Back to Walking in the Dark

Not to Yada, Yada through 11 legs of the race (including Christine's incredible feat of shaving almost two minutes off each mile, David's sub-eleven minute miles, Rici's walk in the dark with nothing to light her way but the moon, and Kathy's cheerful six miles), but let's get back to me.

I had the team run me ahead to my relay station so I could spend some time in the port-a-potty. A combination of nerves, heat, motion, an odd assortment of food, and the fact that it was 3:30 a.m. left me feeling more like finding a bed to crawl into than going on a trudge in the dark. Bonnie, our fearless driver, even offered to walk my leg if I didn't think I could do it.

"I'll try..." I said, promising myself I'd take it easy.

It was the strangest feeling, walking away from the relay station with its handful of generator-powered lights. A motorcycle patrol up ahead shone its headlight across the pavement and, beyond that, total darkness.

As I approached the motorcycle, I noticed a sign pointing off the the left.

Elk Reserve. I was supposed to pass the elk reserve, but I thought I was supposed to stay on the same road. With no walkers in sight in front of me, I made the decision to keep going straight. As soon as I crossed the Elk Reserve Road, the lines on the one I'd chosen disappeared. No white line edging the street. No center yellow line. More than once I wandered off the side of the blacktop into gravel.

I glanced behind me. The light from the relay station had disappeared. No walkers, no vans, no anybody. I hoped I'd gone the right way. If I hadn't, how long would it take my team to find me and turn me around?

I had chosen to walk with a headlamp. Its small circle of light illuminated a gray circle of pavement in front of me, but beyond the reach of its beam, total darkness. Frogs chirped in the surrounding woods. Twigs snapped and set my imagination to work. A van zoomed by, but not a race van. I looked back again. Where was my team?

Finally, a pair of runners approached and passed me from behind, the first of many involved in The Portland to Coast high school running challenge. I breathed a sigh of relief and quickened my pace.

Funny how time stretches out as your imagination is at work. I couldn't have been on the road more than 7 minutes before my van approached and my team shouted encouragement. Bonnie paced with me and lit the road ahead for a while. Then, with a mile and half to go, the van pulled out ahead to prepare the next walker for his leg.

That last twenty minutes of walking was my favorite part of the race. I knew I was on the right road; I was feeling pretty good; and I saw another walker up ahead -- someone in striking distance. I passed her with a mile to go and covered the rest of the distance in the dark again.

This time, though, I reveled in the darkness, enjoying its peace on solitude for its very uniqueness. Those twenty minutes made the whole trip worthwhile for me.