You and 13,000 of your closest friends…
Although an avid runner, I kind of swore off competing after reaching a high point in my “racing” career on a multi-day 90km run through the mountains of Morocco. The reasons for me not wanting to race any longer are varied- but one of the primary turn-offs is that these events have become so damned crowded. Don’t get me wrong- I think it’s great that so many people are tuned in to the restorative properties of running- but I prefer my pack of wolves to be fairly limited in size. Furthermore, I’m not a terribly competitive person, and the thought of spending upwards of 50 bucks to run on streets that I can cruise for free isn’t terribly appealing. And now that I have gotten this crotchety admission out of the way, let me tell you about the fantastic race that I participated in a few weeks ago…
I’m a proud “year round” native of Cape Cod. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love where I’m from, and indeed my years abroad have impressed upon me how fortunate I am to call this peninsula ground zero. As a kid, my first exposure to running was when my dad trained for the 1986 Falmouth Road Race. At the age of nine, I’d watch him trot around our Mashpee neighborhood in his grey New Balance running shoes and 1980s fantastic short running shorts. It was this impression that first got me thinking about the act of running for what seemed to be no particular reason at all.
Fast forward to 1995, and my dad ran Falmouth again alongside my godfather. This would be Dad’s last road race, but my brother and I would ultimately pick up the torch and compete in subsequent years (Megan: 2009 and Brother: 2010, 2011, 2012). The Falmouth Road Race has become a seaside institution that started off as a race from one bar to another. Seven miles of noble intention. Another reason to love where I’m from and get in on the experience.
This year I didn’t get my act together to register for this year’s race, and the event now goes to a lottery because so many people on an international scale want to participate. After missing the resident’s automatic entry registration period, I failed to score a lottery entry and conceded that running this year was simply not meant to be. Then something happened a week before the race.
On a quiet Sunday morning I was leaving the gym and saw on my smartphone that I had an email from the Falmouth Road Race. The organizers had just released an additional 350 entries, and they were going on a first come first serve basis. The race was in a week. The gears in my brain moved quicker than my thought process, and suddenly I had a familiar feeling in the back of my neck- the kind that signals a spark in my spontaneity gene. Events had been set in motion. I wanted to run.
I called up my still fast-asleep brother.
“Hey,” I said in the trademark Hallinan dispensation of pleasantries, “You wanna run the Falmouth Road Race next weekend?”
“Uh…I haven’t run more than two miles in forever but …sure?” I was wise to catch him in a semi-lucid state.
He also has the spontaneity gene.
“Well get out of bed and get online,” I told him “there are 350 bibs up for grabs and they are going wicked fast.”
As it turns out, the last minute registration filled up in just over an hour, and before I knew it my brother and I had our sights trained on Woods Hole. I was over the moon with excitement. It was time to book plane tickets and make sure that I could get my leave approved by my boss. Minor details at this stage.
As a military member who often finds herself serving in random places, any chance to get home is like gold. While I told you about my general disdain for running races, I will now tell you that the Falmouth Road Race does not fall into this category. Maybe because it’s home, or maybe because it feels like I’m carrying on some kind of tradition by competing. Heck, maybe it’s because I just want another excuse to go home and dine on Papa Gino’s pizza and Friendly’s ice cream for a weekend….whatever the case, I will always sign up when given the opportunity.
So here’s a quick photo essay of my whirlwind weekend back on Cape Cod. As is my custom, I ran with a camera and documented the experience gratis (sorry, Marathon Foto, your prices are too high- and the photos you took of me this year are terrible).
It all begins at my alma mater, Falmouth High School
Hooray for reunions! This man is a legend. If you’re from these parts, then you know that what I’m saying is true.
Road Race Morning. We partake in a breakfast of champions.
