Running with a Police Escort

by Jill Grunenwald

  After getting all of my race day items and information, I headed to my parents’ house, where I was spending the night, since they live far closer to Akron than I do. I was still going to have to wake up ridiculously early on Saturday morning, but not as early as I would have had I stayed at my place. I was super excited about my new shoes, but also knew it would be a bad, bad idea to wear them race day. However, I did go for a short one-mile run before dinner to try them out and to give my legs one final workout before the race. Then it was an early bedtime, as I had a 5 a.m. wake-up call and had to be on the road to Akron by 5:45 a.m.

  Running races in cities other than Cleveland always leaves me feeling super nervous, mostly for logistical reasons. When I’m in Cleveland, I know where to park and how much time I need to give myself to get to the start line. In unfamiliar cities I tend to overcompensate and arrive way earlier than necessary. (To be fair, I tend to arrive everywhere way earlier than necessary. I’m one of those really obnoxious “being on time is late” people.) But with a race as big as Akron, that works out in my favor as I was able to quickly find convenient parking. After making sure I had all of my gear, I locked up the car and headed towards the start line. Of course, it was dark and I had no idea where I was going but, again, with a race as big as Akron it was easy to just follow the crowd and, eventually, follow the sounds.

  My team had made tentative plans to meet before the race and we were all attempting to text each other to try and figure out where everyone was located at the start. Naturally we weren’t the only Relay Team trying to coordinate and the cell phone lines were jammed, taking messages forever to get through. Finally, I located most of my team with the exception of our fearless leader and first-leg runner, Andrew, who was still missing in action. We knew he was somewhere in the crowd and working on getting to the corral before the start, but we weren’t able to see him before the race started. Instead, we stood on the sidelines and cheered on all the runners as the race started.

  Melissa was Leg 2 and could walk to her starting point and since Andrew had told her that he’d only need about 40 minutes, she quickly hurried off after we saw all the runners cross the start line to find where she needed to be. Another team member, Stephanie, could also walk to her starting point, while the final two leg-runners, Dan and I, had to take shuttle buses to our respective exchange spots. Being that it was a relay, however, we all had plenty of time, so Dan and I walked Stephanie to her spot before we went looking for the shuttles.

  When we first decided to do the relay, we didn’t put much thought into who would run which section. It was only after all signing up that we started divvying up each leg. Knowing that it was going to take me longer to run my distance no matter what, I planned on volunteering to take the shortest leg, which was 3.6 miles, so when Andrew preemptively asked if I’d be okay running that one, I said yes right away. My other team members would all be running distances closer to 6 miles, yet they’d all be finishing their legs in a shorter period of time than my goal of an hour.

  I was reminded of this fact while sitting on the shuttle bus where all of the Leg 4 participants were chatting as we made our way along the streets of Akron. Across the aisle from me was a small group of women making conversation and one in particular caught my attention. She was probably in her mid-twenties and looked like someone I would consider a “traditional” runner. That is, if she were to casually mention to a stranger that she runs, said stranger would not give her the incredulous and/or surprised look that I often get. As much as I like to believe I got my 13.1 tattoo for myself, I think a part of me got it for other people. It’s a permanent flag to wave that indicates my membership in the running community.

  So this woman was talking about how while she was training, her team hadn’t yet decided who would be doing which leg, but as soon as she mentioned that she was running something close to 14-minute miles, her team members straight up told her that she’d be running the short leg. Based on the look she wore while communicating this story, I could tell how much it hurt her to have these people she considered friends judge her for being a slow runner. Here I was with my 16-minute miles, proud of having gotten those down from 17- or 18-minute miles, running on a team with members who run 7- and 8-minute miles. It would have been very easy, even understandable, if they decided they didn’t want me on their team because they had a time goal they wanted to meet and I would hold them back. But they didn’t do that. Those hares welcomed this tortoise with open arms and I have no doubt that if a couple months before when Andrew asked if I’d be okay running the shortest leg, I had spoken up and said that no, I’d prefer doing one of the longer ones, they would have completely supported that, even if it meant our overall time would be even slower.

