The 1999 Jingle Bell 5K Run for Arthritis
That time I became infected with the jaundice-inducing Seuss variant of the holidayvirus
Twenty-three years ago this month, I had just finished my first season of coaching the Bishop Brady High School cross-country teams and was the owner of a one-year-old yellow Labrador retriever named Komen. I was also the editor of the bimonthly newsletter of the Central Mass Striders running club. I was nearing my life’s zenith, as not long afterward I would slowly begin transforming myself from an expansive subentity into a rambling nonentity, a niche I continue to serve to this day.
In the late 20th century, the Jingle Bell 5K Run for Arthritis was one of the few road races that allowed entrants to run with dogs, so in ‘99 I decided to take advantage of this permissive policy. I also encouraged the Bishop Brady kids to enter by way of tricking them into training during the off-season. I kept introducing such tricks; some of them may have worked, as the next fall, the boys’ team reached the Meet of Champions for the first time.
When I was the CMS newsletter editor, the webmaster, Barry Smith, would find a home on the club site for any news, jokes, or tawdry rumors anyone submitted to me or to him directly. When Barry inevitably turned over the reins to a new webmaster, maybe around a dozen years ago, his replacement imbued the site with a slick look, but also whimsically determined that almost everything that CMS members had accomplished before 2010 or so no longer needed a home on the site. He just shitcanned all of it. Today, the main visual feature of the CMSrun.org homepage is a bunch of embedded image-links to Instagram posts.
The old site can still be explored via the Internet Archive, which is where I retrieved the story below that I wrote for CMSrun.org in early December of 1999, when I wasn’t yet thirty. I didn’t edit any of the text despite the ever-present temptation to wallpaper over how much worse I once was at this.
Trivia: 2019 was the last year the Concord edition of the Jingle Bell Run for Arthritis 5K; post-covid, New Hampshire hosts a single statewide JBRFA run in Manchester. In 2018 and 2019, the winning times were within a second or two of Komen’s and my time. It would be wonderful to be able to run 5:35 pace for 3.1 miles these days even without a rubber mask and other encumbrances, but I’m 76 percent older and 300 percent less motivated, meaning that if I even get out of bed I’m keeping pace with the old, spirit-award-winning me.
Scott Douglas mentioned this and similar efforts in “7 Keys to Racing in Costume,” Douglas’ 2013 static, words-only documentary for Runner’s World.
Dec. 4, 1999
I have run hundreds of races in the past 15 years, but until yesterday had never had the pleasures of 1) being recognizable to millions the world over, yet at the same time running incognito; and 2) being accompanied by one of the fastest 18-month-olds in the state every step of the way.
The Concord, N.H. Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk for Arthritis attracts around 500 runners and walkers every year. Considering it's in December, the weather has been quite favorable for the past few years. The first and third miles are flat, while the second has a modest rise and decline, making it a few ticks shy of a "PR" course for most folks.
Although it attracts its fair share of good local runners - it's generally won in sub-16:00 for men and low 19's for women - it is as much a roving costume party as it is a competitive event. Each year, the field is laced with running Santas, elves, reindeer, and even Christmas trees. Best of all, contrary to what's found in most races these days, strollers, dogs, and every other form of mechanical and zoological detritus are allowed on the course.
Two weeks ago, I wasn't going to run this race; I'd be approaching the end of my third straight 110-mile week (which did in fact happen) and had a marathon-pace run planned for the next day (that happened, too). But a good six or seven of the kids I coached this fall in cross-country were entered, and I had wanted to get Komen, my one-and-a-half-year-old yellow Lab, into a race for quite a while. Those were two reasons I was already hesitant to pass this one up. And when a co-worker mentioned early in the week that she owned a Grinch costume, the deal was sealed: the Grinch and Max would be putting in an appearance at the Jingle Bell.
This post assumes that everyone knows the story of the Grinch, and is therefore familiar with his unmistakable appearance: emaciated frame; bullet head; puke-green complexion; avaricious, jaundiced eyes; and - something that would become a performance factor in the race - a singularly malevolent, poo-eating grin.
