Monday, May 10, 1999
Eastern Avenue site of several struggles
BY JOHN ERARDI
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Twenty-two miles into the race, at a water station on Eastern Avenue, the Enquirer hooked up with runner Paul Wright of Dearborn, Mich., who was running his fourth marathon. This was no walk in the park for the 44-year-old Wright.
The course was literally closing up behind him and the scores of runners who trailed him; most walking, some still jogging lightly.
Wright works at a Ford Motor Plant. He began running about four years ago. He has since run in four marathons, and lost 25 pounds.
At one point, the course began to close in front of him.
He knew he was going to complete the race before the finish line closed at 2 p.m. — seven hours after the race had begun — but such a pace was not without its moments of prodding.
Such as when a particularly annoying police officer rode by milepost 17 in his cruiser, Wright said, and began an nouncing through his bullhorn: “The race is over! The race is over!”
That same police officer, Wright said, also told the race workers at the 30K mark — just short of the 19-mile mark near the intersection of Kellogg and Wilmer Avenues — to clear the side of the road of the welcome-mat sized piece of carpet that contained the equipment to register the “chips” on the runner's shoes.
“I saw what was going on, and I had to run hard for about a quarter-mile to get there before the pad was completely taken away,” Wright said. “I don't know if they got the pad down later or not. But the cop definitely wanted it out of there. He was rolling it up himself. It strained my left knee to have to run hard like that to get there. It's killing me right now.”
Runners also crossed chip-checkpoints at 10K and the halfway mark (13.1 miles), Wright said.
It was the only negative in an otherwise positive day, Wright said. Except for that one cop, he said, he felt the other police officers were congenial and helpful.
But, oh, that one bad apple.
“Here he was riding around in an air-conditioned car, not looking like he could run more than a mile himself — and at one point I even saw him reaching his hand out of his squad car to get a cup of Gatorade as he passed a water-station worker — and then he's telling runners and workers, "The race is over! The race is over!'”
All the officer had to do, Wright said, was remind people to run on the sidewalks, off the roads. Wright said the runners had been told before the race, “if you can't do a 12:30 per mile pace, get over.”
“The key is, we knew if we stuck with it, if we got to the finish line before it closed at 2p.m., we'd get a finishing time,” Wright said. “It was demoralizing what that policeman did.”
Eastern Avenue between milepost 23 and 24 seemed particularly difficult. There was no shade, and few fans yelling en couragement.
“This is a tough area,” said spectator Norman Essman, a member of a Dayton running club, who ran in the Pittsburgh marathon last week and hopes to run in the Flying Pig next year.
“People are totally dehydrated at this stage,” he said. “There's still a couple of miles to go.”
Even at Wright's pace, there was some gallows humor in this sunny stretch of Eastern Avenue.
“A side of ribs, some Saratoga chips and big, cold Budweiser to go,” one runner bellowed as the Boathouse came into view.
When Wright crossed the finish line, the digital read-out registered: “6:27:17.” But the chip in his shoe contained his official time, likely five minutes faster, because that's how long it had taken him to reach the starting line from back-in-the-pack.
“This is a great race,” Wright said. “It's a beautiful city; they showcased it nicely. And it's a good course. It's pretty. ... I'm going to recommend to my buddies they run here next year.”
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