By Melissa Mincic
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told, “I don’t know how you run like that. You’re crazy.” I’m not at all claiming to be mentally stable, but “crazy” is a strong word. It most often comes from nonrunners, so I chalk it up to a lack of personal experience with the sport. No matter the race distance, course profile, or temperature, I always respond the same: All you really have to do is get started. The rest of the run will take care of itself.
This comment came to mind during the 2011 Denver Rock ’n’ Roll Half Marathon, at the aid station just past mile marker 10. Although I was no longer feeling it, it was pretty chilly out that morning. As I neared the station, I took note of cheering volunteers dressed in sweats, fleece pullovers and sweatshirts, hats, gloves, scarves, and sweat bands. Name the cold weather clothing item, and they were wearing it. I’ve gratefully accepted aid from many a smiling stranger offering water or Gatorade and encouraging words in my day, but this pit stop was different. These volunteers were cheering loudly, calling out individuals by bib number, a few of them even yelling while jumping up and down as if witnessing a new world record about to be set at the Olympics. They all seemed so excited to be there. More excited than I was, that’s for sure.
Leaving the aid station, the volunteers’ cheers faded behind me and were soon replaced by the sounds of a small stampede and forceful breathing coming from all directions. That comment popped into my thoughts: “You’re crazy.” No, I wasn’t. Those volunteers are crazy! It was cold that morning, but nothing a runner couldn’t handle. A quarter mile into the race, I’m sure few of my competitors were bothered by the temperature; many probably thought it felt great. Those volunteers, though, signed up – of their own volition, likely in exchange for very little compensation – to man the aid station leaving City Park during very early morning hours at near-freezing temperatures for at least half a Sunday. That’s crazy!
I don’t know what motivated those volunteers that day, but I figured I’d repay the favor by volunteering for the 2012 Umstead Trail Marathon with some friends from my running club. I was excited to wake up early. I jumped straight out of bed on a drizzly, chilly, gray morning, and was even out the door early enough for a pit stop at Starbucks for a tasty, warm treat for myself and a friend. My spirits couldn’t have been brighter that dark, drab morning. I shook hands with fellow volunteers I met for the first time and smiled at several familiar faces from my running club, and I encouraged them all to help me to make our aid station the loudest one along the course. We had a roster organized by bib numbers so we could recognize racers by name as they passed, and we had a pretty good system going: One volunteer called out bib numbers, two others scanned the roster for corresponding names, and another handful of us started cheering runners on from a distance as they neared. We shouted and cheered, “Nice work, Nate! You look GREAT! Keep going!” A few times, we got runners’ names wrong as they raced past. Whoops! They just grinned, especially if we exchanged theirs for a name of opposite gender. We giggled, once or twice calling them the wrong name purposely as they passed again after the 180-degree turn just past our station.
About midway though our shift, it started raining, first lightly and then a little heavier. Even with the tent’s protection, just enough wind blew by to remind me that there was no escape from the cold. My latte and its warming effects long gone, shoes and the edges of my pants soaked in a mix of puddle and trail, I looked down the road, still eagerly awaiting the next competitor. I thought to myself, “I should still be in bed. This is nuts!” And then it clicked. For every runner I rooted on that morning, I ran a step in my own mental marathon and felt energized to one day achieve the same feat. I finally understood the madness that was the mentality of a race volunteer. No matter what others’ motivations, mine was clear – and I couldn’t wait to do it again.
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Melissa Mincic, Ph.D., studies child development at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and is a long-time road and trail runner. Follow Melissa on Twitter at @nerdinrunshoes or contact her at m_mincic@hotmail.com.
