THE “KINDNESS OF STRANGERS” and OTHER STUFF FROM THE WINTHROP MARATHON
I was always going to post something about my latest road-trip race. You know I was. But, what I didn’t know until it was all done, was what the main topic would be. So, let’s get some of the obvious stuff out of the way and then I’ll get to the main point, a point that is not exclusive to the Winthrop Road Marathon, but ever so important.
This was my second time to the Winthrop Road Marathon. You know there is something different when the name of the event insists on including the word ROAD. There is a reason for that. The Winthrop ROAD Marathon is organized by Rainshadow Running and is the only event in their considerable roster that isn’t a trail epic. Winthrop is a ‘small’ event in regard to total numbers of competitors in the combined marathon and half marathon events. This year the total finisher counts were 103 and 84 respectively. The distances are pretty standard so small only refers to numbers. It certainly doesn’t apply to the ‘heart’ of the race(s). The effort and care put into it by James Varner and his crew of volunteers is top shelf and as good as any. When you get to the finish, the post-race celebration and street party is up there with the best! There is plenty of fruit, baked goods, refreshing juices, lemonade and cold water. When you are ready there is a hearty lunch from Carlos’ 1800 Mexican Restaurant. Oh yes, and one other thing. Now what was that?
Right, beer on tap from the Old Schoolhouse Brewery (located, literally, mere steps from the finish line). They have live music too! Finally, once you have eaten all you want and quaffed all the cooling beverages you need, just a short walk down the wooden sidewalk you can collect your ice cream from Sheri’s. All of this done in the warm afternoon sunshine of the Methow Valley in North-Central Washington State in the, wait for it ——  rainshadow of the North Cascades.
The race starts well up the Chewuch River, interestingly enough pretty much 26 miles. It used to start 3 miles farther up that road, but that involved doing those three miles on gravel. In order to keep the whole thing on pavement, the start was moved down a bit and a wee (didn’t seem so ‘wee’ at the end of the marathon) out and back was added in town to make up the difference. Having never done the original route, I can’t really comment on the difference, but I sure like the first half of the marathon course which is all in the forest, running beside the Chewuch River, which is often in plain view. I think I’d like a version of the route that would take me straight to the finish once we hit town, but hey, that’s just me. I have no experience on the former gravel section. I do know that both times I’ve done Winthrop the weather was warm, especially as you break out into the open just around the half way point. At the time it now takes me to run a marathon even on a good day, it is getting pretty ‘toasty’ by the time you are at the half mark. Three more miles in the shady forest seems like a good thing to me!
Regardless of my route commentary, this is a great ‘little’ event and one to give a try sometime, especially if you want something a bit different from the big city mega-event marathon or half marathon. Nothing wrong with those big races, but you do owe it to yourself to try a race like the Winthrop Road Marathon.
Now to “The Kindness of Strangers” part of the title. What happened was not really major and was surely not exclusive to this race or even the people involved, but it did make an impression on me and provided the major talking point for this race.
Very few runners, once they have cooled down, will not recognize the effort of the volunteers at any event. Without ‘em we would be in trouble trying to do what we do. We all recognize the nature of the running community and can tell stories of selfless kindness, including people halting their own race to help someone in distress. Everyone tends to be supportive of everyone else. For the most part, that is just how it is and one of the reasons people enjoy running as they do.
My story is really nothing major but was still pretty amazing to me. Here it is. In 2012 I totally blew my hydration and electrolyte balancing. Did I mention it can be warm in Winthrop in June? Yes, I thought so. Somewhere around 15 miles I started cramping up and started walking. It was largely my own fault, so in 2013 I vowed that was not going to happen again, and it mostly didn’t. Although I was tiring and slowing quite appreciably as the end drew near, I feel it was more attributable to the fact that this was my third marathon or greater racing event in a period of six weeks. Cramping or potential cramping (because I was only just feeling the first twinges) only happened in the last mile or two. I managed that and even shuffled across the finish line at what might have looked like a running pace. Haven’t seen the finish-line pictures yet!
I was pretty tired and my quads were pretty stiff, but I had improved on my time from 2012 and was pretty sure even at that point that I had moved up the finish order. I was feeling good because this was in context of all the recent running and the fact that if anything, the day was a bit warmer than 2012. I walked around a little within the restricted finish area and found out where the drop bags were. I wanted to get out of my sweaty running singlet and get into my new Marathon Maniac shirt so the many Maniacs in attendance could see I was one of them. As I stepped up maybe four inches onto the board-walk and put pressure on my right foot, my right calf just went into spasm right then and there. Being almost in front of the band, I grabbed one of the speaker stands just to take pressure off my leg. And thus began my own experience of “the kindness of strangers”. Two women who were runners (half marathon I think), were right there to steady me (and maybe try to rescue the speaker too, although it was really never in danger – really, it wasn’t). I hope I didn’t look as bad as they must have thought. Except that it hurt a lot, as anyone who has experienced such a post-run cramping episode would know, I was quite OK. Then a third woman, associated with the Carlos’ food service, got into it. They convinced me to sit down in a chair that one of them quickly found for me and the restaurant lady was giving me a foot to brace against while I tried to stretch out my calf. One of the others offered to get me a big cold glass of lemonade, and then did. When she got back she asked if she could get me some fruit. Once more, she returned with a plate of grapes, cherries, watermelon and pineapple. By then I had pretty much downed the lemonade, so she asked if I wanted more. I did. Off she went again. Meanwhile the third of these angels of mercy offered me a high-tech cold towel thingy for my neck. Not sure I really needed that (I mean it was my calf that was in distress) but by this time I think I was kind of getting into all this tender attention. I have to say, whether I really needed it or not, that cool towel did feel pretty good!
In truth, all of this didn’t actually take all that long and I was soon able to go get my bag and get into a less race ‘damaged’ shirt. All three kept track of me for the next while. I thanked each of them each time they did something specific but my big regret was not being able to make a more expansive thank you to each of them after everything was done. It really was special how much attention they showered on this old guy. Who knows, maybe I did look a bit scary after my effort in the noon-day sun, but other than being painfully cramped up for a bit, I was feeling pretty darn good. I do hope that all three see this somehow and realize I’m talking about them. As I think about, maybe not being able to make some kind of pretty thank you speech to each of them, was a kind of blessing in disguise. Because I have had to do it this way, maybe all those runners and volunteers who have done anything remotely similar at some place and time, will recognize themselves in more general terms and KNOW I am talking to them too.
As I recall, none of these women asked my name and I did not ask theirs. Before I realized it, they were all gone, as far as I could see. The whole encounter was entirely anonymous and maybe that was to the good. It was done person to person without ever becoming ‘personal’. It truly was a matter of “The Kindness of Strangers“.




























