Common Spaces

Runners Share Common Spaces With SUVs and Vicious Dogs. Is There No Safe Haven?

reviously, in her “On the Road” column for this magazine [July/August, 2002],

ultrarunner Ellen McCurtin observed: “Our modern world is certainly not pedestrian friendly.” I thought this was as much unremarkable as it was remarkable, having recently survived an attack by a four-legged boxer at the end of a 20-miler. Of course, it is obvious that Ellen’s observation is true for any of us who travel the roads unprotected by an envelope of steel. We obviously live in a very mobile world, but little of the mobility involves foot traffic, except for folks like us who run the roads. On a recent run, I wondered why we runners shouldn’t be able to expect more cooperation from the users of the roads we run.

Ellen noted obstacles that runners meet along the road that limit their ability to run freely and that offer virtually unlimited dangers, ranging from gated communities to loose dogs and monster SUVs. The infringements on our sense of freedom on the open road increase daily. It would have depressed even Jack Kerouac, and he was in a car. It is frustrating to run down a lovely tree-shaded road only to meet a guardhouse next to a gate protecting what used to be an open road from the likes of us. It is equally frustrating to feel the sting of a cloud of sand thrown up from a passing SUV on its way to the local soccer field. This is a relatively recent phenomenon, isn’t it? I mean, it wasn’t always thus, was it?

WHAT DOES HISTORY

The best place to contemplate such questions is on the run, where complexities seem to be transported off us with each drop of sweat and where the world becomes narrowed, focused, and simple. I tried to combine my own observations from the road with what I had read over the years. And when you work at a college, you get to read quite a bit. Usually, a good run gets me away from too much reading and gives my eyes a chance to exercise themselves on things in the real world, but now I had a chance to combine observations with book learning.

I came to the conclusion that I should not be so paranoid on behalf of my fellow runners. There is probably not a vast conspiracy to endanger runners who are using the roads. The world in general probably could not care less about us. We’re probably nothing more than a nuisance.

Stacy Dow

Historically, roadways have always been perilous. The carriages of the nobility being driven pell-mell down a winding road behind a pair of 1,500-pound horses have no doubt been responsible for many a pedestrian’s broken bones over the centuries. Then there were the highwaymen, whether the benign Robin Hoods or the just plain ratty scoundrels ready to prey on unwary travelers.

Roads were what people used to get from one place to another. But what was available when you got to where you were going? The end of the 19th century saw the growth of public spaces where people went to see and be seen. Lewis Ehrenberg’s book Steppin’ Out details the slow evolution of social venues away from the Victorian parlor to places of public entertainment in New York; his attention is especially taken with New York City nightlife.

David Nasaw drew similar parallels in his book Going Out, a tome on the growth and social importance of public spaces. His book noted the decline of such public spaces as America expanded into the 20th century. Boardwalks, Coney Island-type amusement centers, beaches, and parks lost their social centrality.

These great central gathering places, where a walker could walk, arunner could run, and a couple could stroll, were pinched off, victims of social and economic trends such as during the Great Depression, when such spaces were no longer being built; rising racial tensions in amusement parks; and the flight of the middle

class to the suburbs, where public transportation could no longer accommodate the needs of such a widespread population.

A trend that further complicates the use of public spaces is the current habit of so many people of staying indoors to get their entertainment from computers, televisions, and video games.

WHERE IS THE

Those of us who are out and about lament the demise of open roadways and what used to be referred to as “the commons.”

The Commons (with a capital “C’”’) has a long history that has been traced by Roger Lohmann in his book of the same name. Not surprisingly, the history of the Commons runs through the great civilizations such as Greece, Rome, and Arabia; the Commons are also identifiable in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.

The Commons, however, claims Lohmann, “are not physical entities or places, although a variety of common places may be set aside for shared uses.” He goes on to write: “Although a commons is not primarily a physical place, it may include a place, as in the case of temples and other common spaces. Common spaces may be a committee room, a conference center, a restaurant dining room, or almost any other public or private space.” (The first thing that came to my mind, being a runner, was the inside of a porta-potty.) But Lohmann insists the Commons are not so much places but “universes of discourse.” These universes of discourse, though, fall out of the measured spaces of the state or those designated for profit-seeking economic activity.