A word on Komen, the aforementioned Labrador Retriever. (The story of his earliest days as a runner can be found here.) He has been a runner for about a year and a serious one for about six months. He's done up to 18-20 miles with me at a time on trails and is usually around for my track workouts, too. He prefers 200s and 400s to everything else, as his attention span tends to wane in longer intervals, but my experience with him has told me he's capable of around 5:00 pace for a 5K. He's been great for my own running because I virtually never run on asphalt roads anymore; even if this means mindless, repetitive circuits around a park - sometimes at night - at least he can come along and be free of his leash. He clearly loves it.
The Grinch/dog thing was great because it meant no racing pressure and no spur-of-the-moment ideas of busting a race effort. However, I wasn't in this to screw around completely. I at least wanted to run sub-6:00 pace, or better yet, beat all of the kids I coach.
I arrived early and warmed up with about five miles of easy running. It was relatively warm but raining intermittently. I rallied the Brady kids together, then, with about two minutes to go until the start, ducked off behind the nearby Salvation Army, where my girlfriend Charlotte was waiting with the mask, Santa Claus-style felt coat, the dog, and several Dunkin' Donuts Munchkins.
I donned my attire quickly. I hadn't run in the mask, but prior experimentation had told me a number of things. The biggest issue was very limited vision imposed by the mask. It tended to bounce around a little as I ran, and I had to tip my head back slightly in order to optimize my sight. Fortunately there were few turns and the field wasn't so huge that I would be in real trouble with this. Another issue was breathing. The rubber mask was obviously not suited to extreme feats of aerobic endurance. However, because of the Grinch's protuberant mandibular and maxillary regions -- owing to the aforementioned poo-eating grin -- I could breathe well enough to avoid passing out as long as I didn't push too hard. The rest of the costume, including the felt top and the standard red shorts I wore, didn't have much of an effect one way or the other. Finally there was Komen, who seemed eager to get going, though he clearly didn't understand what was about to happen. We selected a spot right on the starting line with the Brady kids, but off to one side -- almost on the sidewalk -- so as not to interfere with those behind us in the event we stalled at the gun.
Just before the gun went off I fed Komen one of the three Munchkins I held in my gloved left hand (his leash was in my right) to get him primed. These are his favorite snack, but reserved for special occasions. He devoured it, but this might have been a mistake, because he was then aware of the other two Munchkins and was now facing backward, sniffing around for the now-concealed treats. (I should also point out that for the first 4K of this race I did not see Komen - he was well outside my line of sight. But I could sense him and measure how he was doing by the degree of tautness on the leash.) By this time, many spectators were pointing and laughing and I was yukking it up too, but behind the mask no one could tell this.
Komen was still facing backward when the gun went off. Luckily, he got turned around and grasped the idea immediately. He began trotting forward, innocently following the mob, apparently sensing that this was the proper conduct. We stayed on the right-hand side of the road while everyone else formed an expanding column in the left lane, anticipating the first (left-hand) turn; both lanes were closed, and I wanted to stay out of everyone's way.
I didn't have to worry, though. After the first 200 meters we were with people I recognized as belonging to the 6:00-6:30 crowd, but we started picking people off right away. I lobbed another Munchkin up the street, hoping to lure Komen into a more ambitious pace. It worked, but this strategy too backfired when the imperfectly formed bakery item caromed off to one side. Komen strained after it for a fraction of a second, but then it was gone. I felt guilty. And I now had just one Munchkin left.
Many of the runners we were passing glanced over (I assume; I really couldn't see them unless I cranked my whole head to one side) and laughed loudly, perhaps assuming a short-lived stunt by the absurd twosome we formed. But I was pleasantly surprised by Komen's compliance and was thinking I could at least hold marathon pace. My breathing wasn't difficult but it was damn loud inside that mask. Imagine Darth Vader, only breathing twice as fast and having an asthma attack through a megaphone. That's about right.
