Once a Runner is a novel that illustrates the hard work and dedication that is required of an elite runner named Quenton Cassidy. He drops out
of college, moves to a cabin in the woods, and submits himself to a brutal training regimen. Cassidy, who has always dreamed of running a 4:00 mile, spends weeks training for the race of his life. Since its publication, the novel has become a cult classic for competitive runners of all abilities.
Runners of all ages and abilities in all parts of the United States have adopted the name Quenton Cassidy when registering for races. The name is synonymous with a passion for running, a dedication to hard and consistent training, and in the opinion of many, a boast of being an elite runner. Cassidy is a hero for runners and a cult star worthy of worshiping.
I am no stranger to the use of an alias. My purchases and magazine addresses have often been done with fictitious names that allow me to know the source of a mailing or phone call quickly and to hide my true identity. This has gotten harder to do in the modern world, even with race registrations where many times a photo ID is required to pick up a race packet, Those of us that procrastinate, pay cash, and pay the late registration premium can sometimes use an alias if we intend to win and honor Cassidy or need to hide our whereabouts from a stalker.
Not that any of this really mattered at first. We were arriving in Nevis by ferry and my Native sunglasses failed to make anyone think that I was a native, but they shielded my eyes from those harmful UV rays, made me feel like I looked cool and provided all of the anonymity needed at that moment. It had
Ravings of a Runner 64
Robbie Crusoe
taken me a few years to choose these shades and I had hidden behind a variety of cheap, borrowed and found lenses during that time. I had 2 goals in my sunglasses that seemed to contradict each other: the desire to wear them casually and the need for function in athletics. Function required them to be light and to protect my eyes from bugs and wind while biking, bright sun when running and to not fog when being used in the normal hot, humid & sweaty conditions that workouts generally entail. One of the features that helps in these various types of protection is the wraparound design that most have. Of course, they can’t wrap around too much or there will be a lack of ventilation causing them to fog up quickly. The features that make them work for athletes are the ones that make them weird for casual use. But I saw a pair at REI, tried them on and wore them home. They meet all of my needs. It just required a change in my attitude.
And so as I anonymously disembarked into the morning sun on the docks of downtown Charlestown, I set about using my negotiating skills to obtain a taxi to the hotel. My information had the hotel about one-half mile from town, but of course that turned out to be completely bad information. Fortunately, I didn’t have to look for a driver as he somehow spotted me. I provided him the necessary information for him to provide a “fare” (pun) price: yes, I am from out of town; no, I know nothing about the island; no I have no alternative except to ride with you; yes, the others in my group are anxious to get out of the sun and head to the beach. Upon hearing the price, I immediately accepted to show that he could have charged me more and I still would have paid. That was my small victory.
Ravings of a Runner 65
Robbie Crusoe
The ride to the hotel would have been non- eventful had I not seen a large sign advertising a race. Following discussions among ourselves, we determined that the date shown was 3 days away and that we would be on the island then. Maria was psyched. She had wanted an active vacation and here was an opportunity to run in a place that seemed, trafficwise, to have limited running space. The taxi driver didn’t know much about it, but I felt certain that the people at the hotel could get the details. And so at check-in, I inquired. No. No idea about it. Sorry. Ask at the shop beside the dive shop. It was closed, but there on the door was a flyer advertising the Churchtown running race and providing the date. In my mind, I assumed that any local race would have a reasonable entry fee and so we really only needed two pieces of information: the distance and the start time. Certainly these guys would know, but they didn’t. It seems that the shop’s owner, Reggie, is quite a triathlete. Another sign has a time written in large letters that after a Columbus-like voyage I discovered was his bike time for a ride around the island. It not only was the best ever recorded on the island, it had just been set the prior week. Reggie also had a 50-yard swim rope between buoys to allow for swim training at our beach. Reggie is great, he posted the signs and he is ... not on the island for a week. Back to step one.