For runners, the roadways are common spaces where we carry on the discourse of running. After running for a few years, you become aware that most motorists and nearly all dogs do not share and do not approve of this discourse. It takes only one motorist or one surly dog to bring a perfectly good run to a halt.

Riding in the contrived private space of their ve- Stacy Dow hicles, motorists project their sense of the private space of their vehicle onto the road; it becomes de facto their personal property, not a common space after all, and territorially malevolent dogs don’t give a snit for the sociological refinements that civilized people attempt to create.

As for motorists, transcontinental runner James Shapiro remarked in Meditations From the Breakdown Lane of his 1980 cross-country journey: “For the rest of the morning I judge the motorists severely, so smooth and insulated as they whizz /QQ: whizz or whiz ? XQQ/ past in their little worlds. They just go through the desert, they don’t respect it.”

Running, on the other hand, personifies the concept of the Commons, the Commons in this case being a community of like-minded people taking action outside the realm of the state and the activity of profit economics. Running is rarely state sponsored and is largely noneconomic behavior for all but a few of us, but we pursue it anyway for the pure joy of the activity. We band with others who run for similar reasons. This shared interest creates a running Commons. We see it at the beginning of races; we feel it at the end of races.

WHERE CHARITY RACES FIT IN

This Commons may in fact be one of the reasons that charity fund-raising, sharply analyzed by Roger Robinson and Jonathan Beverly in an issue of Running Times

Robinson and Beverly, running is a uniquely public act. Running is effort made visible. It is this visible effort that many are willing to sponsor through charitable contributions to biomedical research. The metaphor of racing to a finish line satisfies, even excites, our view of biomedical process and triumph, but we should note that Robinson and Beverly were generally critical of linking fund-raising to running.

It is a triumph over that which would restrict that very effort. Both charity fund-raising and running reside within the greater running Commons, areas outside of economic (profit) activity and state responsibilities where, according to Lohmann, the code of behavior is one of “fairness.”

How much would our road experiences and the experiences of others on the road be improved by a concern for fairness? Would it be possible to revive the notion of the Commons to breathe fresh air into these spaces and to shift the reason for being there—to note and be noted, to see and to be seen, as was done over a century ago in other types of common spaces, literally as well as figuratively? Is it possible that out of respect for shared space we could restrain the menace of aggressive and loosely tended dogs, the proliferation of high-profile SUVs, and private gated communities?

Lohmann observes, “Social actors throughout history have known that there is a public space outside the marketplace and the state. The public space of the Commons is predominantly not a space for buying and selling or ordering and forbidding. It is a space for talking and listening (dialogue) and for seeing and being seen (presentation).”

NO TRESPASSING

Compare Lohmann’s social amicability to Shapiro’s experience as he sought out the most satisfying crossing of the Mississippi, encountering the state role of forbidding: “A friendly but intensely unyielding toll collector on the Muscatine

Bridge refused to let me cross. ‘Sorry, it’s federal regulations,’ he said. It was another in the distressingly antihuman regulatory clauses and attitudes that made pedestrians so unwelcome in America.”

Most of us runners try very hard to be seen on our roadways and streets—a good run and a life are at stake. But, of course, visual perception and acuity were not what Lohmann had in mind for “seeing and being seen.” He suggests rather a shared view of the Commons, a view that would bring fairness to our endeavor on roadways and streets and help us all see each other just a bit better. The larger and more troubling question is How do we engage nonrunners—motorists and dog owners—in this discourse?

There is some progress. Some towns close off sections of their downtown to traffic, either occasionally or permanently. Bike and walking paths are created along riverbanks. Rail-to-trail conversions are made. And the practice of the ’60s of rowdy teens throwing beer bottles at the occasional runner has diminished.

But little progress is made by urban and suburban planners who design for the automobile or public transportation but completely ignore the needs of runners and walkers and bikers.

Runners and walkers who wish to promote a Commons mentality must not only be seen but must be heard. If the squeaky wheel gets the grease, the outspoken runner may get his path to civility. th

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Edward Payson Weston and the 1861 Inauguration

The Feats of the “Pedestrians” of the 19th Century Continue to Astonish Historians of Running.

ompetitive racewalking has always been a spectacle. At times today, with

its contact-with-ground rule, the sport sometimes seems just a fraction of an inch away from running. Only a few knowledgeable spectators can appreciate the time, training, and discipline necessary to become a true racewalker. Compared with long-distance running, the numbers of races and competitors are few.

