I've watched the news almost constantly since the bombings happened on Monday. One question that I heard over and over and over again the first few hours was "How could this happen at such a big event?" or "Where were the metal detectors?"
Y'all, that's just not how races work.
The best thing about races -- from your local 5K to your hugest of marathons -- is how
egalitarian they are. It's pretty simple: If you run, you're a runner.
Now, yes, some of them (like Boston) have qualifying times you have to meet in order to participate (for a woman my age, I'd have to run a qualified marathon -- Houston, Dallas, The Gusher, Austin -- in 3 hours and 45 minutes. When I turn 45, that time bumps down to 3 hours and 55 minutes).
But once you're there, you're there. You're just like everyone else.
The basic procedure goes like this:
Packet pick-up. Most races have some sort of "swag" bag. It contains promotional items like pens, pads, a Clif bar or some other sort of energy thing, advertising for other races, coupons for massages, etc. You pick these up starting a couple of days before the race for major ones (the Dallas White Rock Marathon, the San Antonio Rock N Roll and the Austin 1020 had a two-day expo for packet pick-up).
At the pick-up, you get your participant t-shirt, your bib number and a timing chip if necessary (timing devices are now more often attached to the back of the bib these days). Smaller-scale races will have day-of-the-race pick-ups. The last 5K I ran had a day of pick-up at the local running store, and then you could also pick up at the race that morning.
(The
most important thing about packet pick-up: Make sure you get your four safety pins for your bib! I didn't get mine at the Austin 1020 pick-up, but luckily I had some leftover from The Gusher in my car.)
Day of the Race: Anyone can be a spectator at a race. You don't have to buy tickets. You don't have to RSVP. You just show up. You don't even have to show up at the starting line -- any place along the race course is open and ready for spectators. You can wait at the finish, which may be the same place as the start or it may be different. The Dallas White Rock and The Gusher had the same start and finish. San Antonio and Austin 1020 did not. Most 5Ks do.
But if you do show up at the start or the finish, you have to know that you may very well leave the event planning your next race (or your first!). The atmosphere is very festive -- it's like a party with a race in the middle and then the party continues.
Starting line. Big races have "corrals," spots roped off where runners are categorized by time. They aren't very strict about it, but it does save a slower runner from being run over by a faster one. The National Anthem is played, sometimes there's a prayer, and then a countdown to the start.
Waiting in the corrals is both the best and worst thing ever.
It's the best because you can literally feel the excitement and anticipation. For the marathons, I hadn't run in three or four days, so I was coiled like a spring...couldn't wait for the starting gun You talk to the person/people beside you, even though they're strangers. You congratulate the lady in front of you who has a special bib because it's her fifth or 10th time to run that particular race. You take pictures of strangers with their phones, compliment their shoes, share your anxiety.
It's the worst because of the nerves and anxiety. There's always some sort of music playing, so you can jump around or dance and get some of that ants-in-the-pants out.
The race. Well, you just run. Some people run with music, some don't. Some races don't allow music. I usually run with music, but made an exception this past weekend for the Austin 1020. The cool thing about that race was the 20 local bands along the race course. Wearing headphones would kind of defeat the purpose.
There are water stations every mile or so. If it's a 5K, there's usually just one water station.
The spectators make a huge difference. HUGE. The signs they bring are funny, suggestive and inspiring. Cheerleading teams set up along the route. Sometimes, random bands are set up. Most races have your name printed on your bib, so it's not unusual to hear someone say, "Way to go, Beth! You're doing great!"
At the race this past weekend, there was a guy standing on a corner that let us know that was the last hill we'd have to deal with. A woman running near me said, "Thank God! I'm from Houston!"
The finish. Finishing a race is one of the best feelings ever. As a lot of marathon runners over the past couple of days have referenced, you're in a daze, but you have to keep on moving. Large races have you wander through corrals to get to the food (bananas, oranges, bagels), water, medals and a finisher t-shirt if that's part of the deal.
And then, you get to go home, take a hot shower or soak in a cold tub, put on your compression socks, and do my favorite thing: eat everything in the house!
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That is why this horrible person or people was so successful. A race isn't like a baseball game or a football game where you have to go through checkpoints. It's open. It's public.
A bag check would be a huge headache. Every runner has a bag. Most spectators have bags. And because there's no designated entrance or exit, where would you do the bag check?
For me, it's a big part of the charm of racing. The out-of-town races I've run in have all taken place in cities that I wasn't that familiar with. The sights along the route were part of the draw. I ran through the Stockyards in Fort Worth, around White Rock Lake in Dallas, and by the Alamo in San Antonio. I ran through the Fort Worth Zoo in a 10K I ran there a year ago.
I'm afraid that this incident will change the way things work. I don't want that to happen, but I understand if it does
