Okay, okay...not really. There were nine of us and the ferry absolutely did leave us on the island, but we weren't grim. No, we were excited. Gladly anticipating, in fact, the event set before us. Yes, we all voluntarily strapped thirty to forty pound rucks on our backs and got on a ferry to a local island knowing that once there, we were stuck until the 0620 ferry the next morning.
Our planned route was supposed to take us from our Team Leader's home to the ferry, across the sound and nine miles from the ferry dock to the town approximately two-thirds of the distance across the island and back. A total trip of twenty-two miles. The last ferry left at 2230, giving us approximately seven and a half hours to complete our mission.
We made it. We laughed. We groaned. We suffered in silence. Here are some things I learned:
- Rucks. We were somewhat worried about missing the ferry. Our first two miles to the ferry were brisk. Really, really brisk. For me, this was the first time I'd "booked it" with my fully loaded ruck. What's a full load? For me, four bricks wrapped in duct tape, 2 liters of water, a large bag of m&m's (to share), beef jerky, shot bloks, a pullover and a jacket, totaling about 30 pounds. We were all sweating by the time we reach the ferry. We trudged into the passenger section and dumped our rucks on chairs and benches. (They're heavy...you'd dump them in a heartbeat, too.)
The ferry hadn't left yet, and we were all hot. So what do we brilliantly do? Leave all our bags and go out on the deck to cool off. Until one of us remembered the ferry people would freak the hell out when they saw nine abandoned backpacks...containing duct tape wrapped rectangular objects. - Islanders are weird. Our first three miles off the ferry were uphill. All. Up. Hill. We're jogging along two by two with our Odd Man on the outside of the group, when all of the sudden he kinda stutter stops and turns his headlamp on. Why? Because he saw eyes...in the middle of the road. Turns out it was a man walking his dog at 2300 down the middle of a country road in the dark. What. The. Hell? Funny thing, the guy didn't really seem at all fazed by us.
A car full of jerks yelled at us. Most people zoomed by us like we weren't even there. One very nice car at about 0500 slowly and politely skirted around us. The people with the broken jeep that we helped push were pretty nice. Oddly enough, the police that passed us at least four times (not sure if it was the same officer) never looked twice or stopped to ask what we were doing. Not even when we were all hanging out at the park and ride...with our rucks and flashy light saber. - Carnies. I've never been so thankful for a carnie as I was for the woman who stopped and asked us for directions. Our uphill pace was pretty quick still at this point since we were just getting started...and my stamina was lagging. The woman stopping gave us a quick break and time to catch our breath. Well, me anyway.
- Gifts. The woman was so thankful for directions she gave our Odd Man a light-up, multicolored light saber. It flashed like a strobe light. We were worried one of us would have a seizure. It was a great source of entertainment however as it was apparently defective, turning on when we did not expect it to. It doubled as a short man's cane and a few other things. Its best use however was making sure traffic didn't miss the bunch of crazies trooping down the road.
- Breaks are a double-edged. At the three mile point, we stopped for a break. Carbs, water, pee in the woods, if needed. I believe the whole evening we took four lengthy breaks. When you're getting weary you think, "oh I can't wait until we stop. It will feel good to sit down." Indeed it does. Except for this, you're not done yet. Its night time. Dew is coating our rucks and us. We're covered in sweat. When we stop, steam rolls off of us. If you break for too long, it is really hard to get moving again. Your muscles have cooled down and started to tighten up. Shivering begins. Adrenaline wears off. Anything that was hurting, really starts to throb as you start moving again. Yeah, breaks seem great...until you have to start moving again.
- Layers. Wearing layers is crucial. I think, however, having layers to change into is even more important. Perhaps this is more a sign of my naivety to this whole long distance rucking thing. Maybe there are better clothes to wear. I wore an Under Armor heat gear compression shirt. Over that I had my regular workout T. By the time we hit our first break I was soaked through and shivering. I threw my pullover on while we rested. In hindsight, maybe I should've taken it back off before we continued. I'm not sure. It didn't take too many miles, however, before I soaked through that too! By the time we were all done and waiting for the ferry to come back, I had to pull out my jacket and wear it too to keep from freezing. I think next time I'll bring some dry clothes and change when we stop for a break.
- Sweat. Sweat, in and of itself, is pretty icky unless there is a good reason for sweating. When the sweat trickling down your back is because your body is a machine, because you're pushing yourself to your limits and working hard, it's beautiful. It's like the thrill car people get when they rev an engine after a tune-up. Call me crazy if you like, but I know there are people out there who feel the same.
- The Party Ruck. So we're all weighed down with our own rucks, gear, etc. but we also have this "Party Ruck". We passed it around as a team, beginning with two people carrying it between them as we jogged. When they were tired, they passed it back to the next two, who became the leaders, while the previous leaders fell to the back of the group. My thanks goes out to a) Team Leader for packing and bringing the party ruck and b) to the amazing pillars of the group who took the ruck on as the rest of us grew exhausted.
- Water, the sweet nectar of life. Huffing our way back to the ferry I took a long pull on my Camelbak and came up with nothing. No! I thought. It must just have a kink. Team Leader jogs up along side and asks how I'm doing. I say I'm still moving! :) He grins and suggests I get some water. When I tell him I think I'm out, he says, that's okay because we're stopping soon. Soon felt a long way off. When we stopped the Party Ruck produced three bottles of water and some electrolytes to refill my empty Camelbak. I love the Party Ruck.
- Footwear. I cannot stress enough the importance of proper footwear. I did not wear the appropriate shoes. I've worn the shoes before. In fact, I wore them on the Spartan Sprint without issue. However, let me tell you, a 5k is not 20 miles with a ruck. My feet paid the penalty for my decision and I'll be out of any major workout for at least a week while they heal. I'm also short five toenails now and have one heck of an ugly pedicure.
- Drunk people are scary. In the dead of night we passed a driveway that seemed innocent enough. It was dark and only one or two of us had headlamps on. (Just the small amount of light from a couple lamps kept the road visible for the rest of us.) Our light and activity was enough to draw the attention of some people hanging out in the dark yard. They decided to give chase. We kept moving and didn't stop or react. We could hear glass bottles breaking behind us. They followed for quite a distance. I know I picked up the pace and moved into the center of the group as we tightened up our formation.
Probably, the guys in the group would've tried to reason with the drunks, suggesting they go home, if they had continued to bother us. I was glad we didn't have to find out. I don't know the background of the whole group, but most are ex- and active military. They know how to defend themselves. - Mental toughness. There's a lot to be said about being mentally tough. The evening was tough physically for sure, but so much more of it was mental. If you let yourself get down, every aching step is that much harder. When we stopped for our second break, we were almost at our midpoint. I knew by then that I had blisters. I could feel the burning sensation in the soles of my feet. When Team Leader asked how everyone was doing I mentioned my feet. Instantly everyone was concerned. I was offered a change of socks and asked if I wanted to bandage them up. I declined. I knew they were there and that alone was bad enough. If I took my shoes off and actually saw how bad the blisters were, I knew it would make moving on that much harder. I wasn't going to slow them down, let them down, or let myself down.
As night turned to dawn, our group was quiet. Everyone was exhausted, hurting and working through whatever was going on in their heads. This was "suffering in silence." I always thought that expression meant you weren't to bitch to the Team Leader about what you were asked to do. I guess, that might be true as well, but in this case, the silence was because each person was finding the will inside themselves to keep going, to see it through to the end.
Until next time, I hope you get out there and find an adventure of your own!
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