There once was a gal named Elaine, Who laughed in the face of real pain. She said, “Come to Spearfish, “We’ll all get our real wish.”

So we came; we must be insane.

It was a breakthrough learning experience not only in being an event director but in the dynamics of an all-woman run. The supporting actors at the aid stations were amazed at the courtesy—always a thank-you. Never did they cut the tangent, and to a woman, gracious. The women were gratified by the men’s unselfish contributions of time and energy and by the respect and courtesy they were consistently accorded. The photographer even titled his slide show of our event, “Miles of Smiles,” amazed at the happy demeanor maintained throughout a grueling endeavor. (I know I said it was an easy course, but 26.2 is 26.2, even in paradise.) The youngest runner, a 19-year-old first-timer, doubled over in pain and nausea at the finish line. As I held her up and our marathon physician—herself a marathon woman—determined she was OK, I said, “So now what do you think of marathoning?” She flipped her long flaxen braid and chirped: “I love it!” Go figure.

For me to watch a marathon (first time), to see the finish line from the other side, to witness the joy on other faces, to worry about someone besides myself—it was an exciting yet humbling experience. Much goes into creating a venue for the wonderful magic that happens when you finish a marathon. I have new respect, new understanding, and new gratitude to all who put their own athletic goals on hold and make it happen for others.

So opening night is a

4 wonderful memory and

sleep deprivation a fading

nightmare. Will this be a long-running hit? Let’s hope so. The veterans of the first annual all say they’re coming back next year and bringing friends, the guys want to help again, Jerry is still here, my kids are speaking to me, and I’m up for it. So watch for the sign:

5 y ‘ “Curves Ahead. The i A Elaine and Kathrine. Encore!”

A Race Director’s Ramblings.

s an Islander and an avid runner and marathoner, I dreamed of having a marathon here in the San Juan Islands. The scenery is beautiful and the weather rarely reaches past 80 degrees in the summer. Because we live in the Olympic Rain Shadow, we have less rain than, say, Seattle—a fact that the tourist industry loudly proclaims. To me, it is similar to saying that Paul Allen has less money than Bill Gates. The point is they are both extremely wealthy, just as the Islands and Seattle are both extremely wet. In truth, the rains come more as a heavy mist. I have lived and run in Montana, and I will take running in heavy mist over snow up to the knees any day (unless it’s Christmas, ’cause that is just plain fun).

The main town on San Juan Island is Friday Harbor: county seat and largest community in the Islands. The Island population ranges from maybe 4,000 people in the winter to 8,000 or 9,000 in the summer. Needless to say, the summer months are the best months to live here—that is, if you can afford to own a home here and somewhere else. I happen to be in the group that lives here year-round, because I love it so.

GEOGRAPHY AND GEOLOGY

The San Juan Islands lie at the extreme northwestern tip of the continental United States. Nestled between British Columbia’s Vancouver Island and the state of Washington, the many islands of this archipelago make up the county of San Juan. Only 10 or so of these islands are inhabited, and four are accessible by the state-owned and -operated ferry system. I live on San Juan Island, home of the San Juan Island Marathon and Half-Marathon.

Geologically, these islands are a result of tectonic action, having been pushed up from the earth’s crust as an American plate collided with a Canadian plate. During the Ice Age, over 5,000 feet of ice covered this area. You would think that a land mass that had over a mile of ice sitting on it would be extremely flat,

but—thanks to erosion and the uplifting of the earth’s surface—our islands are very hilly. And that makes for a great marathon course!

TOURISTS AND ISLANDERS

The Islands are a very popular place to visit. People come for a variety of reasons. Whale watching is most popular. Seeing an orca surfacing next to your boat or kayak is quite an experience, some say a spiritual experience. Having two orca whales mating next to your boat or kayak is also an experience that I am not going into detail about but one that I guarantee you would never forget. Bird-watching is popular because we have around 500 species of birds living or visiting here. Other folks come to ride their bicycles up and down our hills on narrow county roads, where the maximum speed limit is 45 miles per hour. Still others arrive by boat and drink gin and tonics until sundown.

Ihave been living here since 1995. I did not move here from California. The thing is, when someone moves to the Islands, it is best not to tell locals that you moved from California because there is a certain, shall we say, “resistance” to Californians. It is also a good idea to make friends quickly—especially those with chain saws, because you never know when a tree is going to blow down across your driveway. Having a neighbor who owns a chain saw and is willing to cut up the aforementioned tree means you will arrive at work within an appropriate time frame in spite of the downed tree. Most newcomers don’t understand this principle. (I actually did move from California, but let that be our secret.)

