Waiting for the baton

Picture a relay. There is a track. Sprinters with impossible nails are charging forwards even as they reach behind for the baton. Relays are about power and speed.

Okay, so I knew there wouldn’t be a track at an orienteering relay. This was the British Relay Champs at Bigland in the Lake District, and I was ready for each leg to take a bit longer - maybe 10 minutes or so. You would still have to find the pesky orange and white flags, but they would be on prominent display. Relays are power and speed, after all.

I have been staring continuously up a hill for 40 minutes, waiting for both my teammate and my daughter to charge down it from their first legs. It seems this relay is more about waiting for your turn to get lost in the woods.

My back is sore from craning my neck (must work on core strength) and the sun has surely burned my Highland winter skin (must wear sunscreen). I am so over the idea of opening the map that is taped closed in my hand and setting off on my own leg. But I’ve never seen a relay runner walk off the track while they wait for the baton.

At least I only have to complete the orange leg. 

When my turn comes, several other people are setting off at the same time. I don’t stop at the start kite to plan my first leg and, simple though it is, I take a less than perfect route as a result. 

Running alongside the remains of a stone wall (yes, there is a small amount of actual running today) I hear a child crying in a way that suggests they want someone to notice they are in trouble. Crying loudly. I am not the closest, but no one else is responding.

“Are you ok?” I call. Silly question.

“I can’t find my control.” Obviously.

“What number is it?”

She consults the map. 

“181.”

I have just been to 181, as have the two people behind me. Suddenly everyone is eager to help. The tears stop instantly. 

Annoyingly, I make mistakes on the simple orange course. Knowing I should be able to complete it in a short time adds pressure that leads to more errors. I am starting to understand the advice to get strong at one technical level before moving up. That doesn’t mean I am ready to see my name on results lists otherwise filled with young children, but I will stay on light green for a while longer. 

After an embarrassing 38 minutes, I am charging (running disjointedly) down the hill to my patient teammate. I tap his map-holding hand with mine. Baton passed, and off he goes. As I squint into the sun, I see nothing but power and speed.