I got you to the finish, didn't I?

Jo: Walking. After passing out on Mile 23.

Body: Our pelvis was fractured.

Jo: I didn't know it.

Body: I tried to tell you.

Jo: You're a horrible communicator.

Body: No, you don't listen. Kind of like you're doing right now with that toe that I'm clearly telling you is BROKEN.

Jo: Whatever. Anyway, another reward is that we're going to have lots of fun memories with good friends. One about a train. One about fireworks on Lake Lemon. Another where Wendy takes a funny video of us, and yet another where we'll sing with Wendy at 5:30 in the morning.

Body: Wendy. I knew Wendy was involved in this.

Jo: So are Tim, Becky, Doug, Elise, and Quigley.

Body: Who are Elise and Quigley?

Jo: New friends. See? Already beneficial.

Body: Yeah, I can't refute that. Teamwork is fun. I like to work hard when we're on a team.

Jo: I know. You're good at responding to my requests when we work with others. The bottom line is this, Body: can we do it?

Body: (pause) I don't want to.

Jo: I didn't ask if you wanted to.

Body: I'm going to shred your feet.

Jo: I said, can we do it?

Body: YES, we can do it. You're giving me no sleep, bad food, you're going to forget to take your night medicines until it's almost too late...

Jo: You know me well.

Body: ...you want half marathon race pace over three segments totaling 16 mi. of hilly terrain... but I can do it.

Jo: You're really amazing, Body.

Body: Everybody's Body is.

Jo: I know, but you're special to me.

Body: Gee, thanks. Let's get a race plan going. I don't want to start out too hard and get our heart rate too high right off the bat.

Jo: About that...

Body: Oh, good heavens...

Starting too hard at the
2014 Red Eye Relay

Karma of the Cord

The last time I posted a blog, I was on the cusp of my first speech in a week. After a couple days of a strangely-pitched, weak voice, I started sounding more like my old self—my pre-hemorrhage/mass self, that is. Since that time, I have been working with vocal therapists at the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music in order to train my vocal cords back to their old singin' and teachin' ways. I'm making great progress, and even sang a little with Ed's guitar playing.

Now that I'm on the other side of the vocal cord hemorrhage mountain, I've been able to reflect on the situation with a new perspective. My thoughts can be summarized easily with one sentence.

I deserved it.

Singer Jo

July 2010

There was a time when most people who knew me in my hometown, knew me because I could sing. That has changed, of course, with the evolution of my teaching career, which has a side benefit of knowing most families in Bedford. However, it's still common knowledge that JoAnna (Hackney) Cobb sings.

Additionally, there are several places outside of Bedford where I'm known solely for my vocal performances. From 2007 to 2011, three to four weekends a month, I visited country music venues to perform as a guest artist with house bands at jamborees in southern Indiana and Kentucky. In 2010, I released a cover album that I sold at those venues. I had lots of great times with lots of great friends.

...until 2012, when I decided I was over it.

Ungrateful Jo
I didn't want to sing anymore. I was tired of it. Tired of the driving, tired of the hair and makeup, tired of rehearsing, tired of performing, and most of all, tired of singing being a job. (Understand that I was in no way tired of time spent with Mom or with dear friends at those venues. I missed and miss those people dearly.) I quit cold turkey. I stopped scheduling regional gigs and performed only with Ed on our porch or at local events, but never with my old fervor.

However, I didn't stop there. I began to publicly renounce my singing talent. At first, I was discreet about it; I just dropped it from my list of hobbies on every "about me" bio I could edit. Then, I started comparing running and singing, claiming I would forever "choose" running over singing. I even told people I was no longer a singer. "I run instead now." Privately, I wished that I had never been given a vocal talent.

Uncertain Jo
In the fall of 2013, I was offered an opportunity that was hard to refuse: play the vocally-demanding role of The Narrator in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at Little Theatre of Bedford. I decided to go for it, mostly because Joseph is a favorite show and many involved were close friends. Throughout rehearsals, I became acquainted with my voice again. In fact, we were almost friendly. Then, as the show was closing in March 2014, I got my wish.

I physically couldn't sing anymore.

Appreciative Jo
Of course, the rest of the story can be read in my previous blogs (starting here). From my current perspective, I view the whole situation as similar to George Bailey's plight in It's A Wonderful Life, on a much smaller scale, of course. However, the story line is the same: guy/gal makes a rash wish, lives out said wish, learns he/she was wildly wrong.

Even though it was an awful situation, I am thankful for it. I will never again take for granted my singing talent. Honestly, the loss of my ability to sing from March through June was worse than my one week of forced post-surgical silence. I love that I can sing on the porch with Ed, or perform the Anthem at a sporting event, or join a band as a guest. I won't perform with my old frequency, but certainly, I will not renounce a talent that, until recently, I didn't know I loved so much.

I am a runner. I am a singer. And I can be both.

------------------

June
Because I haven't yet reported on June, now is a great time to do so. I'm pleased with my progress, especially since I had surgery in the middle of the month (June 11). Here are the stats:

Miles Run: 125.46

Runs: 18

Hours Run: 20.40

Average Run Distance: 6.97 mi.

Average Run Pace: 9:53.15

Average Run Duration: 1:08:54.25

Average Temperature: 67.4°F

Longest Run: 15.04 mi., June 21

Shortest Run: 2.07, June 5 (1, 2, 3)

Favorite Run: June 14, 6.36 mi.

Total Lifetime Mileage: 3,447.91

(As of today, total lifetime mileage is 3,480.25, and total annual mileage is 527.51.)