A Code and a Race

It was sometime in the early hours of Saturday morning and the sun hadn't even begun to hint at a new day.

"You go get it, hero!"

"Hero? Me? Why do yo say that?"

"We know what you can do.  There's no getting out of it now."

I couldn't help but smile a little at that.  Rob was about ten years older than I, in good shape, and had  pushed hard through his first leg of the race earlier during the heat of the day.  The truth was that I admired him for the sheer grit and determination it had taken to finish that leg.

The first annual Epic Rocky Mountain Relay, traversing the distance from Colorado Springs to Mt. Crested Butte, began Friday morning the 22nd of July.  I awoke at an hour whose existence I usually ignore to meet with the members of our relay team and carpool to the starting location.  In my mind it was something of a coincidence that I had joined the team and found myself headed towards this adventure.  I had offered to be a substitute for the team a month and a half before when I met a girl that mentioned that her family would be participating in it.  Two weeks before the race, the improbable became reality.

The relay consisted of approximately 200 miles of roads, trails, and paths through desert, along rivers, and up and over the Rocky Mountains.  There were twelve members, with each running three legs of the race, for a total of about seventeen miles per person.  We were divided up into two large vans to facilitate dropping runners off at the right time and providing water and encouragement during the race.

I was runner number six.  I waited my turn and cheered on numbers one through five.  Excitedly, adrenaline pumping, I neared the exchange point at high noon as I watched our teammate speed towards me.  I fastened the fluorescent Velcro band that served as the baton around my ankle and kicked it into high gear, racing down the main road into Cañon City - the wrong way!  Half a mile down the road, the team van came to a halt in front of me and I needed no further explanation.  They dumped me off on the right road but I had lost valuable time and I still had 6.3 miles to go.


I was nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit and farmland and the Arkansas River's close proximity only made it worse by adding humidity to the mix.  By the time the exchange point came into view, I was near my breaking point.  I've done a lot of running and I know when I've given it everything and I had.  Still, I poured it all out with 200 meters to go, racing into the finish and handing off the bright band to the next eager runner.

I stumbled around, realizing that heat exhaustion had set in, but elated beyond words because I had reached a transcendental point.  I had given it my all.

In that moment there was a connection, a communication - the most honest I can give.  The excitement from my teammates and bystanders verified that the message had arrived.

The story now comes full circle.  Rob and the others in the other van went to catch a few hours of sleep as the other half - including myself - began our final legs of the relay Saturday morning.  I had earned respect.  There is no greater prize for a man who deals in the currency of respect than to suddenly find that he has become rich.

Determined and now lifted up by the faith of my team, their sacrifices, and hopes, I raced down the Western Slope from 10,500 to 9,500 feet for 8.4 miles during my final leg.  I passed ten teams, coming from behind from a mile or more away.  I was on a mission of no mercy.  I struggled up the last slopes to make it to the exchange point.  I raced with gusto down the last 50 meters to the finish, passing one last runner.  There was no way I would disappoint any of the expectations that my team had built for me based on my past performances.

Now, some reading this might say, "Joel, you are full of yourself.  You've got a mean case of hubris".  I don't tell this story to "toot my own horn", as Gramps says.  Rather, this is an analogy.

Its a simply lesson.  You've most likely already guessed what it is since I haven't tried to hide it.  You cannot expect trust from others until you give - not just an "honest" effort - but a full effort.  You can't expect to be a hero unless you give it your all.  You can't communicate greatness unless you do something great.

When you do, the excitement is infectious.  The realization that great things are possible expands minds and hearts, and there is nothing people so motivated cannot do.

At the top of Crested Butte Ski Resort, Team Kan'dōō sprinted across the plaza and across the finish line.