'Running - My Life' by Dave Rhody

The Joy of Running

In various locations around the western side of San Francisco where I live and work I have become fond of a number of spots that are ideal for decompressing, peaceful places where I can sit alone to think my thoughts and shift my mindset. One such place is the dunes along Ocean Beach.

         Recently, sitting at the base of a small rise covered with foot high beach grass, thirty feet above the wide flat sand leading to the surf, I watched runners passing by. Barefoot runners, pairs of runners, solo runners, runners pulling or being pulled by their dogs, runners with fast fluid styles, runners with awkward form. Some ran backward for a while or did cross-legged scissors down the beach. Some seemed to run in poetic slow motion. Some glided across the wet sand in fluid forms of perpetual motion, without tempo. I saw ponytails bobbing and gleaming, sweaty scalps, baseball caps and, oh yeah, even a tye-dyed headband. Mild, steady waves rolled in, seagulls and crows cruised and played in the wind above me. The sun took its time sinking toward the western horizon. The western edge of the American continent was bathed in light filtered through a soft marine haze. And, the runners kept passing back and forth along that mercurial line between land and sea.

         Running has been my life. Thirty-five years of running has kept me grounded in its joy and freedom. Thirty years of producing running events has kept running at the core of my life and has done much to challenge its joy and freedom. I have enjoyed the business of running, welcomed never-ending challenges and, at times, it has knocked the wind out of me. While there are a few moments just after the start of every race when I am still captivated by the undulating flow of runners en masse, I also see that the purest joy of running is in individual runners personal joy and freedom.

         When I run in my dreams I wake up happy and full of energy. When I grapple with race management phantoms in my dreams, I wake up anxious and exhausted. I believe that we come together as runners, at races, to collectively celebrate our private running joy. It’s my job as a race director to make that work. My greatest reward is happy runners at the finish. My motivation comes, however, from reaching into my cache of personal joy stored over tens of thousands of miles run, filled with that unparalleled sense of strength and freedom that running creates.

         To the runners at Ocean Beach, on the trails in Golden Gate Park, in the Presidio, on Land’s End and Crissy Field, and to all the runners on all the lonely backloads, quiet streets and trails across America and around the world, know that no one can take away your joy. Hold onto it. Let that joy sustain you, as it has me, even when running in your dreams is all that’s left. And, yes, share your joy at the next race you attend.

Behind the Scenes

By Dave Rhody

         ‘Sub-rosa’ is term I forgot until it just popped up on thefreedictionary.com as a synonym for ‘behind the scenes.’ Sub-rosa describes something carried out secretly, a deed done under-the-table. The behind-the-scenes scenario I have in mind is more ‘on’ than ‘under’ the table, more like backstage. We, the producers, and you, the runners, are all  on-stage ready to perform on race day. You’ve practiced. You’ve trained. We have practiced too; we’ve done this before. We’ve rehearsed the ‘play’ you’re coming to; we’ve set the stage. We know the timing as well as the timeline. We know who is going to do what. The odd aspect in this scenario is that we – you, the runners, and us, the producers – don’t get to do a dress rehearsal together. Nothing about what we do is intended to be sub-rosa, yet running events have an entire infrastructure of behind-the-scenes players.

         If I prioritize my behind-the-scenes examples starting with the least known and hardest working, I have to tell you about a remarkable man named Tom Knight. Tom is a measurement official for USA Track & Field. He measures and certifies most (if not all) of the marathons, half marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks and 12Ks in Northern California. A couple years ago he retired after 31 years at the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center. The PhD that Tom has in Physics is not a job requirement for measuring courses, but watching Tom work, you know it helps. But, I’m guessing that few PhDs could do what Tom does. Beyond smart, they would also have to be physically tough, fearless, focused and just a little bit crazy (Tom’s words).

The reflection Tom sees in his Jones Counter

         The only officially recognized measurement tool for certifying race courses is a low-tech device called a Jones Counter. The disc that slips onto the axle of a measuring bike’s front wheel is about the circumference of a U.S. silver dollar. A quarter inch cylinder at its hub holds a small cube with a window that displays sequential numbers in a five-digit series. It is not an odometer and is decades shy of GPS technology. It involves multiple calibrations before and after measurement to safeguard against variables like bike tire pressure or barometric pressure which change the circumference of the wheel. Each and every day that he uses his bike to measure a course, Tom has to calibrate it by riding a straight line, either a exact half-mile or 1000 meters that had been precisely measured with a steel tape, certifying it to the inch. There are several of these marked out in San Francisco and around the Bay Area. Four rides, noting the exact clicks per mile on the Jones Counter. The four rides might be: 15,233, 15,235, 15,232 and 15,333 per mile. The four readings are averaged (and .1% is added). Then, he's ready to measure. That's where we get to the brave part.

