This Seemed Like Such a Good Idea a Few Months Ago
The OneAmerica 500 Festival Mini-Marathon. The first time I heard about it was in a small newspaper story in the spring of 1978. There was this half-marathon that started in downtown Indianapolis and ended with a lap around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The idea of actually being a pedestrian on this famous track was a strong selling point. Beyond that – I would get a t-shirt! It was sort of like the high school letter jacket that I never earned. I was definitely in.
After I signed up, my grandmother and my mom, two world-class worriers, said it was a bad idea because they thought my heart would explode. This was before I could research such a thing on Google, so I asked some friends if there was anything to that. When they reasonably assured me that my heart would not explode, I went for it.
Race day arrived – it was the Friday morning right after Carb Day and just prior to the race. That Friday morning was hot, at least, hot relative to the cooler temperatures Central Indiana had enjoyed prior to that. The start time was 11:00 am, so the temps and humidity levels had built throughout the morning.
Some runners (I felt a little out of place in their midst, but there I was) were wearing t-shirts emblazoned with “Rename the Hoosier Dome,” which, of course, was under construction at the time. Others wore black armbands to protest the start time. Others, like me, just nervously awaited the start.
The race started and as we ran north on Meridian we passed Frank Shorter, the US Olympic Marathon Gold Medalist from 1972, and a previous winner of the Mini-Marathon. Shorter was seated on the back of a convertible, and he looked generally miserable; I surmised it was because he was injured and could not run. Avoiding injury was definitely a goal for me – in fact, the top goal. The second was finishing and the third was related to time. Well, there was a fourth goal too. I didn’t want to finish last.
It was hot. I remember thinking back to that day a few months before when running this thing had sounded like such a good idea. I pressed on. Sometime after noon a carload of college-aged girls pulled into our midst and handed out ice, which was a Godsend.
We passed the Major Taylor Velodrome and the Marian College (now University) campus before the trek down 16th street. Entering the track I caught sight of a friend from Muncie whom I had passed earlier before he passed me again. I was beginning to feel competitive, which was the first time I had ever sensed that sort of thing in running. Eventually, I passed him again and told him to come with me. But he was tired and answered, “I don’t want to see anything of you, but your behind and elbows.”
Fair enough. I kept pushing and when I rounded Turn 4, the site where drivers Eddie Sachs and Dave MacDonald were killed in a fiery crash just 14 years prior. There are several spots like that on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and it was like being where a tragic history had played out.
The finish line looked like it was 2 or 3 miles away. I kept pushing, kept running, kept watching the pavement pass under my feet. When I finally crossed the famed Yard of Bricks and reached the finish line, I remember being overcome with emotion that I had actually accomplished something huge.
There were no medals in those days – just a hearty “atta boy” from the volunteers. I didn’t know whether to be excited or sad – my time was 1:41. Comparatively speaking, and considering it was the first race I had ever run, I would take it.
I have loved this great event for more than 40 years.
The Mini is one of my rites of spring. While injuries and eventual joint replacements led to the end of my running career, I can still walk. I’ve walked the Mini-Marathon several times since then, and interestingly, I still haven’t finished last.
And Lord willing, I won’t finish last in May when we are once again able to run this amazing event in person.