However, this was not always true. In ancient times, there were not many travel options in getting from place to place. Although most individuals rarely left the confines of the area surrounding their villages, many in the clergy did. Crusaders walked from Western Europe to the Holy Land. A few lucky enough to survive were able to walk back.

It appears that competitive walking, originally known as “pedestrianism,” began in the early 1600s. England produced many noteworthy performances such as that of Foster Powell in 1773, when he walked from London to York and back in five days, 18 hours. He averaged more than 70 miles per day for the 402-mile distance.

There was also Captain Robert Barclay, who in 1809 walked one mile in each of 1,000 continuous hours. Other feats of this nature brought widespread publicity during the late 1700s and well into the next century. Many town-to-town walking events took place, with enthusiastic crowds and betting as well.

It was natural for these contests to spread to America, and by the 1820s interest began to grow. In 1843, Thomas Elsworth, of Boston, walked 1,000 miles in 40 days. This was nearly two days faster than Barclay’s walk 34 years earlier.

The popular races of the day ranged from 10 to 50 miles, saw thousands of spectators, and in some cases gave prizes of $1,000. During this time, the average annual income of a well-paid worker was $250 per year. You can understand why many athletic individuals (and too many who were nonathletic), much like the kids of today, had dreams of million-dollar contracts and turned to thoughts of pedestrianism.

WESTON EMERGES

It was into this setting that Edward Payson Weston was born in Providence, Rhode Island, on March 15, 1839. Weston was 22, during Abraham Lincoln’s inauguration ceremony in 1861, when the public first became aware of him. On a bet, Weston was to walk from Boston to Washington in 10 days, to arrive in time for the ceremony. Averaging over 50 miles a day, he made it to Washington but was a day late. Nevertheless, this feat was still recognized as an outstanding performance, and the public’s interest in and adulation of Weston would continue for the next 68 years, until his death in 1929 at the age of 90.

After the Civil War, in 1867, Weston made it back into the headlines by announcing that he would attempt to walk from Portland, Maine, to Chicago, Illinois, a distance of 1,136 miles, in 30 days. (It was actually 26 days because he would not walk on the four Sundays during that time span.) A $10,000 wager was placed. Furthermore, during this walk he was to have five attempts to walk 100 miles in 24 hours. If he failed, his backer would forfeit six-tenths of the $10,000 wager.

Needless to say, the publicity surrounding this event was tremendous. From the beginning of the walk, he was met by huge crowds in every city he traveled through. Admirers followed him on foot, on horseback, and in carriages. Often, ¥ police were called out to t ‘ control the crowds and escort him safely. By the time he reached Chicago, police had to clear a path for him to enter that city. He won the wager; however, he did not walk 100 miles in a single day. Thus he collected $4,000 of the $10,000 for his efforts.

However, it must be noted that outside forces limited him on each of the five attempts when he tried

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Courtesy of Dr. Edward H. Kozloff

to walk the 100-mile days. These included a hip injury he received because of an uncontrolled crowd, a sprained ankle, sore ankles, swollen feet, and misinformation as to the mileage traveled during the first half of one of the days. Finally, he walked 87 miles through rain and muddy, slippery terrain before stopping with three hours left because he felt he did not have the strength to continue.

In 1868, Weston was finally able to walk 100 miles in a day, starting from a point west of Erie, Pennsylvania, and ending in Buffalo, New York. He made it with 47 minutes to spare. The interest generated by Weston heightened the appeal of the sport throughout the rest of the century. He was constantly being challenged by others and was the center of curiosity wherever he went.

In 1874, he failed three times to walk 500 miles in six consecutive days; however, he was finally successful on his fourth attempt in an indoor facility in Newark, New Jersey. This feat sparked public interest in six-day races throughout the next decade.

Weston preferred competing against the clock, but he would soon be faced with some formidable competition. At the top of the list was Daniel O’ Leary, an Irishman from Chicago. O’Leary’s performances had matched and sometimes

defeated Weston by 503 miles to 451 1/4 in a six-day race.