         Tom’s end goal in measuring a course is to be so accurate that if a runner sets a record on that race course --- world record, national record, age group record or course record -- it can be verified as an official record. This assures us average runners that we have an accurate course as well. Too bad that few of us run an accurate course. You see Tom has to measure the shortest possible route of a given course -- this means cutting along the inside of every turn, running a straight tangent from one turn to the next. By 'cutting' I don't mean cheating, but, for example, if you run right at the edge of the right curb when the course takes a big right turn, you've saved half-a-dozen or more steps than if you stayed on the median in the center of the road. If you’re running in a crowd, you don’t have the opportunity to run the shortest possible route even if you tried. You do have the luxury of running the course free of vehicular traffic. Tom, however, does his measurements while the roads are open. Imagine him, on his 30-year old Raleigh bike, his faithful round, white helmet, with nothing more official than a safety vest, ‘USA Track & Field Measurement Official’ printed in small black letters on the back, biking the Glide Floss Bridge to Bridge course along The Embarcadero cutting the curves across four lanes of traffic all the while keeping track of traffic and traffic lights, the Jones counter on his front wheel and exact landmarks that he has to note for each mile and kilometer split. If the course he’s measuring will have full use of the road on race day, Tom is riding with traffic then against it as he rides long tangents between the curbs of the northbound and southbound lanes. He is occasionally frustrated, with bad weather, bad data or bad directions, but he remains tuned in to the task and unscathed day after day, course after course.

         Tom Knight might prefer the sub-rosa image of his behind-the-scenes work. He is a bit of a highly skilled secret agent gathering data that serves the populous, runners largely unaware of the who and how of race course. Real life secret agents (in other words, not James Bond) are probably also mired in mundane paperwork as Tom is. Once he has accumulated all this measurement data, which has to be a minimum of two rides, both coming out within a meter or two of each other start to finish, then a recalibration of the bike’s Jones Counter to make sure the tire pressure (circumference) didn’t change during the measurement, he has to compile the data, confirm all the landmarks, diagram the location of start and finish and finally submit his work to the measurement certification division of USA Track & Field. Without his precise, pains-taking work, course distances would not be consistent and reliable and they wouldn’t count for records or for routine qualifications, like getting into the Boston Marathon.

         In the world of running Tom has a host of behind-the-scenes counterparts. Not many of these roles are dangerous enough to qualify for ‘sub-rosa’ intrigue, but they do require equal focus and commitment. Racing Statistician, Ken Young, has the monumental task of trying to document the history of winners and records for 'significant road races around the world' -- the mission of the Association of Road Racing Statisticians. Check out:  http://www.arrs.net  As easy as Ken's data research might seem via the internet, the verification of times and names requires broad, deep web searching and patient pestering of race directors and finish line companies. Pre-internet race data is hidden even deeper. Who held onto the records for the 1959 Bay to Breakers? What are the world's most competitive races? Who produced the 1985 San Francisco Marathon? Who was the fastest woman ever at the 10K distance in a San Francisco race? Ken Young has become a race detective with unflagging interest in results.

         There are so many more. Helpful Park Rangers like James Sword and Noemi Margaret Robinson at G.G.N.R.A., sharp, caring police officers like Sgt. John Nestor of the SFPD and Sgt. Mike Falzone of the National Park Police, patient, knowing government staff, like Cindy Shamban at ISCOTT (Interdepartmental Staff Committee on Traffic and Transportation at the SFMTA) who is the guru of San Francisco event permits, my own seasoned, committed RhodyCo staff, the team of timers at BuzzWord, and all the other staff and volunteers who make running events great competitions, make mass events community friendly, make fundraisers fun and make running good for all of us. Thank you.

Mavericks Big Wave Energy

‘Racing Trains’, a blog I wrote in the latter part of 2011, seems fortuitous. As 2012 begins RhodyCo is part of the management team for the Mavericks Invitational. We have quickly discovered the amazingly small worldwide culture of big wave surfing. A couple hundred people, including athletes and contest managers. Perhaps a few hundred more, like the people at Surfline.com and other niche surfer media, energize this sport's core, attracting millions of fans.