BEGINNINGS

In June 2002, I received a phone call from a lady who introduced herself as Lynne. She was representing a local group called C.A.T.S. Community Arts Theater Support is a group of volunteers who raise money for our local community theater. They were interested in talking to me about developing a marathon as a fund-raiser for their group. I was a tad surprised but agreed to meet with them.

Why me? Well, I am known here on the Island as someone who runs a lot, since I can be seen running along the country roads on a regular basis. There is a local running trail named after me, as well. (And I’m still alive, so it isn’t one of those memorial trails!) I also have experience putting on these types of events, having worked in the YMCA for over 12 years.

My first meeting with the folks from C.A.T.S. went something like this:

Them: We want to put on a marathon and we need your help.

Me: Why?

Them: We want to use it as a way to raise money for the theater and we hear you are the man to talk to.

Me: Do you know what a marathon is?

Them: It’s a footrace.

Me: Do you know how long it is?

Them: Five miles?

Me: No, 26 miles, 385 yards.

Them: Why would anyone want to do that?

l explained that we would need over 100 volunteers to put this event on. “No problem,” they said. “We will need start-up money for marketing, printing, promotion, numbers, T-shirts, medals, food, drink, insurance, and so on.”

“No problem” they said.

“It’s going to take a hell of a lot of work with a tremendous amount being done over the course of the few days of the marathon weekend.”

“No problem” they said.

And so started the first order of business: to educate this group . . . and the county government, and law enforcement, and the road department, and the community in general. In every case, I was asked the same question: “Why would anyone want to do that?” and I was beginning to ask myself why anyone, in their right mind, would want to put on a marathon.

SCHEDULING AND FERRIES, A RACE DIRECTOR’S NIGHTMARE

After researching the regional race calendar, we picked the first weekend in June as our date. I think picking a marathon date is like picking a wedding date. You try to pick one that works for everyone and that you won’t forget the following year. The first Sunday in June seemed to work. We were, as newly engaged young people are, excited.

In talking to various local groups, including the chamber of commerce and government officials, we made the decision to create a marathon weekend when people would come and spend some time—and some of their money. Seven A.M. Sunday morning was selected as the start time, requiring race participants to be “on Island” Saturday night.

To come over to the Island the day of the race, racers would have had to catch the 6:00 a.m. boat out of Anacortes, which arrives around 7:30—that is, if there are no problems along the way. My fear was choosing an 8:00 start and then having the ferry run into a fog bank and arrive late. Things like that do happen here. What would I do? Wait for the ferry? Run the race without those on the boat? What if the ferry was an hour late? What tree would they hang me from? It was a race director’s nightmare. The funny thing is that on the Saturday before our first marathon, the temperatures were in the 80s, but on the morning of the race, we couldn’t see across the harbor. All my caution was justified. The thick fog we had at start time, though, made for excellent, cool race conditions. Choosing an 8:30 start time for the 2005 marathon made my head hurt and fear rise again, but

it was both successful and good for the race, attracting those runners who wanted to come over for race day only.

PAUL, MY SAVING GRACE

Being a normal race director is a huge job in itself. If you don’t think so, just try to put on a race sometime. The year of planning before our first race was painfully slow and frustrating. Not only was I planning a race, which I had experience in doing, but I was also educating an entire community about what a marathon is and how it was going to work. That alone was almost a full-time job. Our marathon committee was made up of about 13 very well-intentioned individuals, of whom not one had ever run a marathon. Well, maybe one, Tom. These people had no clue and spent most of our planning time discussing what kind of pasta was going to be served at our pasta feed.

My saving grace came in February of the following year, some four months before our first race. I met a newbie—someone new to the Island who had the good sense not to say he was from California—who wanted to help out. Paul Hopkins came from a marketing and promotion background and had actually competed in several marathons and triathlons. Paul knew what needed to be done.

When I met Paul, at a chamber of commerce auction, I made sure that he had all the wine he wanted, and at the end of the evening he promised to help. Paul turned out to be a great volunteer! He took charge of the course, recruiting volunteers, marking the course, setting up and planning the aid stations, and a ton more. These three years of races could not have happened without Paul’s leadership. After putting on three marathons, we are still on speaking terms.