It took 3 tries but finally the right person was asked in the office and we met the manager, a friendly young local man who himself intended to participate on Sunday. The distance would be 10K and the start would be at 8 AM. The start location would be at a certain intersection in the Churchtown neighborhood – close to the home of the manager. Filled with
Ravings of a Runner 66
Robbie Crusoe
information, we immediately set about prerace training: scuba, swimming, beach activities and a strange, guided rain forest tour. We indulged our bodies with the nutritional muscle-loading benefits of large dinners with fish, rice, beans and salads and breakfasts of banana pancakes, and tapered with rum punches at sunset and moonrise. So we were prepared. Our last detail was to reserve a driver for 7AM on Sunday morning since there might not be one otherwise. All that being accomplished, we set the alarm on a running watch and drifted off into sweet dreams. The following day would be a sweaty dream.
Some say that getting to the starting line is half of the race. We dressed quickly the following morning and went to the entrance to meet the taxi. At 7:15, there was no sign of life on Nevis other than us. Five minutes later, we saw a grounds man and struck up a conversation, His loose lips let slip that he finishes his work at 6 AM and was now on his way home. It seems that we had a time change somewhere that we had missed and so we were an hour early! This provided us with some much-needed time to lounge on the beach and take in the morning scenery and rays. Just before seven, we repeated our bathroom routines and returned to our waiting taxi.
The overall participation in the race would be about 80 people and about 40 or so were already there when we arrived. Registration was a postcard-sized form requesting basic information and was being handled by two volunteers on the porch of a house type building. They were very friendly and explained the course route to us and said that there would be photos on a website. Results, perhaps, as well? I needed an alias and in this morning heat, I would never be
Ravings of a Runner 67
Robbie Crusoe
able to honor Cassidy’s name, so it wouldn’t do. Why not use the name of a man associated with islands, Robinson Crusoe? Too obvious, until I modernize it to Robbie Crusoe. So after paying the $20 entry fee, Robbie Crusoe was ready to run. Maria had joined in this time and kept calling me Robbie.
This race definitely was a local event. We were the only 2 straight-up tourists in the crowd. The group was about 90% male, and maybe two-thirds looked like they ran on a regular basis. The others were in good enough shape, but they weren’t regular runners. The attire ranged from running shorts and singlets to regular shorts. But whatever the dress and level of training, everyone was there on this warm June morning to be an athlete.
And warm it was. We were inland away from the cool ocean breezes and the mercury had almost reached the day’s high at 84 degrees. Clouds would later cool off the area, but long after we finished. The prior year’s winner was a runner and seemed to be everyone’s overwhelming favorite for today’s main event. I longed to race him and see if I could steal the crown, but knowing his likely time would be about 7 minutes or so less than mine, I was more than content to remain in my role as Robbie Crusoe and enjoy the scenery with Maria. Still, it was interesting to watch him do high kicks running in place and 40-meter strides. By race time he looked exhausted and soaked with sweat. He must have come prepared because he had a bucket of water that he dumped over his head to cool off.
Eight o’clock passes with no movement towards the start line. No one seems particularly upset about this although there is no obvious reason for a
Ravings of a Runner 68
Robbie Crusoe
delay. Many in the group know each other and there are greetings and handshakes being exchanged. The hotel manager has spoken with us and almost everyone else there. There are challenges being made and boasts of performances to come that obviously are intended to be humorous. It seems that no one expected the race to start precisely at eight, but rather that was a rough time to organize around. The race director steps up and provides some general instructions. The most important of these should be the course directions since this is a point-to-point and the roads are surprisingly complicated for us to figure out. I listen and I hear that we should turn left here and right there, but basically what I understand is that we should maintain contact with another runner who knows where we are headed. That’s it. Have fun. We all gather together in the middle of the intersection as a volunteer stops the only car around: a taxi driver that was coming to see the start of the race anyway. There is no precise starting line, meaning that the distance was approximate, and the people closest to the direction that the race would proceed became the actual starting line. This was island life at its finest: a group of people meeting on Sunday morning for a race around eight to run more or less 10K and to start from around here and with everybody happy with this. We were thrilled. Screeeeeeeech. And the race is on.