The history of this event, from Jeff Clark’s teenage discovery of the sixty foot waves at Mavericks, to the amazing big wave surfing competition that it has become today will be told, in part, by ‘Of Men & Mavericks’, the major motion picture release due out October this year. Mavericks history will take years to be told. Meanwhile, the story continues.

Mavericks has set a new tone for us at RhodyCo, the tone and tune of big waves, a big international event and a big heart. Big wave surfers, like Jeff Clark, have the hearts of adventurers. Not like someone hiking a challenging trail but someone who blazing a trail into a new part of the world.

Their abandon, like someone racing a freight train, is a big part of what I find so compelling.

'Pre' Style Endurance Wins

Wakeful one night at 3 AM, I got up and clicked on HBO. Sometimes the concerns that keep me restless provide remedy as well. This was one of those times. I noted the night (Jan. 7, 2007) in my journal. HBO was showing ‘Without Limits’ the second (I think) movie about Prefontaine. This one starred Billy Cudup (who looked nearly identical to the real Pre) and Donald Sutherland as Bill Bowerman, a strong part in this version of the story.  Anyway . . . .  Bowerman’s eulogy at the end, describes Pre’s running. He says that Pre cared more about performing on any given day, at any given meet to his utmost limit, more than he cared about winning. He wanted to win, but he knew that a mediocre performance can sometimes win, and a stellar performance lose. He preferred the later over the former. I like that.

It had, of course, been RhodyCo keeping me awake. As I sat slumped comfortably in my chair, feet up, the quiet of the night helped Pre’s point-of-view sink in, alone and unfiltered. I got into this business entirely because I loved to run. Pre’s passion reminded me not of my own adventurous miles, and that’s what they were, running from L.A. to San Francisco and such, but, no I applied Pre’s racing state-of-mind to how I’ve felt about RhodyCo. We produce runs like Pre ran. Whether the event is judged a success or not, even when the race production is not very profitable for us, we have never done less than our best. After 28 years we still want to win, but, more importantly, we want to know that we gave it everything we had.

We have not been winners like Pre. Whatever records we might have set -- most runs produced in one year (23), largest run honoring a cartoonist (Run To The Far Side), most consecutive annual races across the Golden Gate Bridge (Emerald Across the Bay 12K, interrupted only by Bush’s invasion of Iraq in 2003) – they’ve never been headlines, nor should they have been. We’ve won by enduring in the way Pre did, giving it our all but still kicking to the finish.

We’re not finished. We continue to ‘endure’ --- although I have to make a point of addressing the definition of ‘endure’ related to the races that carry that label as well as our personal/business lifelong endurance.

Dying young, Pre did not endure in a lifelong sense. But I’m still struck with his example. In the 1974 ‘Restoration Race’ – a 3-mile race that included Frank Shorter and Don Kardong (Pre set a new American record of 12:51.4) – photo below – Pre went out fast, took the lead, ignored the competition and just ran as hard as he could for 3 miles, apparently pissing off his coach. He wasn’t thinking about his next race. He was running as though this one might be his last

What I see when I look at the old photos or the movie portrayal is Pre in his Zen, in that perfect moment where you are full of certainty and completely alive. That is why I have a problem with the standard definition of endurance.

Endurance races, from the mile to the marathon and up to the ultra-distances, have an image problem.

en·dure  [en-door, -dyoor] verb, -dured, -dur·ing.

verb (used with object)

1. to hold out against; sustain without impairment or yielding; undergo: to endure great financial pressures with equanimity.

2. to bear without resistance or with patience; tolerate: I cannot endure your insults any longer.

3. to admit of; allow; bear.

The dictionary makes the word smack of martyrdom and submission. Endurance, the races and the business, are the antithesis of this. Pre ran endurances races and ran them with abandon. Not, how long can I keep this up but how fast and hard can I go right now in this race? He transcended the distances he ran. ‘Transcendence races’ would be a good redefinition, although a tough sell.

Long distance races do need an image shift. The image problem is explained by the increased popularity of ‘mud runs’ and ‘hell runs’ – the images throughout these races, nasty obstacles -- mud, fire, junked auto heaps and barbed wire -- provide much richer graphic content than a smooth track or an open road. The photos alone can’t compare to the wan face of a skinny marathoner breaking the tape. Marathon winner photos show nothing of the focused two hours and six minutes when the runner is focused and flying across the pavement at four minutes and fifty seconds (4:50) a mile.

