:: Contact :: Subscribe

Excerpt from "Running across the Millenium"

by Lynn David Newton

I Forgot to Remember to Forget

Thus far in the account of this day I've neglected to mention the obvious fact that the day of the race provided the occasion for one of the most anticipated moments in recent history, the rollover to the year 2000.

As expected by me, and by most informed people, but not by some goofballs bunkered away in bomb shelters with machine guns and fifty-year caches of food and supplies, hardly anything noteworthy happened anywhere in the world when the clocks turned over. It was just another Earth day in the history of the universe.

A friend of mine, an expert on computer security, was on a talk radio show recently. He was asked his opinion on what would happen when Y2K rolled around. He speculated that somewhere or other there would be local outages. Some drunken alien from the planet Mo'ron would slam into a power pole around midnight, taking out the electricity for a whole neighborhood, causing the residents to think this was the Big One.

On Friday night in Columbus, where my friend lives, this is precisely what happened. A few minutes before midnight a drunk driver took out a power pole and brought down a neighborhood. The ``disaster'' was quickly attributed to Y2K.

Meanwhile, quite a different scene took place on the track in Queen Creek.

It's important to point out at this juncture that, as with other holidays that most people take for granted, my family and I don't observe New Year's Eve or Day as anything special other than a time off from work or school. Yet we knew that some sort of holiday hoopla was inevitable at the race, so we looked for ways to sidestep it gracefully without appearing to be sticks-in-the-mud or unsociable.

Sometime after 9:00 PM Cyra-Lea was reassigned to the hot seat as the numbers caller. Suzy continued to hang in at the aid station. By this time Aaron was awake and around, but I'm not sure what he was doing other than standing quietly by. I saw him very little, except that he would pop out on schedule to give me things he knew I needed.

The scene became amusingly interesting after 10:00 PM. Paul's wife Mima showed up with boxes of party accouterments: hats, noisemakers, and bottles of champagne, yada, yada. This was not a scene typical of the middle of an ultradistance race, unless it's being thrown by the Hash House Harriers.[30] But Across the Years is far from a typical distance race.

[30] Hashers describe themselves as drinkers with a running problem.

A number of musical instruments materialized, including one mandolin and three clarinets, rudimentarily but zealously performed upon in brief parades around the track. It made me wish I had thought to bring my soprano recorder.

The Brazilians know songs. They're apparently more accustomed as a people to breaking out in song than we self-conscious North Americans are. On at least three occasions throughout the day, and on others earlier in the week, the Brazilians were heard singing together, sometimes while sitting in their tent village, and sometimes while running around the track.

As runners passed by the start area, they were offered hats and horns. Some of them wore the hats around the track for hours afterward. (I politely declined.)

The enthusiasm grew as midnight grew closer. The object was for everyone to stop for one lap and do the sorts of things that people who do those sorts of things do when our accurate race clock turned over---shouting huzzah, blowing squawky horns, leaping to and fro, throwing paper in the air, drinking champagne (which some runners did) or sparkling cider, singing songs with words no one understands, kissing whoever is nearby---and so forth.

The main logistical problem they had to deal with was not driving the numbers caller and the people banging on the computers crazy with everyone crossing at once.

Most people had stopped to wait by 11:57 PM. Meanwhile, I took off around the track for another lap, as Cyra-Lea called my number. I had just enough time to get around once more, and crossed the line at 11:59:58 PM. It was my 232nd lap, bringing my total to 57.66 miles.

I passed quietly by the smooching, dancing, leaping, cavorting revelers on the inside lane of the track, and snuck off for another lap. In the middle of the field they had set up fireworks, mainly firecrackers and similar bang-bang-pop-type devices, as contrasted with the glitzy rocket and flame variety. I hadn't realized this was coming until I heard them going off.

The tortoise pressed on with his RFP, having only nine hours to go to do what needed to be done.

Excerpts from 'Running Through the  Millennium' by Lynn David Newton