We had about 20 spectators and a few cheered. Eva was among them and she would begin a shortcut walk estimated at 4 miles to meet us at the finish line. She would need directions more than us, but people were glad to help. The runners did what we always do. We ran at different paces and the pack began to spread out. This could have been a local run back home in
Ravings of a Runner 69
Robbie Crusoe
many ways as we ran through a residential neighborhood, around corners, weaving towards a bigger street. It was early Sunday morning and people came out into their yards to watch the race go by. It was entertainment for them. Heck, it was entertainment for us and we enjoyed seeing a side of island life normally sheltered from tourists. We settled into a pace or actually several as the course had a surprising number of hills. That caused us to speed up and slow down. There were no course markings, mile markers, aid stations or timers, but somewhere around mile 2 in our calculations, we started down a long stretch of narrow road surrounded by open land. It was a bucolic setting and also a spot without shade that allowed us to experience the full force of the heat of the tropical sun. My sunglasses - oh yeah, I had them on at 8 AM - protected my eyes, but my clothes already felt as wet as they would at a post-swim lunch.
At mile 3, there was a water station and we stopped and downed 2 cups of water each. The sun was baking us and we were unprepared. We thanked the volunteers and chatted with them a minute. Our energy was leaving us much like the heat effect seen on highways on a hot summer day. We were dehydrated and drained at mile four. We continued to be in the middle of a pack already spread out over 2 miles. Around mile 4.5, an interesting phenomenon occurred which probably made the difference in our finishing the race: the residents in this new part of town had become passive participants. About every 100 yards, someone had set up their own aid station and offered small cones – 3 ounces? – of water in an unofficial capacity. They just wanted to help. The stands might have one person or there might be 5 or 6 kids helping and our
Ravings of a Runner 70
Robbie Crusoe
cultural anthropologist side mixed with our need for water and the short accompanying break to pull us to every single stand. Maria was really suffering from the heat and needed the breaks. She didn’t really want to take them because that meant starting again and she was ready to finish. How much farther! I talked to people at the stands and felt that I learned a lot and that I was a good ambassador. I tried to tell jokes and make witty comments to distract Maria, but she just ignored me.
There is an advantage to placing little information on an advertisement in that you are not restricted. The start time was flexible and as we learned, so was the distance. As best we can guess, the distance was a bit over 11K. We drank lots of water and then that stopped about a mile before the finish when we ran past a cemetery. This served as the source for lots of corny comments that even got Maria making them again. She had her second wind and we plodded alone down the street. We were back in town and again taking a winding course through neighborhoods. Other runners were visible only every now and then. We made one turn only to have an entire house of people scream to us that we had gone the wrong way. There being no clear sign, we believed them and ended up back on the course. This was verified when we saw to more homegrown water stations. What a friendly place.
The finish line had to be close and we moved by a small grocery store and into a section with vehicular traffic. We saw the side of the athletic field where the party had already started. We had to hop over a couple of curbs to find a volunteer that had stopped traffic from both directions for us to cross. Against logic, this must be the course. Music was
Ravings of a Runner 71
Robbie Crusoe
now blaring and we could sense the excitement. Again, as in all races, there were people walking and running towards us that had already completed the course and had some an urgent need to walk the wrong direction. We turned into the athletic field and saw an arch just ahead. I say I slowed down but Maria insists that she switched to warp speed as she stepped across the line just in front of me. The announcer called our names....Maria May...Robbie Crusoe...
We sought out a shady spot on the edge of the field and there were plenty of runners there to share stories. The favorite had indeed won. A runner from a US university cross-country team on the island for the Summer had taken the female side. The hotel manager, who spent 10 minutes explaining how tough the race was for him, had finished in a very respectable time and could hold his head high for another year. Some took pride in finishing their first race. Others planned workouts to shave time off their next race while others talked about the awards ceremony, which had been postponed to coincide with a street party later that evening. So we never saw official results there or on the internet, but we had a fun run. I have only done 2 races since then and I registered for one of these as Robbie Crusoe. And now, when mail comes addressed to that name, I, for just a moment, drift back to the islands and I am Robbie Crusoe.
P.S. Eva arrived without incident shortly after we did and had her own fun experiences to share.
