THE LURE OF THE LITTLE

Throughout the past decade, the growth of marathon participation has stayed consistently between five and ten percent per year. The number of people who run marathons in the United States is approaching a half-million, which is some five times the number who ran marathons in the First Running Revolution (1976-84).

New marathons are cropping up like mushrooms on a damp night, and many of them are doing exceptionally well at attracting participants. The success of both the Rock ‘n’ Roll and the Country Music marathons as well as smaller new events such as the Oklahoma City Memorial and the Yakima River Canyon indicate that the growth of marathoning continues.

Yet there is a downside to all this excitement about getting thousands of people attired in only their underwear to run, walk, stumble 26.2 miles.

Many a smaller marathon is suffering, while its numbers either remain stagnant or actually decrease.

One of the most beautiful—and laid back—marathons in the world is the Avenue of the Giants, held in early May in the northern extreme of California, run among the towering redwoods. Because the race is run among the redwoods, on roads that can at best be described as one-and-one-half cars wide, there is an upper limit of 2,000 entrants. Back in the late 1970s, more than 3,000 runners vied for those 2,000 spots. In order to fairly accommodate the demand, the Six Rivers’ Running Club held a lottery to pick the 2,000 lucky souls; the club accommodated further runners who wanted to race among the redwoods by founding a companion fall race, the Humboldt Redwoods Marathon, to handle the overflow.

Most of the entrants back in the lottery days came from the San Francisco Bay area, and it was quite a trek to Weott, where the race originated. Highway 101 was a winding two-lane road that could consume six hours of driving from downtown San Francisco to the course. Over the years the highway has been significantly improved, cutting at least an hour off the San Francisco-to-Weott trip, yet the numbers for the Avenue of the Giants Marathon have fallen to below 700.

To keep the Avenue of the Giants Marathon profitable enough to continue, the race added a companion 10K and, more recently, a two-person marathon relay. The fall race, the Humboldt Redwoods Marathon, added a half-marathon.

Long-running marathons like the Heart of America in Columbia, Missouri (begun in 1960), have seen wild fluctuations: 178 finishers in 1978, 39 finishers in 1987, and 154 in 2001. God’s Country Marathon in Coudersport, Pennsylvania, has been stalled at around 100 marathoners. The Governor’s Cup (previously the Ghost Town) Marathon in Helena, Montana, has roughly 200 runners, yet the accompanying 5K race has thousands.

Of course, Heart of America, God’s Country, and Governor’s Cup have one thing going against them: they’re relatively tough courses, so the typical runner is not going to PR any time soon. Yet the latter two races are also lovely from a scenic standpoint, usually a factor that draws runners.

A marathon whose diminishing numbers are completely baffling is the Santa Clarita Marathon. The race is well-organized, the course is fast, the amenities are generous, Santa Clarita is a scenic area on the northern boundary of Los Angeles, yet in spite of the host city’s marketing efforts, the race continues to lose runners. Certainly one drawback is that it is run in the late fall, which puts it up against many of the mega-marathons, which seem to be a magnet, especially for first-time marathoners.

In spite of their seeming stagnation or even disintegration, small marathons have charms that the mega-marathons can’t provide, not the least of which is the luxury of crossing the start line in this lifetime.

Small marathons typically offer extremely personal customer service and frequently boast one volunteer per entrant, something the mega-marathons can’t approach, although many of the mega-marathons do go out of their way to train a corps of volunteers to look after runners’ needs.

One factor in what attracts runners to one size marathon or the other is the runner’s personality. Today’s runners are more susceptible to the hype of big-city, big-number marathons. There’s a lot of splash, press coverage, a real sense of a mobile Woodstock. Small marathons, on the other hand, seem to attract a more traditional loneliness-of-the-long-distance-runner type runner—someone more introspective than gregarious.

In considering the pros and cons of mega vs. mini races, I slowfooted it back over the 37 marathons I’ve run, and found a definite prejudice in favor of the smaller races.

Maybe it’s the constant reminder in our backyard, where one of the seedling redwoods that was given out to finishers of the Humboldt Redwoods Marathons in the ’80s stands twice as tall as I am.

Maybe it’s the fact that my three fastest times were on a small-marathon course where it was possible to line up in a spot compatible with the speed I was going to run and where it was a matter of mere seconds between the signal to “Go!” and my feet crossing the starting line.

Maybe it’s the informal post-race parties a group of us would arrange at the smaller marathons where we would sit around comparing notes, luring into our midst other finishers who happened to be passing by and who were interested in sharing a beer and telling their tale.

Maybe it was the ease of parking, the ease of getting to the water and sports drinks at the aid stations, the sense of relaxation at the starting line in spite of the presence of butterflies in the stomach, the home-made age group prizes, the local high school jazz band playing at the finish area, the availability of ample soft grass that welcomed a tired butt or two without being butt-to-butt with 5,000 other butts, the finish line announcer who had plenty of time to describe every finisher’s final struggles to the clock.

Maybe it was merely the intimacy of the small races, as though marathon racing were still something small, eccentric, and therefore special.

Maybe it was the leg room, both to move around freely before and after the race, and to stride out during the race itself.

Maybe it was the scenery, which we didn’t have to peer around or over thousands of other runners to absorb.

Maybe it was merely the peace and quiet, where you can hear the slap-slap-slap of your own feet and your breath being drawn in and expelled.

Maybe it’s just the nostalgia for simpler times.

Maybe it’s time to get away from the keyboard to take a run. Quietly, alone. Yeah.

—Rich Benyo