I'm not fast, but the crowds didn't mind

Sunday, August 8, 2004

EDITOR'S NOTE: Jeannine Guttman

A refrigerator magnet might not be the most appropriate place to find wisdom, but there's one gracing the door of my Amana that carries some sage advice.

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do," it proclaims, bearing the famous quote of Eleanor Roosevelt.

Each of us carries personal doubts of the things we believe we cannot do. For me, that thing was the Peoples Beach to Beacon 10K road race.

Each year since this race began, I have watched from the sidelines of Shore Road in Cape Elizabeth, the town where I live. I have cheered those galloping past, marveling at their speed and commitment. I have enjoyed the elite runners, whose effortless strides transform the sport into an art form. I have applauded the citizen athletes who comprise most of the 5,000 participants. These folks are just regular people with a penchant for going the distance.

I also have grown more envious of the Maine runners over the years. The event looked so inviting - and what an accomplishment it would represent. Why wasn't I in the race, instead of watching it?

The idea of me running, however, and going steady for 6.2 miles was, well, ludicrous. Then last summer, walking home from the winners' ceremony at Fort Williams Park, I made a decision. I would run this race. And I would do it before my 50th birthday.

Which meant I had to do it this summer.

This past Sunday, I ran in the Beach to Beacon, the first road race of my life. I achieved my goal by finishing the race, and I did so in a whopping 1:35:37.5. Clearly, this time is nothing of note. But to me, the achievement is priceless.

The opponent I was facing was more ominous than any competitor or course clock. It was more daunting than any hill, achy knee or scorching sun. The opponent was self-doubt.

Who takes up running at age 49? Who dons the runner's outfit before achieving the svelte runner's body? Who decides that their first road race will be a 10K - not a 5K or a walk-a-thon?

And mind you, this is not just any 10K. This is the renowned Beach to Beacon race, which features world-class runners and was founded by America's running icon and Olympic gold medalist, Joan Benoit Samuelson.

See, I told you there was self-doubt. Another part of me, the part swayed by refrigerator magnets, argued that this indeed would be the best venue to start. This race would be the perfect place to launch a new life endeavor. Said another way, why start small when you can begin at the top? Go for the brass ring. See what can be done.

EYE OF THE TIGER

With that almost delusional thinking in mind, I began to train. I enlisted the help of friends, family and a personal trainer. That last part may sound trendy and unnecessary, but my coach, Joe de Silva, proved vital. He kept me focused and free of injuries. And his rigorous regimen - which included weight training, stretching, nutritional advice and running - increased my endurance, strength and stamina.

All the months of toil and preparation brought me to last Sunday, when a great many wonderful things happened.

Shortly before 8 a.m., I stood with thousands of runners near the starting line not far from Crescent Beach. It was not a picturesque Maine morning. A mist was falling. Soon, it would turn to rain. This was a relief to me; at least it wasn't hot.

An announcer began talking on a loud speaker, giving the countdown. My adrenaline shot up. The seconds ticked away. Then it started.

I settled into my pace. This was something that de Silva had sternly urged. "Run your own race," he said. "You want to finish. Other people will pass you. Don't worry about them. Focus on yourself."

And so I watched as literally hundreds of people surged ahead. This would happen for the next hour; by the end, the surge was a trickle, but people were still churning past me. Indeed, the only time that I passed anyone was near the end of the race, when runners who had already finished the 10K were circling back on the course to cool down.

Strangely, my resolve wasn't shaken by the fact that I was falling farther behind, bringing up the rear of the pack. No, there was something more here to witness, something magical and amazing.

From here, I was able to experience the incredible crowds of spectators who line the race, giving endless encouragement to runners they didn't know.

I needed that. It got me to the finish line.

"Good job, 4843," one person yelled, calling out the number on my bib. "Right on," another shouted. "You're almost there," others said. I knew that wasn't true, but the fiction was comforting. I would take it.

RUN, DON'T WALK

At every water stop, a volunteer put a paper cup into my hand and wished me luck. I saw kids and parents, balloons and signs. Here and there, knots of neighbors gathered, raising a cheer. Other times, a solitary person stood, offering a hearty wave or knowing nod.

And all of them waited in the rain to see the last of the runners, to urge on those struggling at the back of the field. More than an hour into the race, these folks were still there, still waving and cheering, still giving.

There were a lot of hills in this 10K and I often heard music as I neared the crests. People had set up sound systems to provide sonic boosts to the weary runners. And, yes, that worked. The pounding rhythms of Aretha Franklin and Bruce Springsteen carried me up many an incline.

The race was worth entering just to see this side of the event, to appreciate the instant community that is born, to understand the support and energy provided by strangers.

At one point after mile 3, I wanted to walk. I told myself, in fact, that I would stop at the top of the hill. That would be my reward. But the crowd that awaited was so enthusiastic and earnest, so animated and engaged, that I simply found it too embarrassing to slow down. So I kept running. And I didn't stop.

At another point, between miles 4 and 5, I heard someone shuffling up behind me. Soon, a very senior citizen was at my right, speed walking. Mind you, she wasn't running. She was walking. I was running. And she was poised to overtake me.

"This is a pretty good pace," she said to me. She was barely breathing hard.

"It is?"

"Yes. I could go faster, of course, but I have a bad right hip."

Great, I thought. Not only is a much older woman going to whiz past me, but she's also nursing a bum leg. So much for the months of conditioning.

As she slowly inched away, I could read the back of her T-shirt. It said, "New England 65+ Runners Club."

I didn't know whether to feel up-ended or inspired. Trudging behind, I suddenly felt something else. I felt awe.

Indeed, that sentiment pretty much captures the Beach to Beacon event for me. It was hard. It was grueling. It was humbling, too. I don't want to do another 10K for awhile, but I want to do this race next summer.

If only for the crowds and the runners in the back of the pack.

Jeannine Guttman is editor and vice president of the Portland Press Herald/Maine Sunday Telegram. Send e-mail to

jguttman@pressherald.com or write to 390 Congress St., Portland, Maine 04101.

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