Cabot Trails Relay

The first rule of Cabot is: What happens at Cabot, stays at Cabot. I could easily picture a shirtless Ed Norton saying this in a crowded fight club basement. Instead it was an equally skinny shirtless distance runner. Despite the rules, people talk and throughout the years I had caught wind of enough watered down Cabot legends to know it would be a wild ride. Still, describing Cabot to one who has never been, well, how do you explain the color blue to a blind person?

Thursday 4:00pm- I drove North with a fellow Cabot rookie and spent the night at our team captain's house. He introduced us around to some fine Bangor drinking establishments: cougars and stiff drinks! Our night was capped off by a trip to the infamous 'asshole of Bangor.' We retired somewhat early in high spirits and full bellies.

Friday 5:30am- The drive to Nova Scotia started early. After a vehicle change and the first of many Chinese fire drills we were off. Shortly after an uneventful border crossing I dozed off only to wake hours later. Our car was traveling north of a 100mph in a downpour. The drive itself was at least eight hours, with some stops for poutine and pictures with animal statutes.

Saturday 7:00am- This year's Cabot Trails Relay (CTR) consisted of 70 teams running 17 racing legs for a total of approximately 180 miles. Each leg varied in distance and difficulty. Three days before leaving I discovered I had been re-assigned to the hardest leg, leg 9.

Despite our coaches strict instructions to the runners with late day legs to 'sleep in' we were quickly told by the veterans there was no sleep at CTR. Utilize the backseat cat nap! As the gun sounded for leg 1 we were already 5k down the road with our cars parked safely off the road at a Where's Waldo water stop. If you ever have the displeasure of hearing the Where's Waldo Theme song, I feel your pain.

The race progressed with each new leg beginning at the finish of the previous. Unlike other relays, each leg starts at a specific time allowing for 17 mini races. Our coach tallied the cumulative times from each successive leg to track our team's progress.

I borrowed all these pics from my teammates since I was too lazy to take my own.  Thanks!

Saturday afternoon- Our cars continued to move along the race course, aptly described by our captain as road race meets bachelor party. Well said, from the man dressed in a tiger shirt and green running tights, looking like he just stepped out of middle school drama class as Peter Pan's lost boy. Runners began to separate into two distinct categories: those that had finished their leg and those that had yet to run, or were running again. Slowly but steadily the party was beginning. Drivers were retiring to Alexander Keiths while others were dosing their coffee with sweet tasting spirits.

Saturday approximately 7:48pm- What is there to say about leg 9? Run up a mountain, run down a mountain, run 5K, kiss your summer races good bye your leg muscles are now meatloaf!
  “Win your leg and everyone knows who you are!” These words echoed in my head. I really wanted to win! And then I was told the second place team had their best runner doubling on leg 9. I got some hurried instructions: if he goes out too fast don't go with him up the hill but keep him in sight, if he holds back don't let him slow the pace to conserve energy for his second leg.

I had the first night leg but was quickly told- No one on our team finishes leg 9  after sun down!

Needless to say I wanted some glory at my first Cabot and I was nervous. When the official said 'Ready, GO!' I hovered in 5^th for a quarter mile. The pace was slow and we didn't have much flat left so I just took off. Very soon my speed slowed up the mountain but I kept telling myself: You are running real fucking slow but no one is near you so they're running slower, just keep pushing.

Thirty minutes later (calves dead tired)- There was snow on the top and a moose (which I didn't notice). I picked up speed and accelerated the mile or so across the summit and hit the downhill. Hello two mile long San Francisco hill. Even my EZ Pass won't let me drive by the tolls this fast! A couple minutes from the bottom I felt my quads begin to tighten. I finally hit the flats and got a good rhythm going, which lasted for about a mile and a half. I finally passed my teammates and yelled to find out how far I had left. After finishing I learned that I had destroyed the field, with the second place nearly 6 minutes back.

"If you win your leg everyone will know who you are!" -Adam

The legs progressed throughout the night and as the sun rose we had preserved our lead with some of our better runners still to race. For the final leg we gathered back in town, where we had first started. As the final runners ran through the crowds I retired to my room for my first of two naps. Sandwiched between what little sleep I managed to get was the banquet. I pounded a couple Alexnader Keiths, enjoyed some steak out of a cooler and then grabbed a full two hours of sleep knowing the Maine-iacs had won.

Sunday about 3pm- I woke to the excited sounds of my teammates. Drink some fucking vodka!!! The party was beginning, it was time for the leg 18. What can I say about leg 18? What happens at Cabot stays at Cabot!