As a runner you know the physical experience of propelling yourself forward with every single muscle in your body. Relaxed, focused, compelled. The deep, deep inhalations you take, rhythmic, steady strides, eating up the miles. Every breath is as satisfying as the best things in life, like the desperate, joyful breathing of laughing or sex. Your arms pump, your body dances forward, light and easy, as efficient as a machine, all flesh-and-blood. The finish line is the goal. Winning is getting there. Speed is a relative value coupled with efficient and exhaustive use of your inner fuel. Even when it’s just for fun, it’s focused.

Coming up on thirty (30) years, we take more time to re-gather our certainty and strength, which is why we don’t produce twenty-three a year or even twelve a year, which we did for at least two decades. We finish strong when we can, sometimes limping, sometimes crying, sometimes still with a big smile but we still leave it all on the track (on the roads in our case).

Our endurance is not, and has never been, about the day of the race. Race day is the finish line. For us it’s the months of planning that lead up to each production. Details and timelines, problem solving and motivating, every event has to be marshaled into a plan that starts one week out and finishes race day. Instead of tapering off on race week, like sensible runners will do, the Monday prior to the race begins the 7-day stretch that tests our endurance, our plans and our team. We know that our finish line is late afternoon on race day (Sunday). The first six days of production week are the first 20 miles of our marathon; race day is the final 6.2.

Perhaps we are less full of joyful accomplishment, but the thrill is not gone. Not only do we still believe in what we do, we live it. I sleep better knowing that Pre’s short life of long distance running redefined endurance and that we can claim a piece of its new meaning.

 

Running Events: A Shared Experience

Running is selfish. The 'self' seeking strength and renewal, it’s the good kind of selfish, the kind needed to battle life’s challenges, to seize its rewards and to contribute to the evolving sphere of human existence, beyond the solitary self. When is running not an entirely ‘self-centered’ endeavor? When it's shared.

If you’ve hung around RhodyCo people, or noticed our web and print dialogues, you’ve noted our reference to ‘running events.’ We seldom talk about producing 'a run' or 'a race' or 'a walk'. We use those limited terms only if it’s what someone else in the conversation wants to use. A running event includes the run, the runners, the race and the racers, but it includes much more. It’s made up of walkers walking, volunteers serving public needs, workers earning a wage, entrepreneurs introducing the products of their dreams, corporate sponsors wanting to earn your trust and confidence, police performing their sworn ‘protect & serve’ duty, medics on alert, rangers guarding and proclaiming the beauty of our park lands, technicians artfully amplifying sound and artists using it, good green recyclers teaching by example and spectators bearing witness to a mass, public event.

Events become an expression of all that diverse energy. To say that running events resemble big parties would trivialize the sport, runners (& walkers) training, the extensive work by producers and volunteers and it would underplay the spontaneous energy needed to turn a gathering into a party. But, like a party, running events thrive with celebration or endure a grim undercurrent based on the energy that forms into a mood and flows through the crowd. What generates the mood? All the individual interactions and incidents, the behavior and attitude of everyone involved.

Weather can be a factor and whether the event is well organized or not matters, too. But, it's often the small acts that set the tone. Let me share some positive examples.

At the starting line of the 1991 Run To The Far Side® we had a very strong elite field of runners. We were giving away a car to the 10K’s first place man and woman. Jill Hunter of Great Britain lost her footing just after the start horn blew. She hit the pavement and was about to be trampled by the eleven thousand runners behind her, when two fast-thinking men forgot about their own race for a second. Each snagged an arm pulling her up and onto her feet. They saved her and her race. Hunter won a car, running the 10K in 32:11, one of the fastest female 10K times ever run in San Francisco.

 In the mid-1990’s when Emerald Across the Bay 12K was still known as ‘Houlihan’s to Houlihan’s’ one of our medics reported treating a sprained ankle at the course water station in the Presidio. Focused on treatment they didn’t catch the names of the two male runners who had carried the injured woman to the aid station. The medics did know the story. Two men, both observant and kind, saw a woman ahead of them misstep and fall. They headed straight toward her. Stopping a minute or two to confirm the fact that she could neither run nor walk, they then linked their arms into a hammock to transport her a quarter mile to the medic.

At the 2009 Glide Floss Bridge to Bridge finish line, two women who had just finished came to me, still catching their breath, asking me if the runner they saw limping near the six mile mark was OK or had received help. They even memorized the injured runners bib #. They waited while I check with medics and confirmed that the runner was treated for a minor injury but was fine.

Over the last twenty-seven years, we have seen so many altruistic and even heroic acts from runners at so many runs that we lose track of what good deed was done where. A runner who saw a coned covering a pothole kicked aside by fast, focused leader, stopped and stood in the pothole until he could find another runner who would retrieve the cone. When the charity at a small fundraising run under-ordered small and medium t-shirts, we witnessed the generosity of a whole group of runners each offering their shirts to someone smaller than them, ‘no, you go ahead, I can wear a medium’ or joking ‘you know what, I mostly wear them for pajamas, so the bigger the better.’ Runners in a porta-john line all agreeing that the guy in back dancing back and forth and moaning needed to cut to the front of the line. Runners helping find the misplaced sweats bag. Ride offers to a runner who had lost her car keys. A group of runners about to leave the finish area before they noticed an understaffed volunteer clean-up crew. They all jumped in, raking up cups, loading unused water and emptying recycling bins. Walkers, paid entrants, who have volunteered to walk the route with a trash reacher and a garbage bag, cleaning up the park as they go. Good people adding the best of human ingredients to the pool of human experience that events create.

As with most human gatherings, there can be a flipside to this gallantry. No matter the event or the cause, there are people having a bad day (perhaps a bad life), people who feel more entitled than the other five thousand people around them, people who are unobservant, spaced out or just ignorant of human courtesy. These are not my favorite memories from our running events, but they represent the other side.

A runner ducking under a caution-taped finish lane, when challenged about danger and discourtesy to other runners, replying “They’re so slow they shouldn’t even be called runners.” That incident is, unfortunately, not an exception in the category of runners being discourteous to other runners. Grabbing multiple bottles of water at the finish, even though thousands of runners have yet to cross the finish line, slower groups of runners lining up at the front of the start line and maintaining a clog in the first part of the course forcing faster runners to find a way around them, a runner making a sudden stop in the middle of a busy course to tie his shoes, disregarding the hazard he caused to the crowd behind him by not stepping aside. A man wearing his girlfriend's bib #, claiming 'I don't care about my time,' unaware that he might show up as a female age division winner, skewing all the women's results. Runners cutting in front of one another at course water stations or in toilet lines. I think we all know that these little, and not so little, incidents occur at running events here in the Bay Area and all across the country.

In the 'Running Commentary' section of the September 2011 issue of Runner’s World a Clydesdale runner talks about finishing a race and, after finding that the pasta sponsor had run out of its free samples, he spotted a runner carrying seven boxes of pasta to his car. "Wow, that's a lot of pasta," he said. The other runner's response, "Good thing I finished before all the fat runners so I could load up."

It’s not that we plan events thinking we’ll need help from heroes, but neither do we expect bad behavior. And, the extremes I’ve described on both sides of the event behavior scale are not the point but the exceptions that define the point. What experience do you want to have? The one in which runners are looking out for each other, or one’s in which it’s every man (or woman) for him/her self?

Events are a wonderful opportunity to connect with other human beings. Whether running it, walking it, working it, helping it be green or watching it, the event connects everyone. It’s a shared experience.

We live in a world where much of our interaction is impersonal, electronic communication or interactions in which we insulate ourselves (like driving and even mass transit, where, let's face it, we prefer not to interact). Protests are personal but the 'anti-whatever' theme isn't always positive. Concerts are a great example of positive mass gatherings. When thousands of fans come together to enjoy a performance by their favorite band, they have a strong, central connection, in that time and in that place, focused on that artist. Running events create an even stronger connection. Runners gather at starting lines en masse over and over again. Their connection is stronger than a crowd enjoying the same music because they're the ones on stage. They are the band, the performers, thousands committed to sharing the same rhythm on the same dance floor. The connection emanates through their lives, a shared element in their lifestyles, and they reconnect at every starting line.

Maybe we need a replacement term for 'running event.' Festival. Fair. Party. Celebration? I have to admit to a bias. For the 29th year in a row, Emerald Across the Bay 12K will be taglined, 'A Celebration of Running'. That was how I felt about 'running events' when I founded that run, my first, in 1984.

Please, before your next run, think to yourself, "Yeah, I'm going to a running celebration this weekend -- where I plan to both run and celebrate with my fellow runners."

Crowded together with other runners and walkers at a starting line, look around and remember, 'we're all in this together.' Who knows, you may find an opportunity to be a hero.

Racing Trains / by Dave Rhody

Two clear images come to mind when I think about my early running days. Flying along the wooded trails surrounding the Missouri seminary I attended in the late 1960’s, free, alone, running as a satisfying form of prayer. And, racing the trains on the Indiana county roads south of Valparaiso University.

I enjoyed racing the trains much more than racing other college cross-country teams. Our coach followed the Arthur Lydiard ‘Long Slow Distance’ training concept (we loved referring to it as the LSD running program). It was based on lots of mileage. As a team we racked  up  100-mile weeks, in addition to the once-a-week speedwork on the track. The big miles were on the roads. The only way to access the county roads that crisscrossed the farmland around Valpo was to cross a double set of railroad tracks that bisected the edge of town.

Sixteen to twenty of us, seasoned runners in our taped up Puma and Adidas shoes (this was pre-Nike, pre-New Balance, pre-good running shoes), would head out of town in the late afternoon, our team captain plotting out a 10 or 15 mile route. We’d cruise through the first mile or mile-and-a-half across campus, three, four abreast, unconcerned with cars getting around us, bullshitting about the days classes or hot co-eds while we warmed up. Then, crossing U.S. 30 into the county side, headed south on a flat straight away, we’d lock in on the railroad arms and signals a quarter mile ahead. Everyone would go silent, ears perked for the long bleat of a freight train horn. Some days we reached the tracks, picking up the pace in anticipation, only to be unchallenged. A couple times a week the trains would oblige.

Hearing the far away horn, we'd cock our heads east or west until our eyes picked up the smoke and steel bound toward our crossing. No matter the initial estimates the pace went up another notch, front pack, middle and back, merging into single, fast team of young, skinny road runners. Our lungs and out legs were ready. Peripheral focus on the approaching train, eyes keen on avoiding missteps on the craggy blacktop and zeroed in on the tracks ahead, 300 yards, 200, 100. No one knew who made the final call. Can we make it? We all rushed toward the answer. The stars of the Valpo team, the sub-4 milers and the wannabes, would get 5 or 10 paces ahead of the pack, ready to dart. Our steps started matching the rhythm of the train whistles. In the last 30 seconds the front-runners pulled the pace for all of us. If the train could be beat, we all wanted to be part of it.

In the final 10 seconds, spread apart by five, ten or twenty paces, small sub-packs defined our capabilities. I was never in the front pack and watched over and over again as my talented teammates led the charge, thrilled when my pack made it, and in wonder if the lead pack hit the crossing with the train. At times, we had to wait until the full length of the train passed until we knew whether or not our best runners made it. I don't recall anyone stopping at the last minute to avoid collision and the closest call: one elite running claimed to have a shoe knocked off by a locomotive's wide 'cowcatcher'. My greatest thrill: being one of the packs that raced across the tracks seconds before the train.

The easy ones, slow trains, at least sparked us out of the L.S.D. mileage. The faster ones converted us into an elite squad of running warriors doing battle with mechanical giants. Since we were just ahead of the running boom, our classmates often asked why we weren't bored out of our minds running all those miles. We were wise enough to know our inability at explaining the intoxicating bliss of long distance running, trains or not, so we didn't bother mentioning the trains. I think we were also afraid that weak words would dispell the mystique.

When long distance running blossomed into the massive participation it enjoys today, I did begin to see some attempts at writing about the cause and effect, why we run and how it makes us feel. I made a few attempts myself. Today, however, when causes are discussed it's about the charities benefiting from organized races. Running's health benefits are the other focus. All good, practical topics. But, where's the love?

Maybe the enjoyment of running is a subtext to talking about money raised, marathons run, thick mileage logs and the latest injury prevention advice, but I do think that a good percentage of today's long distance runners are not really enjoying themselves. I hear of lot of talk about how good it feels afterward or about staying trim and ancillary social benefits of training and racing together.

After forty years the L.S.D. running (and I'm talking here again about the training method not other college adventures) caught up with my knees. Do I regret the high mileage? Absolutely not. When I was twenty, if someone had convinced me that long distance running would destroy my knees by the time I was sixty or even that it would shorten my life by a decade, I would have just smiled and kept racing toward the trains.

