Pretend conversation between me and the foul-mouthed runners camping next door notwithstanding, Ragnar Appalachia 2015 was off to a decent start. Sunny skies and low humidity greeted my teammate and me as we staked out our spot. Despite arriving a day before the race, we had to camp over a quarter-mile away from the starting line. No problem though, we are trail runners, whats a little extra gravel?
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| Approaching bands of purple radar blobs. I didn't even know purple was a radar color, but I don't watch TV weather much. |
Pre-race steaks on the grill, feet up, cold beverage at the ready, life was just peachy.
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| Grill marks. I does them. |
A few moments after dozing off, wet nylon slapped me across the face. Our tent convulsed in the wind like it was trying to vomit us out into the mud. I raised out of my bag and shone a light through the flapping door into the fury. Our team canopy was still there, quivering in place as all hell broke loose around it.
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| Pre-Armageddon picture |
I squirrelled down deeper into my bag and tried to ignore the drops of water hitting my bald head. I dozed a bit but woke again to screaming lightning. I shone my little light out again to where the canopy should be. Nothing there. The winds had ripped it from the ground and sent it to who knows where. Joe and I found what was left of it a short distance away.
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| Post-Armageddon, not much left |
We skinned what was left of the canopy and lashed the bones down in place. During the brief lulls in the storm, cries of defiance arose from the campground. "Is that all you've got!? Bring it on!" We swamped our way back into our tent and tried to sleep for a few hours as the worst of the storm passed overhead.
Night eventually faded into a hard grey dawn. Clouds still pressed in upon us, but the rain had stopped. Teammates started showing up. Soon enough, we were at full Goat strength and ready to send out our first runner:
