On June 26, the runners waiting for the start of the New York City Marathon had nothing on the nervous crowds preparing for the Shore Run.
By 7:l5 a.m., an endless line of masochists waited to climb aboard a bus headed for the starting line at Leschi or Seward Park, depending on whether you were a 10K-er or a 5K-er.
I'm a 5K-er myself, and not too certain I could handle that. So I disembarked at Leschi with two grandchildren who were willing to accompany me, provided they didn't have to be seen with me...and that was the last I saw of them until we reunited at Madison Park.
I looked around at the crowd, many of whom wore gold badges to celebrate the cancer victim they were running to honor.
At the start
After a few minutes, I spotted the walkers from Park Shore, looking cool and confident.
And not far from them, the Madison Park Times team, all set to establish new world records for walking 5 kilometers.
The announcer called out the order to take our places at the starting line, and Park Shore and Madison Park Times team members, exuberant children and sleek-looking young males and females hurried to get to the front of the crowd.
I, however, was in no great hurry to get into the melee. My goal was to finish the walk before the policeman serving as rear guard did.
As I watched the front walkers swarm across the starting line, my friends Anne Marie, from Park Shore, and Mark, from the Times, and I drifted into the group, and off we went - for better or worse - ahead of our police escort.
I looked around. Young mothers and dads pushed strollers with sleeping babies or bemused toddlers inside. It crossed my mind that that was a delightful way to cover the course.
Two and three, briskly walking, pushing and chatting down the road. Five- or 6-year-olds, not at all happy with this family activity, tagging along. Older couples encouraging each other.
A near-sacrifice
A woman in a wheelchair passed me, her pusher determined to get to the front, regardless of the risk to life and limb, instantly brought back a run, long ago and far away.
A friend of mine was determined to enter just one more run in spite of the multiple sclerosis that had confined her to a wheelchair.
We entered the run and were doing handsomely, enjoying ourselves, by no means at the end of the crowd, when we hit an unnoticed speed bump.
I tried to tip the chair further back, but I didn't have the strength. I saw her starting to lean forward, headed right for the cement - and a fractured skull.
Then her seatbelt took over to interrupt her flight toward a three-point landing on the cement.
We stopped.
We started breathing again.
In a shaky voice, she assured me she was fine and more determined than ever to continue our trek to the elusive finish line. Only this time we did not envision ourselves as winning the race ahead of all the record-breaking runners, but rather as two humbled beings who hoped to finish in one piece.
Knowing the state of Seattle streets, I said a silent prayer for all wheelchair participants.
My hopes were dashed when the policeman pulled alongside us and asked if we were OK. We assured him we were fine, so he left us and drove forward.
We were not going to beat him after all. Oh well, we still weren't last. There were quite a few people behind us, but none of them of the older set.
I was sure we'd meet some seniors out here, but none to be seen. I was disappointed.
I love walking, and I think it is something you can do even if you do slow down and creak a bit.
But there's more
We saw the finish line ahead, which perked up our spirits.
And then we saw everyone turning right, and our spirits plunged.
Sure enough, the diabolical souls that had laid out the course had a turn just after the finish comes into view.
We circled around forever and finally raced down the hill to cross the finish line ahead of the policeman, who had stopped to talk to another police officer several yards before the finish line.
Dreams do come true.
We headed for the bottle table even as we crossed the line, and whom do I see but eight friends of mine from Park Shore handing out bottle after bottle of spring water. As the saying goes, if you don't care to walk, you can always volunteer.
I looked around the park, filled with happy runners and walkers, and I discovered why I hadn't seen any of my contemporaries. They had all come in ahead of me.
Just wait until next year.
Madison Park's Roberta Cole can be reached via e-mail at mptimes@ nwlink.com.
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