COMPETITION IN SIX-DAY RACES

With O’Leary now the premier walker in America, Weston traveled to England, successfully walking and avoiding challengers. In 1877, O’ Leary arrived in England to again challenge Weston. With prize money of $5,000 and the public demanding it, this was an offer Weston could not refuse. The contest began on April 7, 1877, and was said to have created the most excitement for a sporting event in generations, drawing a crowd of 20,000. The encounter ended with O’Leary covering 520 miles to Weston’s 510. After the contest, both men were highly congratulated by the spectators. English sportswriters thought Weston would have won if the contest had just lasted a few more hours. At the end, O’ Leary was totally exhausted while Weston still looked fresh. Even in defeat, Weston’s fame grew.

After the match, O’Leary returned to the United States. Weston remained in

Weston walked 2,000 miles in 1,000 hours over English roads. In June of that year, ina highly anticipated six-day race, Weston walked 550 miles (a new record) and in doing so walked his 526th mile in a time of 7 minutes, 37 seconds.

In August, he sailed back to America. Upon his return, he continued competing as well as giving exhibitions and lectures. By 1884, professional walking and running were on the decline. O’ Leary and Weston again competed against each other, but as both approached the age of 50, they were no longer able to attract the crowds of past years.

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Despite the decline in the sport’s popularity, Weston continued to pursue his calling. In 1906, at the age of 67, he was still walking and lecturing and was rediscovered by a new generation of newspaper journalists who had never heard of his past exploits. In May, he repeated his walk from Philadelphia to New York, the same walk he had made 45 years earlier for Lincoln’s inauguration. [Ed: Earlier it said his Lincoln walk was from Boston to Washington.] Then, in 1907, he again walked from Portland, Maine, to Chicago. This time, he was 40 hours faster than his previous record!

On March 15, 1909, he celebrated his 70th birthday by beginning a walk from New York City to San Francisco. He was disappointed in the end, however, because he had taken five days longer than he had expected. However, the press didn’t see or report it that way, and new praise was heaped on Weston.

Weston’s last great walk was in 1913, at the age of 74, when he went from New York City to Minneapolis, Minnesota, a distance of 1,500 miles, to lay the cornerstone for the New /QQ: new sted New? XQQ/ Minneapolis Athletic Club. Living out his years in New York City, he was struck by a taxicab in 1927 and spent the rest of his days in a wheelchair, dying on May 13, 1929, at the age of 90.

Editor’s Note: Dr. Kozloff is one of the great collectors of running literature and lore. His collection is respected throughout the world. He was kind enough to lend us one of the jewels in his collection: a leather-bound book 13 3/16″ by 10 1/4″ by 1 1/2″ thick, with the cover inscribed in gold printing: Presented To EDWARD PAYSON WESTON by W.C. Rogers & Co., Stationers and Printers, 26 John Street, New York.

Courtesy of Dr. Edward H. Kozloff

The book was originally printed and bound as an official journal/log for Weston’s 1869 5,000-mile walk from Bangor, Maine, to St. Paul, Minnesota, then back to New York City, the event titled The Great Five Thousand Mile March, Inside Of One Hundred Consecutive Days. The left pages are ruled off to offer boxes to write in Name Of Station, County, State, and Distance (miles), the latter broken into four sections, each section with two subsets: As Designated By Map (w/ Distance between stations & Entire distance from starting point), As designated by Postmaster (w/ Distance between stations & Entire distance from starting point), As designated by odometer (w/ Distance between stations & Entire distance from starting point), and As designated by pedometer (w/ Distance between stations & Entire distance from starting point). Written onto each left-hand page in the fluid penmanship of the day, are the towns through which Weston passed. For instance, on Thursday, January 14, 1869, he began in Rives (Jackson County, Michigan) and passed through Jackson, Smithfield, Albion, Waterburg, Marshall, Ceresco, and ended in Battle Creek that evening; by map distance, he started at the 2,205 3/4-mile point on his walk and finished the day at mile 2,261 3/4.

Except for the title on the top and a place to write in the day’s date, the page was left blank for space as a Journal of Incidents.

Unfortunately, over the years the book was mutilated in two ways:

1. Pages were sliced out of the book, for what purpose we do not know.

2. The entire first one-third of the book was turned into a scrapbook where someone (Weston himself?) pasted newspaper clippings of his feats.