THE STARTING LINE

The post below was written by Race Director - Dave Rhody in May 1992 for City Sports Magazine - it still holds true today.               

In the days and weeks that follow the production of a major event snapshot images of the event parade through my head waiting to be understood or at least to be recognized. The quick question/answer exchanges with participants, the short-lived satisfaction when the start banner is finally hung straight, and the glimpse of sunrise that stirs a small wish to stop and enjoy it. While these impressions are easily sorted and filed under "pre-start" in my event memories catalog, there is one recurring impression that raises too many questions to be filed away.

At nearly every event I've been involved over the years -- cycling events, running events, multi-sport events and walking events -- there is a moment just before the start when I'm on a scaffolding above the crowd of participants. Whether the crowd is 1,000 or 10,000 people, I always have a flash of amazement. "All these people here to do the same thing at the same time on the same course." And, then a sudden stream of questions:  "Who are these people? What are they? And, what do they want?"

The impatient faces in the starting line crowd waiting for me to say "go" stop me from any on-the-spot analysis, but the questions linger. In the office, between events, I find myself answering similar questions to the satisfaction of sponsors, permit authorities and the press.  Upscale demographics -- median income, education level, and occupations -- define the market that runners, cyclists, walkers, etc. represent for sponsors.  Behavioral generalizations -- neat, law-abiding, and responsible -- satisfy permit authorities. And, buzz-phrases like "fitness-conscious" people, the "running community" or "serious-minded cyclists" give the press the handles they want. But, like a glossy wrapping stamped with an oversimplified list of ingredients these references fail to tell us the true nature of the package's contents.

Off the starting line, out of the office and between events I do find a few additional and still incomplete answers. Event participants are, according to the simplest definitions, community. The more specific we are about the event the more it is true that the crowd is made up of "people with common interests living in a particular area."  As a group, event participants have parts of a lifestyle in common.  They share certain attitudes. They define their status with regard to their position in the group, i.e. 213th overall finisher, CAT-4 cyclist, or "top 5 in my age group."  And, while all this provides some common threads of the aggregate that event participants make-up, it still does not explain the end-result of coming together.

The deeper purpose that mystifies me at the start of an event -- "what do these people want?" -- escapes pigeon-holing and eludes social analysis.  Because it seems most concentrated at the starting line, I continue to look there. The mix of the crowd's pre-event adrenaline can almost be tasted in the air. An anxious silence blankets participants. I see people wide-eyed and almost holding their breath in anticipation. Is that it? The mutual rush of self-doubt. The shared gut-feeling of an impending challenge. The excitement/anxiety of facing a personal test among peers. If that is an answer, it only helps point to the bigger question of the relationship. What, if anything, does this instant community mean.

The question persists for me perhaps because so few event participants that I've talked with have expressed clear thoughts about this subject. I hear individual reasons for being a participant, but little big-picture perspective. It has occurred to me that the can't-see-the-forest-through-the-trees syndrome may apply. The woods are defined by the meadow that surround them. So, this community of like-minded participants might be seen most clearly by non-participants around them.

Though out-numbered 20 to 1 by participants the volunteer workers at events do, in a way, surround participants. They help prepare participants pre-race. They are at every turn in the road. They welcome athletes at the finish line.  And, they tend to participant's post-race needs. Yet they are technically not (at least during the event they're working on) participants. The Russians have a great word for such people, "poputchik."  A poputchik is "one who sympathizes with and often furthers the ideals and programs of organized groups without direct participation or membership."  Our closest english equivalent is "fellow traveler." 

In many cases event poputchiks are there for the sake of the event's cause. They are volunteers from the charity that benefits. But, over the years I have had the pleasure of getting to know hundreds of people who are ready and willing to work on any event. These poputchiks enjoy  associating with "the community" they witness at each event. From outside the forest they see the common bond of purpose, the unity of shared experience and the total energy that is larger than the sum of its parts. They see it. They support it. And, they keep coming back for more.

The event poputchiks help me confirm the sense I have had of a participant community. By seeing it, they let me know it's there, which leaves me wondering just one other thing. If you, as participants, can, with some additional prompting, see and feel a sense of community, what else can you do? If you can acknowledge a link between your lifestyle and that of your fellow participants, can you also agree to a mutually beneficial relationship?  I like that idea. And, I'll be thinking about it the next time I'm collecting impressions of you from the starting line.



-Dave Rhody