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Tracy was nice enough to let me run in her place in the 'Beach to Beacon 10k', a race that sold out all 6000 slots in 24hrs. I ran as 'Tracy' and with a number but did not wear the chip, so I was a ghost participant. It is a huge race and part of a pro circuit. Apparently the times here are the fastest 10k times put up for a sanctioned race (not sure if that is US or world). The course, though marginally hilly, is fast, net 50ft downhill. This pic is about 1 minute before the start. These are all the pros lining up in the priority section, they go out a few seconds before everyone else. If you have a bib number with #150 or less, you are one of the quick. Kenyans have won in the past 9 years. They are fast runners, soundless. I snapped the pic with the cellphone and then ran back and merged in the middle of the pack. It took me 2 minutes to get to the start line... a long line of people and I would say I was in the front 50%.

About 3 minutes into the race, the throng stretching out in front.

I have never been in a race with so many spectators. The last quarter mile was solid people on both sides, even cheering on all the huff and puffers like us in the middle of the pack. This is maybe a minute or two away from the finish. I crossed at about the 54 minute mark on the time clock.


I am not sure what is weirder, lurking around after the race and collecting this crap, or laying it out and taking a photograph of it... ok, definitely the laying out and photo-ing.


Tracy and Aimsel really set me up. Going to the race the traffic was backed up halfway across the bridge going over to South Portland, but Aimsel cut over the shoulder, bypassed everyone following the recommended route, and got me to the start in another 5 minutes, in what would have taken at least another half hour to hour if we had followed all the others. Then they took me back after we plundered the all the freebie food booths.

Maine is the 'sandwich state'. The state sandwich is the 'Italian', pronounced 'Eye-talian'. A common order is, 'One salami Italian, double meat and extra oil, hold the olives'. Rockin good post-race sandwich here at Claytons, though not an Italian. -e