Palmetto 200 proves that relays have very little to do with running

No matter how good an argument you lay out for somebody, they still think you're crazy.

To willingly run from Columbia to Charleston -- and not even at gunpoint -- in this era of cars, buses and bikes just doesn't compute to most people.

But throw in 11 people you work with, a stuffed animal horse named Herbert and a minivan filled with enough B.O. to rob a bank and you realize, hey, wait a minute, maybe they're right.

Nonetheless, on Friday and Saturday last week, 12 Post and Courier colleagues (me being one of them) competed in the inaugural Palmetto 200, a 200-mile relay race that took us on a circuitous route through the some of the more colorful back roads of South Carolina.

Which is really just a nice way of saying we all got in touch with our inner redneck.

Anyway, to say I had a good time would be an understatement. Or, more accurately, a lie.

Just kidding. The relay race was so much fun I might even consider thinking about doing it next year.

The reason being: It had very little to do with running and more to do with ...

People skills.

Think about it this way: You're trapped in a van with five other tired, sweaty people (we broke up into two groups of six) for almost two days. It's inevitable that each one of you is going to have a different idea of what should be playing on the radio, what you should have for dinner, why Bryce never seems to stop talking, and "Oh, my God. Who did that?" So it's kind of important that you all figure out a way to get along or else somebody's going to be running more than just their assigned legs.

Wildlife.

During my three individual legs I saw roughly two dozen different species of animals. Possums, snakes, squirrels, mystery rodents. Some were even still alive.

Being a kid again.

One of the runners in my group said this experience was much like going on a high school field trip. I think she nailed it perfectly. A bunch of random people who wouldn't normally be caught dead with one another doing something that's only fun by comparison to what they should be doing instead. Yep. Sounds about right.

Inside jokes.

I'd tell you how much Herbert the Horse meant to us or how, when we all do our best, anything's possible, but it would only make you think we're weirder than we already are. Word? Yes, I agree.

Relinquishing your dignity.

When your personal space becomes one-third of a bench seat in the very back of a Dodge Grand Caravan, it's just a matter of time before that triple cheese burrito you had after your second leg is going to tell your stomach, "You know what? It's been fun but I really should be hitting the road." When that time comes, the only thing you can do is look your van mates directly in the eye and say with a straight face, "Sorry guys, but my next run might have to come a little early."

Sacrifice.

Just because you like to warm up before every run to a little Backstreet Boys doesn't mean your teammates want to do the same. Which is exactly why I invited Donnie Wahlberg to be a guest on our van. I mean, who can say no to one of America's leading sex symbols?

Finishing.

Who cares who wins? That's what individual events are for. Relay runs are about making friends, sharing experiences and figuring out a way to bury the one guy who wouldn't ever shut up without the cops getting involved.

Bryce Donovan wishes he could have spent a little more quality time at the hatchery waterfowl management boat landing in Cross. Reach him at 937-5938 or bdonovan@postandcourier.com. For more, check out his blog "The Bryce is Write" or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/brycedonovan.