Myrtle Beach Marathon

Several friends have asked me when might I post the Myrtle Beach Marathon story.  I’ve told this story a hundred times, it’s been around the world a couple of times as others have told it, and it’s actually in both of my books.  But for those  who haven’t heard it, or who might want a refresher or just a good laugh at my expense, here it is.  First, a bit of advice:  this is rather long, but if you haven’t heard the story before, don’t peek ahead to the ending.

As with most of the crazy things we did as a family, this story begins with Leigh.  In late Summer or early Fall of 2000, at a family dinner, Leigh briefed the family on the Myrtle Beach Marathon which is held every year in February.  At that time, you could run it as an individual or as a relay team of five runners, with the first four runners going 5 miles and the last runner going the final six-plus miles.  Leigh wanted our family to enter two teams, a men’s team and a women’s team.   None of us men were in favor of this because we knew the women in the family would blow us away.  They were all still active runners, and none of us men were active runners.  I had done a lot of running while in the Army, but had pretty much quit running in 1993 when I retired, so I was nowhere near 5-mile running shape.  The women insisted to the point that we couldn’t wimp out and have any self-respect.

Then about a month or two later, Julie announced that she was pregnant.   A month after that, Holley announced that she was pregnant.  We were all happy for Julie and Holley, but the men in the family were especially happy that this meant the competition was off.  This became more evident when Louise fell off a chair while painting and blew out her knee.  Great, I thought, we won’t have to run this stupid race.  Of course, Leigh was not going to let this fly.  She insisted that we would enter one team, a mixed team of men and women.  She would certainly run, and Holley felt like she could still run, but we needed three guys.  It was almost unanimous (me being the dissenting vote) that me, Steve (Julie’s husband), and Chris (Leigh’s husband) would be the other three runners.  So, we did what training we could through a typically severe Boone winter, and booked motel rooms in Myrtle Beach.

I insisted on being the leadoff runner for our team (I wanted to get the misery out of the way early); and I would be followed by Holley, then Steve, then Leigh, and Chris wanted to be the final runner (he wanted to get all the glory of finishing the race).  Leigh volunteered to continue running with Chris on the final leg, just in case he collapsed; so Leigh would actually run a little over 11 miles.  The race was to begin at Barefoot Landing at 6 AM.  When they dropped me off at the start area it was still pitch dark, no moon and not a stars to be seen.   In February of 2001, I was deaf as a door nail like I am now, but back then I did not have hearing aids.  There was loud music blaring so I’m not sure hearing aids would have helped anyway.  There were probably 10,000 runners there; I couldn’t see or hear, so it took me a while to get my bearings.  I finally saw an arched foot bridge apparatus with a banner on it which I recognized as the starting line.  I was in a big open field which probably normally served as the parking area for Barefoot Landing.  The open field continued beyond the start line for about 150 meters and was probably 75 yards wide.  Having done a lot of racing while I was in the Army, I knew that protocol demanded that slower runners line up behind the faster runners so as not to impede those who might be more competitive.  Well,  protocol be damned; I knew that if I got near the back of the pack, it would take me five minutes or more to just get to the starting line after the gun went off.   So, I put on my most serious runner look, tried to act like I knew what I was doing, and muscled my way up to the front line.  I noticed that there was a tree line along the left side of the start area which continued almost all the way out to the street 150 or so yards ahead.  I staked out my position at the edge of that tree line on the far left.  I figured that by staying on the outside like this I wouldn’t be in the faster runners’ way.  It was still dark as ink, so I couldn’t see past the two or three runners nearest me on my right.  I couldn’t hear anything either, but I could see the starter’s platform above and to my right.  The starter climbed the steps up to his position and began giving instructions with a megaphone.  I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but I didn’t worry because I knew I would see him when he raised his arm to fire the pistol, and I would hear the gun go off, or at least see a puff of smoke.

Finally, he quit talking.  He hesitated a moment and raised his arm with the pistol in his hand.  I struck my starting pose, bending at the hip, leaning well forward, left leg and left arm forward.  I’m thinking I’ll have to go out fast, almost at full speed for the first 30-50 meters so as to not impede anyone, then I can relax into my cruising pace as the gazelles fly by me.

“BAM!!”  The gun goes off!  My first thought as I fire out of my starting position is relief that I didn’t fall down.  I actually got off to a great start – 10 or 15 good hard strides and no one has passed me yet.  Wait a minute – no one has passed me yet?  At about 50 meters out I’m still in the lead.  I think I can hear runners behind me grunting and straining, but – man I must be flying – they haven’t passed me yet.  Confusing thoughts are flitting around in my mind now – did every team start their slowest runner? No, that can’t be because some of these runners are racing for the individual championship.  Finally, at about 75 meters out, I figure something has to be wrong.  I still can barely see, but now I know I can hear them and I sense that someone is coming up on my right.  I turn slightly to my right to try to see who this is and  where all the other runners are.

“HOLY SHIT!!!”   I see about 8 or 10 wheel chairs, nothing else.  The guy in the nearest wheel chair is pumping his arms furiously and staring at me as he gradually passes me and begins to pull away.  He shouted something at me – I couldn’t make out exactly what he said, but I’m pretty sure the word “FOOL” was somewhere in there.  So now I have to figure a way to extricate myself from this predicament without losing too much face.  I slowed down and peeled off into the tree line and jogged back toward the start line as if I was just warming up.  I made sure to not make eye contact with anyone, but there was some obvious snickering going on.   I didn’t even look back up at the starter.   I guess when he saw that I was settled in again, he raised the gun and fired to start the runners.  I wasn’t ready, got a terrible start, and the speedsters took no mercy on me.  I damn near got run over.   I was very sluggish, felt like I had already run five miles.  I’m sure 5,000 people must have passed me by the time I reached Holley.

After Leigh and Chris finished the race and the family was congratulating ourselves and relaxing, I told them of my fiasco of starting the race with the wheel chairs.  They all thought I was lying just to get a laugh.  But later that night Leigh was with a crowd of high school and college runners at the motel swimming pool.  They were all telling of their experience with the race – these were all serious runners.

Eventually, one guy announced, “Well, I was the lead runner for my team and you won’t believe what happened at the start of the race.  The starter fired the gun for the start of the wheel chair race, and some old man took off running!”

“OH MY GOD!” shouted Leigh, “THAT WAS MY DAD!”