Unfortunately, the paster ran the clipped-out columns from the very edge of the top to the very edge of the bottom; hence, some lines are cut off or missing. Additionally, over the years, the paste has worked its way through the newsprint, obliterating some of the type. Also, many of the clippings are without attribution as to their source. The first two pages are devoted to the Boston-to- Washington walk that Dr. Kozloff previously cites. There is no indication of which newspaper carried the account. At places in the clipping where the copy is marred, we will note it as [illegible].

THE GREAT WALK

From Boston, Mass., to Washington, D.C. (Distance, 510 Miles.) Performed between February 22d and March 4th, 1861. EXPLANATION

DURING the Presidential campaign of 1860, I made a wager with Mr. George B. Eddy, of Worcester, Massachusetts, to this effect: that, if Abraham Lincoln were

elected by the people, President of these United States, I would agree to walk from the Boston State House to the Capitol at Washington, D.C. (a distance of about four hundred seventy-eight miles, inside of ten consecutive days, I [illegible] also to be present at his inauguration. He (Mr. Eddy) agreeing to do the same thing, if Mr. Lincoln were not elected. It was simply a banter between ourselves while dining together one day, and I do not suppose that either of us at the time had the remotest idea of ever attempting such a task. For my own part, I was not aware, at the time, that I possessed any great locomotive powers, and Mr. Eddy has frequently said to me, that if he had been the unfortunate victim, he should “most decidedly preferred to get excused.”

Having arranged matters satisfactorily, Mr. Weston, at a quarter to one P.M. started for the State House, Boston. He mounted the steps of that building three-quarters of an hour behind time, and was heartily received by his friends, and greeted with three cheers by the crowd.

In response to earnest and repeated calls for a speech, Mr. Weston made a few remarks, though he evidently preferred to keep his breath for the long journey before him.

He said, Abraham Lincoln had been elected by the people, President of these United States (applause), and he believed he had been elected to walk to Washington to see him inaugurated, and with God’s help he would do it.

His speech was received with loud cheers, and at its conclusion (twelve minutes of one) he started on his journey. He seemed hardly strong enough to undergo the fatigue and hardships he must experience, but was full of courage, and set off at a pace which put all who tried to keep up with him on their mettle. A crowd of several hundreds followed him down Beacon street, cheering and shouting as he passed on his way. The crowd gradually decreased, and when the party arrived at the toll-gate on the Mill dam, nearly all turned back, with three cheers for Mr. Weston and hearty wishes for his complete success. His two companions followed after him in a light carriage, containing his baggage, and the advertisements that were to be distributed on the route.

He was still accompanied by a few friends, who followed him as far as Newton, when they each shook hands with him and bade him good-bye. Mr. Weston walked the first five miles out of Boston in forty seven minutes. He kept a few rods ahead of the carriage, and seemed to grow more refreshed each mile he traveled. On his arrival at Natick, a distance of seventeen miles from Boston, he was met by a company of young men, who were parading at the time; and as he came up to them, they presented arms, and gave him three rousing cheers. Mr. Weston bowed his acknowledgements, and passed on toward Framingham. When within a mile of the town, he came upon a party of drummers, who informed him that they had

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come out to escort him into town. Mr. Weston thanked them, and accepted their escort, and marched to the Framingham Hotel, where he arrived at a quarter to six P.M. having traveled a distance of twenty-one miles. (He had then more than made up the time he was detained at Boston; for, had he left the place at noon, as he intended, his timetable said he would not arrive at Framingham until six p.m.) He and his companions were most sumptuously entertained by the proprietor, Mr. Bolles, and his worthy lady, who paid us every attention. Mr. Weston, while eating his supper, was introduced to several gentlemen, residents of the town, and had a pleasant chat with them. He stated that he felt much better than when he left Boston, and felt confident of success, unless he was detained again. He soon entered the parlor, where there were a number of ladies waiting to see him. While preparing to leave, quite a little incident occurred, in which his companions were not permitted to participate. A gentleman informed him that a lady present desired to send a kiss to the President. Mr. Weston said he had no objections to receiving the kiss, but he could not promise to deliver it to the President. Accordingly, the lady kissed him, and the other ladies present did likewise. He told them that he felt very highly flattered, and, bidding them good-night, left the room.

When Mr. Weston appeared at the door, the crowd outside received him with cheers, and he was compelled to make a short speech in response to their calls. He thanked them for their kind reception, and paid a compliment to our worthy host Mr. Bolles, who refused to accept any compensation whatever for his entertainment.