  I find myself apologizing for my speed a lot, often when I don’t actually need to. Or feeling like I need to explain or justify it. But my team didn’t care about my speed, they didn’t care if they had a slow runner on the team. All they cared about was having ME on the team, regardless of pace or place. I already knew I was running with the best damn team out there, but listening to that woman talk about her own team made me realize that the individual people who made up my team were all pretty damn awesome as well.

  When the bus stopped at the exchange point, one of the volunteers got on board to go over some final instructions relating specifically to the relay. Each team member wore the same bib number as his or her other members and we would line up along the street and wait for the announcer to call out our bib number as our teammate came running up around the corner. Posts with bib numbers in chronological order had been put up and we were supposed to stay as close in order as possible and meet our teammate in the street by our number.

  I got to the exchange with about an hour to wait, but I happened to have two friends also running Leg 4, including Megan. This is the same Megan who several years before had waited around an extra twenty minutes or so at the finish line of my very first race, just so she could see me cross it. Because the Cleveland running community is pretty small, we often run into each other at races. While we were waiting for our numbers to be called, we stood around chatting and catching up. She knew I had set a goal of running one race a month and asked how my progress was going and what races I planned on doing for the remaining months of the year.

  The marathon relay follows the same course as the full marathon, which meant that along with cheering on the other Leg 4 Relay runners, we got to first cheer on the elite runners as they passed by us. Whether you are fast or slow, hell, whether or not you even run, it’s impossible to look at the elites and not be blown away by the level of athleticism visible in every muscle of their body. Their dedication to the sport can’t be ignored and watching them in action is absolutely awe-inspiring.

  Soon, the Leg 3 runners started making their way up the hill. Slow and sporadic at first, they quickly began to gain momentum and it became even more important to pay attention to the numbers being called out. Before the race, we had all given our team an idea of how long it would take each person to complete their section, so I knew when to anticipate Stephanie and sure enough, she was right on schedule. When I heard our number called, I stepped out into the road, and as soon as Stephanie and I made eye contact we both kind of did a little jump of excitement. She handed me the blue slap bracelet (I told you Akron took their blue line branding seriously!) and I was off.

  During my training I had been experimenting with my run-walk-run intervals by doing 30 seconds of running, followed by 30 seconds of walking. I had seen some success with this timing so for race day I decided to go with what had been working and right from the very beginning I felt strong and confident and knew I had a very good chance of beating my goal of one hour. I went in my mental zone and followed that famous blue line.

  I started at Mile Seventeen and, thanks to the prior work of my teammates, I found myself for the first time ever in the front of the pack. Considering I will probably NEVER EVER IN A MILLION YEARS experience the front
of the pack again, I mentally soaked in every single step of my 3.6 miles, watching in awe as the runners passed me. Following good race etiquette, I stayed to the side of the course and out of the way of more speedy roadsters. While it was probably pretty obvious that I was a bit out of my element, that sense of camaraderie came through from those around me and a couple of the runners passed me with encouraging words.

  Halfway between Miles Eighteen and Nineteen, I saw a flash of pink out of the corner of my eye and as the runner came up from behind me with a wave, I realized it was fellow Cleveland Marathon Ambassador Jamie. She, along with the other Ambassadors, was one of the reasons I was out there that day. These Ambassadors made me feel like I had found my running family, so getting to be the one that saw her on the course meant the world to me and made me realize how grateful I am to be a part of this amazing and supportive group of athletes.

  After I passed the marker for Mile Twenty, I knew I only had about a half mile to go, so I just kept my pace and headed towards the exchange zone for the fifth leg. When Dan saw me rounding the corner, he waved and I waved back. That gave me the push to pick up my pace for the final tenth of a mile and I handed him the bracelet and watched him go.

  My leg ended in a park and as I made my way across the grass to catch the shuttle which would take me to the finish line, I texted my team to let them know that Dan was headed home.

  The Akron races finish on the field of Canal Park, home of the local minor league baseball stadium. Runners enter from the back, essentially the outfield, and basically run along the first baseline, ending near home plate. The rest of the field is transformed into the Finisher Festival, where relay team members can meet up after finishing and take advantage of the free beer and food before finding any family members who were waiting and watching in the stands. It still is the most amazing finish line I’ve yet seen and I was, in the words of the infamous Scarlett O’Hara, “pea-green with envy” seeing Dan get to run it.

  I made it to the stadium and found my team minutes after Jamie finished, but I was there in time to see Dan come down the final stretch of his leg and cross the finish line at 3:57:59. My personal time for my section was 57:36, which put me below the hour goal I had. At 16-minute miles I was quite satisfied with my finish, especially considering the numbers I had been showing while training.

  In the Aesop’s immortal tale, a hare’s hubris is his downfall, when the slow and steady tortoise sneaks past him. What the fable assumes is that unequal partners are fundamentally at odds with each other. That the slower half of a pair somehow can’t run—let alone finish—the race with their faster counterpart because of unequal speeds or abilities. I have no doubt that in some instances that very well may be the case. I, however, have always been lucky enough to defy that stereotype. Take, for instance, the runners in the front of the pack who encouraged me along the course. Those words of support weren’t unique—it happens at almost every race I run. Because we know that despite the guise of it being a race and there being a first place and a last place, ultimately we aren’t running against each other; we are running with each other. This occurs all the time: it happens when I’m out doing a training run, pounding the streets of Cleveland, and another runner and I exchange nods. It happens when a coworker sees my half marathon tattoo and we start discussing various races we’ve run or ones that are upcoming.

  And it happened that day in September when a handful of hares helped this slow and steady runner do the impossible: run a sub–4-hour marathon.

  19

  Finding My Voice

  The Shawshank Hustle and Akron Marathon Relay fell in the middle of an otherwise very busy summer, and satisfied two of my required monthly races. In June, I had run the Nature’s Bin 5K, with my boyfriend Ben joining me. Ben doesn’t run a lot of organized races, but we thought it would be fun to do one together. And by “together” I mean we started at the start line standing next to each other and I met him at the finish line. He’s faster than me, but not by too much, and it was fun spending the whole race with the view of his bright yellow shirt just a little bit ahead of me. In August, I ran the Rock City 5K, an inaugural race that had an accompanying half marathon. With the time of year and rock ‘n’ roll theme, I think it was attempting to replace the canceled Run Rock ‘N’ Roll Half.

  That same summer I also launched my “Running with a Police Escort” podcast.

  Running can be a very lonely sport sometimes. Granted, that’s sometimes my own fault, as I prefer to run alone. But I very rarely actually feel alone when that happens, even when I’m in the very back and/or last place and haven’t seen another runner for miles.

  It’s only after the race, after crossing that finish line that I start to wish I had other people to talk to about the experiences of being in the back of the pack. All of my local running friends are fast and therefore have a much different perception of racing than I do, which is fine, but it can sometimes make me feel like my experiences are solitary ones. But I know that’s not true, though—I know that the obstacles and challenges I’ve faced happen to other slow runners all over the place. The key was figuring out a way to talk to other slow runners.

  The idea for the podcast came from one of the online running groups I belong to. That February, after the SnoBall 5K, I was talking to some fellow runners about having been last and having the police car behind me. Someone commented that she always thought it would be fun to have a podcast for last-place finishers called DNF: dead fucking last.

  Since she didn’t actually have any desire to make such a podcast, I asked if she minded if I borrowed the idea. She said it was fine. I also decided to put a slightly more positive spin on the title. Being last isn’t necessarily a bad thing what with that whole police escort thing happening and all.

  I had no experience with podcasting aside from being a listener, but really, how hard could it be? So I started doing research. Lots of research. Hours and months of research. Research about equipment and recording and hosting and getting it on iTunes and it turns out podcasting is slightly more complicated than I realized.

  I mean, it’s not SUPER complicated. It’s not like rocket science that requires assistance from Neil deGrasse Tyson. But, y’know, it’s still work. There’s a lot that needs to be done. It’s also not free—it can be done on the cheap, even the very cheap, but at the very least, most hosting services (that thing that lets a podcast be uploaded to iTunes) require a monthly fee.

  Between that, building a website, and not wanting to cheap out on microphones and equipment, I decided to give crowdsourcing a try. I was hoping that the theme of the podcast would be enough to maybe encourage some people to back the project on Kickstarter. If not, well, I’d figure out a way to pay for it all myself.

  I sort of underestimated just how much support there would be for this endeavor, because not only did I hit my goal within the first 24 hours, by the end of the campaign I had doubled it.

  Granted, I crunched some numbers and was aiming for the absolute bare minimum it would take to finance the podcast for a year, so I was only asking for a couple hundred of dollars initially. But still. These people, friends, family, and even some strangers, gave freely of their own money to support my podcast.

  My first few guests were cultivated from my personal group of running friends and in the summer of 2015, I went live.

  A couple of weeks later I flew to Denver to attend the FitBloggin 2015 conference, where I got up in front of the entire conference and presented on being a slow runner. The response was overwhelming—turns out, there are a lot of slow runners out there and they, like me, want their voices heard and their stories told.

  Summer was winding down, the leaves changing from the bright green of summer to the burning oranges and reds of autumn. There’s nothing I love more than that first fall run, with the air crisp and cool, as leaves snap and crack under my shoes. The change in season also meant daylight hours were getting shorter, limiting my running time in the sun.

  Oc
tober brought the Great Beer Chase 5K. Hosted by Cleveland’s own Great Lakes Brewing Company and timed to align with Beer Week, the Great Beer Chase was a 5K that ran through the Ohio City neighborhood of Cleveland, home of Great Lakes Brewing. Sometimes races get names that don’t have much meaning, but in this case, there literally was beer to chase. Or, well, runners dressed to represent different GLBC brews including Burning River, Eliot Ness, and Commodore Perry (that last one took me a minute to figure out when I saw him on the course).

  The race was a simple out-and-back. It started at the brewery, ran about a mile and a half, then turned around and came back. During the whole race, I stuck to my run-walk-run intervals. Ahead of me, keeping a fast walking pace, was a woman in black. She spent the whole race walking. That is, she spent the whole race walking up until the moment about two miles in that I passed her.

  When running with intervals, I tend to keep a consistent pace and eventually I often will get enough of a lead to pass people who had spent the first part of the race ahead of me. That scenario happened here and as soon as I passed her, she started to run. This was the first time for the entire race that she ran, so I can hardly think it’s a coincidence. She’d pull ahead enough to pass me then start walking again but as soon as I passed her, she’d start running again.

  I wasn’t offended. In fact, I found it funny more than anything else. I mean, if she needs me to motivate her to run then, well, I’ll play my part. But I made her work for that finish, believe you me. When we got closer to the finish I fucking booked it to that finish line, running as fast as I absolutely could.

  Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

  Great Lakes Brewing Company had fun with this one. Not only was there beer at the end, but, our race medals were branded bottle openers on a ribbon.

  Cleveland, I love you.

  Like many cities, Cleveland hosts a Turkey Trot every Thanksgiving morning, offering both a 5K and a 5 Mile race. In 2015, I was scheduled to run the Christmas Story 10K in early December, so the 5 Mile distance fit into my race training perfectly. (Might as well also take advantage of an opportunity to burn off some calories in anticipation of all the pumpkin pie later in the day.)