It’s my fourth.
Damn, I love this race. (And by race I indicate not just any relay, but the Green Mountain Relay. Just that one.) It’s a little torturous, like that emotionally unavailable lover who is your sexual ideal in bed? But that might be the appeal: the elusive hunt for the perfect team chemistry (everone’s fast, gorgeous and funny!), and the perfect race (no bonking, cement legs or nausea!).
It might be fair to say that, as a non-running captain of Slow White and the Eleven Dwarves, I’ve perhaps lost the hunt this year. I’m certainly not complaining, but it’s been hard to captain this team by myself. It’s been one of those labors of love. Love for myself–I want to participate in this relay again because of the ways I get to connect with other runners for 48 hours. Love for others–even though it would have been easy for me to bail when I knew there was no way I could run, I held up my end of the bargain for the rest of the team. And love for this race–it holds such sweet, sweet memories for me; and it needs teams to support it through participation. I guess I stuck with it to keep both my memories of and the future of the Green Mountain Relay alive.
Just saying, though: the ceaseless recruiting, endless emails and follow-up, the failed attempts to schedule a happy hour? They all reminded me of how crucial a good co-captain is to this experience.
But isn’t that true of most of life? Sure, I can take care of it myself. Sure, I can get it done flying solo. But the grind is a lot less wearing (and sometimes a lot of fun) when you’ve got a partner to share the drudgery. It leaves more time to share the laughs.
(Sometimes I worry that I take the metaphor too far in this blog. I take it so far that it stops being true. This metaphor could very well be headed in that direction. Pay attention; let me know what you think.)
This year, I captained well enough. Not as wonderfully and exhuberantly as I would have liked, but well enough that the rest can be filled in by my marvelous teammates. Teammates who, to a one, I am thrilled and honored to spend a weekend with. I kind of already love these people; I can’t wait to see how they handle being canned in a van. Canned in a van, with me.
So I might not have a co-captain, but I have a whole damn team. Lest we forget: Snow White would be dead in the woods, thwarted by an evil bitch, if it weren’t for her seven dwarves.
(Now that I think about it, that metaphor ended pretty well. Do you agree?)
Pigtails Flying 
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