In the “old days” you could get dropped off in Woods Hole. This is no longer the case. Every runner is shuttled to the start line from downtown Falmouth. The bus area is only a couple of miles away from our house, but we quickly discovered that road race traffic was threatening a timely arrival at the shuttle area. I blame my brother because he only rolled out of bed at the very last minute. Time to put our local knowledge to some good use…
My brother comes through and we make it in time to line up for a bus. As you can see, some runners have shown up to run this race sans clue and are using tourist maps to consult the route.
The race begins in Woods Hole- right by the Broderick House in fact. This house once belonged to my great-great-grandfather, Martin Broderick. It is now owned by the Marine Biological Laboratory. I love that my family has such a historical connection to Woods Hole.
The skies are blue and it looks like it will be a beautiful day for a run. We arrive in Woods Hole plenty early and take some time to lounge prior to the start.
And just in case you also didn’t score an entry into this year’s race, here’s some crack videography by Yours Truly of the rabble rousers in corral six as we cross the starting line.
As you are spit out of Woods Hole, you are rewarded with a look at one of the many places that makes Falmouth so special: Nobska lighthouse.
Candid shots are a must along the way. My brother and I always enjoy a good adventure- even if it’s only in our backyard.
My brother runs this race like he’s the mayor of Falmouth. I lost count of how many times he would greet someone and then say, “I play hockey with that guy!”
We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day. You’ve got Martha’s Vineyard in the background and pristine blue skies. As a kid I really took all of this scenery for granted.
The race started at 10AM- which is usually about 5 hours later than my usual morning run time. Luckily, the wonderful residents along Surf Drive were nice enough to break out their water hoses for us as we passed underneath.
If you know the course, you know that we’re getting to close to the Heights right about now. This is the point where I passed a racing Elvis and started to think about the easy cruise down to the finish line.
Falmouth Heights doesn’t boast an imposing hill, but I’ll tell you what: that’s my little brother just ahead of me, and he’s about to make me feel the five year difference that separates our ages. Jerk!
Over distance, I can outrun my bro- but when we’re talking hills and a bit of a turbo charge, without fail I am always bested by this goalie.
The best finishes are downhill. In your hometown.
We made it! Hot, sweaty and thrilled to have once again been a part of this great event.
The ball field that transforms into the finish area is a sea of runners and their families. Falmouth isn’t a huge town, so this panorama gives you an appreciation for why the entries for the race must be limited. Plus, how the heck are we ever going to find our dad in this rainbow of people?
Here you can see our solution to the finish area quandary. We never have trouble spotting Dad. Good thing, because we need a ride out of this mess so I can get changed and catch my flight to the airport!
I literally flew in and out of town on a quick turn to run this race. Don’t get me wrong, while home I did my share of household construction, but the main event was to run and ensure that I get back to work before Monday morning. Accomplishing all of is was no small feat- especially in the summertime. Once back at the house I only had time for a quick post-run shower before smashing everything into a suitcase and hopping back into the car with my brother.
Vroom! Cape Cod in the summer is incredibly beautiful- but it is also synonymous with traffic. Here we are once again using local knowledge to take back roads to the Bourne rotary. As a neat little bonus, check out the sticker on the car ahead of us.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. I was still cooling down from the mid-morning run when I was dropped off at Logan and headed out of New England once again. Moments like these are always bittersweet for me.
I don’t know how or why the Road Race folks decided to release a couple hundred additional bibs this year, but I can certainly say that I’m so grateful that they did. The whirlwind weekend provided me with a great memory to slide into my mental scrap book of time spent at home. In my opinion, there really isn’t much else that can top this kind of experience. The best times in life are the ones that aren’t exactly planned.
I hope that future years will see the running tradition continue with my family- and hopefully it will even expand. My little sister and her son have already expressed interest in joining in on the running festivities, and I’m sure I can convince my brother to continue to get out of bed and hoof out a couple of miles along the ocean. One thing’s for sure- no matter how much it grows, Falmouth will always hold a special place on my mantle of running keepsakes. If I am so fortunate as to transform into the likes of local legends like Bill (you saw me posing with him earlier in this entry), then I’ll be sure to keep putting my name in to do this one magnificent race.