Community Values

A strength of BASIS Independent Bellevue is the enduring friendships formed between the staff. The success of our students and staff can be directly tied back to the time our teachers take to foster relationships with one another both during and after school. This past summer, four of our teachers took on the challenge of competing in Ragnar Rainer, a trail running relay race of epic proportions. An event that many of our colleagues were happy to support from afar but perplexed as to why a select few would subject themselves to such torture and pain.

So, whose idea was this anyway?

Well, it was Mr. Norcross’s of course. Mr. Norcross is the Algebra II and Pre-Calculus Subject Expert Teacher for our students and is known for his love of outdoor activities. In the fall of 2024, Mr. Norcross and a fellow teacher were talking about running races like the Barkley marathons and other running events they’ve done. They began to discuss Ragnar, and long-distance team running events. Suddenly, the teachers came up with the idea of forming their own team for the race this year in August. The race requires teams of eight to run 15 miles per runner. Each runner would be responsible for three loops, – three miles, five miles, and seven miles respectively. 120 (ish) miles in total…how hard could it be? Unfortunately, the race overlapped on one day with when teachers returned back to school to begin preparations for the next school year. However, it turns out if you have Head of School that values teamwork, community and staff morale, she’ll give you the day off to go and tackle the daunting event!

Unfortunately, one of the teammates wasn’t able to be there. The team of eight dwindled to a team of seven. So, the teachers were a person down and they had a choice to make. Skip those laps and they won’t get an overall time (and technically wouldn’t have ‘finished’ the race), or some of them would have to double up and complete the missing laps. Mr. Norcross, Mr. De Monnin, and a third team member stepped up to the challenge and each take on an extra loop. After a summer of training and preparing as best as they could, the day finally comes to see what they’re made of. The time had come to push their bodies, push their minds, and push their friendships to the limit.  The following is a true story…

Ms. Perez-Vargas

It is Friday, August 22 at 10:35 AM.

I was lucky runner number 2, tackling arguably the most daunting run. Unaffectionately known as the yellow loop, five miles, with 2500 feet of elevation gain. I was the first person on the team to tackle this loop, so I began the run with no idea of what was to come. I just knew I had to make it to the top of the mountain as fast as possible.

I begin my run optimistic about holding a steady pace, but I was quickly humbled by the immediate 1000-foot elevation gain within the first mile. I quickly realized that my first loop was not the time to push myself to exhaustion and that running was not the effective method to tackle this loop. I adjust my approach and begin to maintain a steady hiking pace. All of a sudden, breathing becomes easier, and I am passing runners who have pushed themselves to full exhaustion.

I pass the aid station feeling good, and ready to finish the last one and a half miles. I thought I had been staring at the finish for a while now, but as I make my way up what feels like the 100th hill, I realize I still have a long way to go. I start to worry that I am hallucinating because I see many dots all the way up the trail in front of me. I glance at my watch; I have one mile left and another 1,000 ft still left to climb. Is that right?! Suddenly, I realize the dots aren’t dots, they are other racers. I take a sip of water and a deep breath and decide; this is where I need to push, just one more mile.

My early decision to slow down to a hiking pace was for this moment; now was not the time to change the game plan. Finish and finish strong. So that’s what I did. This first loop taught me a lot about the rest of the race. Slow, steady, and consistent was the key to success. One step at a time, and do not worry about things you cannot control.

Mr. Norcross

It is Friday, August 22 at 12:15 PM.

The sun is splitting a cloudless sky. Energy sapping heat soaks the still air at 6400ft. The steady cadence feels good, the views from the ridge are stunning. I don’t know it yet but I’m too optimistic. I’m trying to talk to the runner in front of me. No response. Headphones are in. I’ll squeeze past in the open. I have to shorten my stride and bump the cadence as I hop over rocks and roots at the trail side.

Soon the trail edges off the ridge to the northeast, starts to lose elevation, it’s steeper than I was expecting. There are tight turns and sharp drops. The surface is loose. Dust and rocks. My left quad starts to complain. I’m only two miles into seven.

The optimism starts to fade.

By 12:35 PM the gradient has eased off, the trail is wider and flatter. The surface is more secure, it winds its way through the trees down to Crystal Mountain Boulevard, the access road for the ski area. I’m dealing with a couple hot spots on my feet, my legs feel tight. I’m under fueled, dehydrated, over tired.

A couple of switch backs crawl past and I’m deposited onto a gravel road. There is an aid station, I choose not to stop. The road starts to climb. Is it going to be like this all the way to the finish? My heart rate is 190. I feel a tingle run down my spine, I’ve stopped sweating. Like there’s nothing left for my body to give. I still have 15 miles of trail and 6000ft of climbing in the next 18 hours. That prospect feels like a crushing weight on my shoulders. A sense of dread grows like a shadow in my mind. I need to leave something in the tank. I slow to a purposeful walk.

I hate walking.

The next two miles are a fever dream. My mind is everywhere and nowhere. My mouth is a cotton ball. I don’t have the sense to drink, fogged by a desire to keep pushing. I half jog and half claw my way along fresh cut single track, stumble past way markers in the over flow parking lot, drag myself past other runners. The final stretch to the finish lumbers into sight, a steady half mile climb to the transition zone.