ADVENTURES IN COURSE MARKING

The San Juan Island Marathon course is both challenging and very beautiful. (That’s our story line, and we are sticking to it.) The same could be said for marking the course. The first two years, the races were run on courses that were not certified. We used the odometer on my BMW motorcycle to mark the courses, with satisfactory results. You have to appreciate German technology.

For the 2005 race, we went through the process of certifying the course so that runners could use it to qualify for the Boston Marathon and the Olympic Trials as well as set national records. Paul took the lead on the certification. He obtained the paperwork, and we began working with Robert Langenbach from USTAF to get our course certified. Though we could have paid $1,500 to have someone come and certify the course for us, Paul and I made the choice of doing the certification ourselves.

In hindsight, I would have paid someone three times the asking price to have it done for us.

A Scenes from the race: Race Director Clark Gilbert telling one more story of when he was a little boy. Group of re-enactment Soldiers of Battery D from the Pig War on San Juan Island, 1859. Shaded marathon route along the west side of San Juan Island.

Per the instructions, we needed a flat and straight piece of road, and using a 100-foot steel tape stretched to a force of 45 newtons, we marked out a quartermile section. This was our first problem. We didn’t know of any flat and straight quarter-mile sections of road on San Juan Island.

After some discussion, we agreed on a quiet, pretty-much flat and straight section of road in the south island area. On a nice and sunny day, Paul and I, along with his two daughters—Sammantha, age 8, and Hannah, age 6 (whom I refer to as “the sisters” and both of whom were wearing new go-go boots)—loaded up all of our gear into Paul’s island car and drove the nine miles out to the calibration course. (An “island car” is an automobile that you would never, repeat, never, drive anywhere else in the world for fear that (1) people would see you and (2) it might break down.)

With the help of the sisters, we then measured out the 1,320 feet for the calibration course, then remeasured to ensure that it was accurate—which it was.

The following Monday, at about 6:00 p.m., Paul picked me up, and with the intention of marking the marathon course that evening, we drove out to the calibration site. With the Jones-Oerth counter on the front wheel of Paul’s bicycle, we rode the quarter-mile calibration course four different times counting the clicks each time to develop a working constant.

At 6:40, we drove back to town to ride the course from the starting line. At 7:00, we stopped and evaluated the available sunlight and calculated how long it would take us to ride 26.2 miles on bicycles, getting off every mile to pound a nail into the pavement and mark the spot with spray paint.

At 7:15, we ordered beer and nachos, agreeing that the following weekend we would mark the course or die a thousand deaths. The beer and nachos were really tasty.

Our first attempt, on the following Saturday, in marking the course that we had developed the previous year, brought to light two things: (1) our course was three-tenths of a mile short, and (2) my butt was not used to being on a bicycle seat longer than it normally takes me to ride to the local market to purchase Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. So it was back to the drawing board to find three-tenths of a mile to add to the course.

The following weekend we drove back out to recalibrate the measuring bicycle, only to find a local farmer/rancher moving a herd of 50 cows down our calibration course. While waiting for the cows to pass, we checked the instructions on what to do if your calibration course is covered in cow manure. We couldn’t find any instructions, but we were happy that the cows had chosen to relieve themselves in the middle of the road and not on the side that we were using. You just have to be thankful for small favors!

Paul and I then rode, much to the dismay of my butt, the revised course and were happy that the measured distance was what it was supposed to be. We had more beer to celebrate.

The next day, Sunday, we drove out to our calibration course, minus the cows, and started the process all over again. We did the paperwork and submitted it all to Bob Langenbach, who then informed us that our course was 188 feet short. Fortunately, this was easier to remedy, and adding the distance to a small outand-back section of the course proved to be a good solution.

FOR THE LOVE OF THE SPORT

We’ ve now had three successful years of putting on the San Juan Island Marathon. Each year the temperatures have been ideal and the scenery spectacular, and the runners who travel to our event have been outstanding. At times I wonder why I, along with my friend Paul, keep directing this race. The time spent, the work involved, and the huge organization of people that it takes to put on a marathon are massive, but each year I have walked away with a feeling of contentment. The runners, volunteers, organizing committee, and sponsors all make this event something that truly enriches my life.

I do think that training for and running a marathon are much easier than organizing one. Most race directors would probably agree with me. But we all do it, because we love the sport and we love the people. And then there are th the nachos and beer.