I passed my top runner this fall, Jeremy, about 1K into the race on a dirt road. He was looking for a sub-17:00 but tends to start quite conservatively (owing to his smart coach) and I was curious about the pace we were running. Jeremy couldn't help but giggle when I pulled alongside, and I felt bad about distracting him, but figured maybe he could key off me for a while without losing his squash altogether. Komen was running smoothly. We were still passing people and were in about 12th. We passed the mile in 5:27. That was hard to believe. I was psyched.
We rounded a turn and began to climb. Here was one spot where we were at an advantage. You see, Komen, for all of his ability, is unlike human athletes in that he can probably run 5:00 pace more easily by sprinting, waiting, sprinting, waiting than by holding a steady pace. Unfortunately the confines of the leash did not allow this "fartlek" approach, and I think that while 5:30 pace didn't precisely tire him out, it was somewhat inefficient for him -- somewhere between a gallop and canter, if you will. But uphills don't faze him a whit, and on this one we picked off about five more people in the next half-mile. By now we were far enough into the race and around serious enough competitors that we were getting looks and grunts of disbelief. I think I heard one guy mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "F%^in' Grinch!?!?!" I chuckled. After all, I was a Mean One.
We hit two miles in 11:02. We were left with a long, single straightaway all the way to the last turn 50 meters from the finish. We were now alongside the first woman (a former Dartmouth All-American) and some masters guy in a bright purple shirt. The three (four, counting the dog) of us were battling for fifth place. I could even see the leaders. Jeremy had fallen off the pace a bit. I started pushing. Komen was still rocking right along. I moved into the middle of the single lane allocated for the runners - actually, we were supposed to stay in the generous breakdown lane, but again I was worried about getting in the way of Purple Guy and Fast Chick. Cars gave us a wide berth and its passengers no doubt gazed in disbelief at the kermit-colored creature scampering along with an antler-less Max. With a half-mile to go I looked back and saw I'd gained about 40 yards on the twosome. I felt great, although my breathing still sounded like the inside of a Boeing hangar and the condensation was starting to get pretty thick. Probably because of the rain, my shorts had sort of hiked up under the hem of the felt coat, perhaps giving the appearance of a Santa Skirt. But most of all I was proud of Komen.
Our only problem occurred in the final 200 yards. We passed the three-mile mark in about 16:35. I'd sensed Komen slowing, and now, with the cheers growing louder, I think he got spooked. He also caught sight of Charlotte hanging around the three-mile marker. I knew we wouldn't have a kick to speak of, but I didn't anticipate failure so close to the tape! Komen threw one look back, evidently at my girlfriend (who, along with everyone nearby, was laughing her ass off) and sat down. Oh, the horror! Think of the unfortunate Shalene Flanagan at the Footlocker Northeast Regionals.
That's where that last Munchkin came in handy. I waved it in front of his face and he sucked it right down, then got up when I tugged on the leash. I threw one careful, swivel-headed look back. Purple Guy and Fast Girl went ripping by and I could see Jeremy and a few others closing in. I urged Komen on. We rounded the final turn to a chorus of spirited holiday cheers. The finish was just ahead now, and Komen seemed to sense this. Actually I think he was interested in chasing the first woman, because females of all species fascinate him. But we didn't quite catch her. Our time: 17:18. Not bad for the Lab's maiden voyage! Jeremy wound up 3 seconds behind.
I reconnoitered with my girlfriend, who fed Komen a few more much-deserved treats. I wanted to keep my mask on until I was out of sight to preserve anonymity, but it was too damn hot. I took it off. A few people I knew in the crowd wanted pictures, though, so I had to put it back on. By then it had the consistency of one of those extremely slippery and slimy logs one encounters on the bank of a river from time to time. It stunk. But it had been well worth it.
The best thing was listening to Charlotte's description of seeing a " moving, bright red thing with a huge green head" from a half mile away. Hopefully I will have pics to post somewhere soon.