I muster a shuffling jog up the road past the camp and into the corral. Runner number four is waiting.

We hit a solid high five and I pass him the timing chip. Then I bump into him as I walk off to the side, my head goes down, my vision is blurry, I find a row of folding chairs and I slump into one. So much for optimism. Its 1:15 PM.

Ms. Abele

It is Friday, August 22 at 4:56 PM.

“How do I not die on this mountain?” 

That’s the question I asked myself since I committed to this project in June of 2024. I got roped into this via good old fashioned peer pressure (yes, this is the kind of peer pressure you really need to be worrying about). How could I say no? I didn’t want to look uncommitted. So I said yes and then came a summer of running, something completely uncharted for me. I have to note this because, having never run distance before, this was quite the undertaking.  

Fast forward to August, the time is here and Mr. Norcross and Mr. De Monnin were packing up the 4Runner for a road trip of the millennium, powered by Timberland and Lainey Wilson. Excitement and adrenaline were high and we were singing loud as we pulled up to Crystal Mountain spreading the love to everyone around us, including some pretty menacing competitors.

We were ready. With a start time of 10:00 AM on Friday, the campsite was nothing but laughs and fun Thursday night (honorable mention to the murder mysteries detective Logicio couldn’t solve). 

Ms. Perez-Vargas started us off on the five mile (yellow) loop at 10:00 AM sharp Friday morning. I was runner 8/8, so I ran last. My first leg was not until about 8 hours later. The five mile yellow loop. The pace killer. I had zero shame in power hiking that whole thing, power hiking being generous – about 2500’ in elevation gain up to almost 7,000 ft, you get the picture. Just try not dying on this mountain. A summer of training paid off for me, I was alive at the top for a gorgeous sunset over Mt. Rainier. It is Friday, August 22 at 6:26 PM.

Mr. De Monnin

It is Friday, August 22 at 11:21 PM.

The “easy” loop. The green loop. Just 2.8 miles. After surviving the yellow earlier and one brutal red loop already, I figured this was my victory lap. A short jog through the woods, stretch the legs, no problem.

Wrong.

In history, Napoleon underestimated the Russian winter and froze. I made the opposite mistake; I overdressed like I was about to invade Siberia. Within minutes I was cooking inside my layers like a Thanksgiving turkey. The sweat poured, the nausea hit, and suddenly this “easy” loop felt more like crossing the Alps with Hannibal’s elephants.

The climb at the start was no joke. “Easy” loop? More like ambush. My legs, already shredded from the earlier runs, protested every step, and I quickly realized I had underestimated the enemy. My headlamp showed me exactly three feet of trail at a time, just enough to remind me that the mountain was still there and still very much winning.

Somewhere in the middle, as I stumbled upward, I thought about doomed armies in history; Napoleon in Russia, the Persians at Marathon, even the British at Yorktown. Overconfidence and poor planning had undone them all, and here I was, the history teacher, making the same mistakes on a 2.8-mile loop.

By the halfway point, I was bargaining with myself like a desperate general. Just get to the top of this hill… okay, now just to that tree… okay, now just don’t pass out in front of other runners.

Finally, the trail leveled out and I started to descend. The cool air hit my face like a second wind, and for the first time all loop I thought, maybe I’ll actually survive this. Soon I spotted the faint glow of campfires and the transition tent through the trees, like the beacons of Gondor calling me home.

I stumbled in, handed off, and collapsed, drenched and exhausted. The “easy” loop had nearly broken me.

Lesson learned: never underestimate the so-called easy path. In history and in running, it’s often the “small” battles that test you the most.

It is Friday, August 22 at 11:51 PM…

Ragnar reminded us that growth rarely comes easy. It takes preparation, perseverance, and the willingness to stumble and then get back up again. Those 27 hours weren’t just about finishing a race; they were about proving what’s possible when people commit to a shared purpose. And while the official race results put us at 45th out of 159, the real victories came in the stories and the laughter. Like Ms. Abele winning Best Teammate for keeping spirits high on the late-night gondola ride, Mr. DeMonnin earning Most Nails Trail Runner after losing his lunch on the 2.8-mile loop and somehow still finding his legs, Ms. Perez-Vargas taking home Best Overall Enthusiasm and Energy for running like every loop was her first, and Mr. Norcross claiming Best Recovery after nearly perishing from heat and dehydration, only to bounce back and hammer the 5-miler twice in the middle of the night.

In many ways, this race was a mirror of what we do every day as educators. Some days are uphill climbs that test your endurance, others are “easy loops” that end up being harder than expected, and every now and then you just need a teammate to remind you that you’re not alone on the trail. What carried us through Ragnar was the same thing that carries us through the school year: resilience, trust, and a community that shows up for one another.

As educators, we bring these lessons back into our classrooms; not just teaching content, but showing students how to face challenges, support each other, and celebrate the wins, big and small. Our community of teachers makes the hard days lighter and the victories sweeter, and that’s a lesson worth running for.