4 Things I Learned From Running a 32-Hour Relay on 2 Hours of Sleep

Last Friday, I was fortunate enough to be able to participate in my third Ragnar Relay race. This one started at 6am in a Boston suburb and took us past historic homes, through tree-lined neighborhoods, over Buzzard’s Bay, and all the way to the shorelines of Cape Cod. It was grueling, miserable, and totally amazing.

I firmly believe in the power of physical activity to increase productivity, inspire new ideas, and learn valuable lessons that can be applied to people’s personal and professional lives. Different activities; different lessons. Here are four things I learned this weekend:

1. Follow the forecast, but perform in the present. A week before the event, my weather app showed a 90% chance of rain for at least the first 20 hours of the race. There was nothing I dreaded more than the idea of waiting at transition points in a downpour, soaking wet socks and sneakers, the stink of six sets of wet athletic wear in one all-too-small Suburban. I packed 2 raincoats, 2 pairs of sneakers, one golf umbrella, and tried not to think about it. As the week went on, the percentages dropped, the downpours turned into trickles, and it looked like we might actually be spared. On the actual day of the race, I think it rained for 5 minutes. By the time our team reached the finish line, we were celebrating our accomplishments in the sunshine. While I’m glad I prepared for the precipitation, I’m equally glad that it didn’t happen—and that I didn’t focus too heavily on the worst case scenario.
2. Be the one who can’t stand it anymore. My “bed” for the evening was the floor of a local high school gymnasium. While it was generally more quiet than you’d imagine, one grating noise reverberated regularly: the heavy wooden door to the women’s locker room that swung shut with enough force to bounce multiple times against a metal frame at intervals that ranged from 3 to 90 seconds. I laid there hoping someone—anyone—would fix it while I could stay snuggled in my sleeping bag until I finally came to terms with the fact that this was my issue to resolve. I figured that the 4 minutes of effort I put into fixing it would be more worthwhile than the 40 minutes I’d already spent lying awake. I found a stack of industrial paper towels, shoved it in the door jamb to create a cushion and hoped for the best. Not only was I able to get a full 2 hours of sleep before my next run began, it felt good to be the one who spared my fellow runners from a less-than-ideal night.
3. Don’t take the “out”. Earlier in the day, I had figured out that my longest, most anxiety-producing run—a 9.5-mile leg—was going to start in the dead of the night. While 30 minutes of dark, lonely running felt manageable, the idea of an hour and a half of it was just plain daunting. I even negotiated with my teammate to switch legs so I could have the more cushy, early morning run. But something about it felt wrong, and I felt I had to follow through with the fate I had initially chosen. So at 2:04 a.m., I set out. The first 3 miles were tough, especially as the things I had feared most were coming true: there were not many runners around me, no street lights to speak of, cars zipping dangerously close. Self-doubt creeped in: “Would I have to walk?” “How much longer would that take me?” “What if I was just too tired to run?” I would have kept going that way were it not for a random runner who came up alongside me and said, “Wow. It feels like we’re out here totally on our own. Want some company?” I went from being afraid and alone to having the best run of the race, and the time and miles flew by. Not only had I faced my challenge head-on, the outcome was better than I ever imagined.
4. The Captain is still just a team member. When you’re doing something that you love, it never feels like as much work as it actually is. This is the third time I’ve been the team captain, and so I’m responsible for assembling the runners, assigning runner positions, establishing our team name, creating team swag, maintaining lines of communication between teammates, and making sure everything runs smoothly. I’m also doing something I love with people I respect and enjoy—and everyone chipped in, from providing food and transportation to safety gear and pep talks (including the one which helped push me to stick with my originally assigned run.) And in the midst of it all, I forgot I was the captain because I was also a part of a team of contributors; and I needed their support just as much as they needed mine.