09-15-99 Eastern Echo

Courage on a grand scale

It is 11:58 p.m. and we stand on a small mountain in West Virginia, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, the sky above our heads sings with a symphony of stars. It is otherwise quiet, except for the occasional soft murmurs of last minute instructions or encouragement, and then almost as one, all eyes turn to the man who stands before us, a portable bullhorn in his hand. The seconds stretch out, and many people make last minute checks of their gear as the appointed time slides quicksilver to The Moment. Looking at the dial of his Indiglo watch, the man waves an arm and announces, "Clear the road, all ready. Racers, go!" Ninety two bicycles and riders move smoothly past me, helmet and bike headlights shining like reflections of the stars above, though these nearer sparks move with increasing speed as they cruise down the sharp decline of the park road, away into the quiet night. Standing with a handful of other friends, wives, and race volunteers, I feel oddly exhilarated and vaguely apprehensive. It wasn't me riding off into the wilds of the West Virginia countryside in the dead of the night; I'm not that crazy. And yet some part of me was riding shotgun with my friend Michelle and her three teammates, riding vicariously into a sport that is sweeping the country; adventure racing. Adventure racing is an extreme sport that combines the most demanding outdoor experiences in a format designed to test the skill, endurance, and courage of the participants. This race, the Endorphin Fix, is a two-day unassisted race that is comprised of several disciplines: Navigation, mountain biking (80 miles total), canoeing (class 2 and 3 rapids, 20 miles), trekking (20 miles), bushwhacking (5 miles), and a 200 foot rappel (rope climbing). Racers carry all their gear, food and water during the race (bikes are staged at the appropriate locations). Their packs weigh an average of 35-40 pounds. It is a non-stop competition; racers are timed from the start to the finish. This is not a sport for sissies. You might think people like this would be egotistical muscle-heads, so into their workouts and race schedules they would hardly have the inclination to notice us "milksops" who inhabit the world alongside their magnificence. They're not. Perhaps of a different class of people from you and I, yet they are simple and pure in their quest for more speed, better performance, and above all the fellowship of other persons, racers and non-racers alike. Some world class athletes begin to see themselves as equals of the Gods, but I have found adventure racers-who must excel at a multitude of extreme sports, to be surprisingly down to earth. Because unlike sports which are played in a controlled setting, with controlled elements of competition, adventure racing is a sport that is as unpredictable as the weather. (Sometimes because of the weather.) They've all seen friends and teammates fall to the course. They know that on any given day it may be their turn to "bonk," or lose their racing edge unexpectedly. Failing can come as often as finishing. It sharpens the racers to a keen edge of intensity, and at the same time it humbles them. Throughout the two-day event I had the opportunity to witness some remarkable displays of strength, endurance and fortitude. As a race volunteer I manned various checkpoints throughout the course, and saw firsthand the amazing journey these people made through their pain, exhaustion, and sometimes frustration. The transition from canoe to trekking was my first assignment. I checked racers into our area and directed them to the location where they would drop their canoes before continuing on to the next leg of the race. Most racers were in good spirits, albeit tired and soaked to the skin from spilling in the last set of rapids before my station. All were eager for news of friends or acquaintances that might have passed my station, or competitors who they needed to catch. Despite their fatigue, all were friendly and courteous. It was at this checkpoint I witnessed a moment of pure personal determination. A racer who was competing solo glided up to the launch area and exited his canoe with only the barest hint of a wobble in his knees. He pulled the canoe up the incline and turned and looked at me for direction. I could tell he had a difficult time with the river. "Take your canoe up that flight of stairs and to the left where you'll find my partner Debbie. She'll sign your passport and note your departure time when you're ready to go." He looked at me. He looked at the long stairway looming menacingly in the distance. He looked at me again. His eyes said, "You've got to be kidding." An ordinary person might have cursed like a sailor when he saw what lay ahead of him, when exhaustion assaults your brain and bones with equal vigor. He looked as if the river had chewed him up and spit him out, several times. Still, he seemed to hurry to the canoe, as if a moment's hesitation might find him seated on the ground unable to continue. He grabbed the canoe's center bar, heaved with all his might, and after a brief struggle settled the boat on his shaking shoulders. Slowly, but surely, he made his way up the flight of stairs. He did not swear. He saw what had to be done, and so he did it. Off he went, unaware that he had just done something that reeked of bravery. Perseverance. Courage. Bravery. All words I would use to describe him and so many others who pitted themselves against a course, against time, against the limits of their physical and mental stamina. Every one of those racers I watched glide off into the night looked at the obstacles in front of them and smiled. They knew that whatever hurdles that may lay ahead they would face them without hesitation. They would rejoice when they succeeded and plan better the next time if they failed. Most of them raced for the pure pleasure of testing themselves against themselves, and final finish time be damned. It struck me, as I watched racers stagger across the finish line two days later, that there was a lesson to be learned from these crazy people whose motto must be "Never say die" or "Let's do it again, for fun." Only by challenging ourselves will we find success, and in our failures we will also find success, because we have learned.  Perhaps the real adventure is learning to live by that conviction.