If you can’t run, you might as well make yourself useful. Not that running isn’t useful; it just doesn’t do much for the other guy.
My Intersection
My (hopefully) temporary lower leg and ankle condition kept me from competing in the first annual Frontier 10K Run & Fun in Fort Wayne on Saturday. Instead, I joined the volunteer crew and was posted on a downtown intersection. It was my job to make sure runners passing through my intersection did not got hit or were otherwise inconvenienced by a motor vehicle.
I was positioned on the corner of Berry St and Fulton St. This is an interesting intersection, because Berry St is one way going west and there is no stop sign or traffic signal. That means that drivers don’t expect to have to slow down or stop, so they generally are driving fairly fast. On the outbound leg of the race, runners crossed Berry on Fulton from north to south. In this part of the event, the runners were fairly close to one another (except for the fastest and the slowest) since the intersection is only about 600 meters from the start line. I stopped traffic for perhaps four or five minutes to let the runners through. It must have been obvious to the drivers that a running event was the cause of our disruption of their schedules.
After all the runners (and a few walkers) passed through my intersection, I hunkered down for a substantial respite. The route was “out and back,” meaning that a portion was run in both directions and the finish was at the start. My intersection was part of that dual direction portion. The front runners would be returning to the start line, which had now become the finish line, in about 35 minutes. I prepared myself for boredom by grabbing my Droid and reading some news.
It wasn’t long before pedestrians started passing by. A fairly large apartment building stands near the corner on Berry St. People came and went from that place. Other people were just passing through. Most of them greeted me, and many asked me what was going on. I was wearing a bright red shirt with the name of the event blazoned across the front and various logos on the back. Plus, I was standing on a street corner with no bus stop. It was natural for them to assume something was up.
A young man planted himself on the building corner at my intersection. He smoked a cigarette and wore a backpack. His mirror-coated sunglasses prevented me from seeing his eyes. I wondered if he was there to keep an eye on me, a stranger to the neighborhood. After a minute or so of smoking and standing, the young man’s gaze and mine locked. At least I think they did, as his sunglasses still hid his eyes from my view. He spoke.
“Hey, sir, is there some sort of event going on today?”
I explained what was underway. The young man thought having an event such as the 10K run was a pretty good idea. We became friends in a matter of seconds, and carried on a lively conversation till his ride, a friend on a motorcycle, drove up. My new buddy rode off on the back of the motorcycle, leaving me alone on the corner once again.
Other folks continued to appear, and some struck up conversations. Most were interested in what I was doing and expressed support for staging such an event in the downtown area. It was a beautiful morning, and everyone I spoke to seemed to be optimistic and in generally good spirits. I took some photos, including the one above. I was having fun.
Then it was time to work again; the runners were on their way back. The front runner, Chris Kaufman, was headed my way. I placed myself in the intersection and waved for cars to stop. They did so, and Chris blazed through the intersection on his way to a 37:28.7 finish. His average pace was 6 minutes, 3 seconds per mile. After Kaufman’s impressive coming and going, others followed. Runners came past in small groups of two or three or four as the fastest runners were trying to jockey for position and squeeze the best times possible out of the race. I had to stop traffic often during this period. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that I had to stop traffic for a prolonged period, because the runners were fast enough that they entered the intersection shortly after I spotted them coming down the street. I mainly just held vehicles at bay to make sure I didn’t risk making a runner slow down or stop because I allowed a car to pass through.
After the initial mini-packs of runners, a number of isolated runners came by. After this, large groups started to appear. Now the middle section of the runners was upon me. Dozens and scores of runners came through at once, wave after wave. I closed the street for considerable stretches in this portion of the race. At one time, cars were backed up halfway to the next block. All the drivers waited patiently (at least it seemed so – no one honked a horn or revved an engine) and obeyed my signals.
Behind the large middle section of runners, a long trailing portion brought up the rear. This consisted of individual or paired runners who were moving at a slower pace. Some of them were struggling, and I found myself experiencing considerable empathy for many of them. The day was a bit warmer than what is considered ideal running weather, and many of the runners were suffering with various levels of discomfort. Some waved and thanked me for doing my job. Others appeared not to see me, but gazed intently straight ahead, looking, I’m sure, for the first indication that the finish line was just down the street.
Finally, the last runner came through. As she went by, she looked at me and smiled. “I’m always last,” she said. A police car was right behind her, lights flashing, announcing the end of the race.
And so it was over. My job was done. Although I couldn’t run in the race, I participated in it nonetheless. I learned a few things and met some interesting people. It was a good experience.
Perhaps next year I can experience it within the race itself. If so, I’ll wave at every intersection guard and thank them as I run past.
