Rolling in the Rain

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In years past, I’ve chosen to spectate the Vermont City Marathon from the safety of my bike saddle. I would ride along side of runners we knew and shout things at them like “Looking good!” and “You’ve got puke on your running shorts!” I’m pretty sure they really appreciated my support. This past Sunday, I decided I would follow the marathon atop my bicycle again, only this time I would try to serve as a bike marshal.

The marshals follow the first and last runners and the first and last wheelchair athletes. They needed someone to follow the last wheelchair racer, so I offered to help. I caught up with the last wheeled participant halfway up the Beltline. He was in a standard push chair, not a racing wheelchair like all the other wheeled participants. His name was Danny Perry and he’s a VCM regular.

I couldn’t believe he was pushing his way up the lonely, sodden hill in a regular wheelchair. Granted, that’s what he does every day, but he probably doesn’t push himself up the Beltline or Battery Street all that often if he can help it. Obviously, heading up the Beltline, Danny was getting passed by every single runner. And just about every single person who ran by him said something like “Good job, man!,” “Yeah, buddy! Push it!,” “You’re awesome, dude! Keep it up!” Some of them even felt the need to touch him while he was pushing. Danny didn’t acknowledge any of them. I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was thinking “Don’t touch me, you schmaltzy cornballs.” Maybe he was thinking “All your treacly cheers are screwing up my cadence.” Or maybe he wasn’t thinking anything at all. Perhaps he was zenned out and too focused on making it to the next mile that he wasn’t listening to the platitudes and praise.

The fact that Danny could get up those huge hills didn’t surprise me since he’s likely been a chair user for some time. But what was sort of astounding to me was that he wasn’t wearing gloves or any sort of sporty tech gear. He was just wearing worn out sneakers, cargo shorts and a cotton T-shirt like he accidentally ended up in the race on his way to the grocery store. And the fact that he wasn’t using a race chair was pretty unbelievable. All of his fellow wheeled competitors had handcycles with gears and brakes. Danny had no gears and no brakes.

I felt so badly for him that he had no gloves and nothing with which to dry off his rims. But clearly, that was a choice he made. Still, I couldn’t help but ask him if he needed a towel. He politely declined. But really, why should he want my help? Clearly, he had things under control

I’ll stop short of calling Danny’s completion of the marathon in that push-chair inspiring. No one who is differently-abled wants to be inspiring to “able-bodied” people. I will say that it was pretty amazing watching him bob and weave through crowds of runners. It was equally awesome watching him lay the brakes on going down some of the bigger hills. He’d grab the rims and skid to one side, then the other all the way down the hill. His left foot would drag on the pavement to slow his momentum and at times it looked as if he was about to tip over. The two little wheels in the front would chatter on the pavement as he made his way down. And man, this guy could corner like flipping Tony Stewart or some other “automotive athlete.”

I can’t say Danny particularly liked me riding behind him. But it’s not like I was riding up his fanny or anything. I kept a healthy distance, except on North Ave. when I felt it was my moral obligation to prevent oncoming traffic from plowing into him. Then I rode next to him. As he pushed, he turned to me and asked “Um, do you, like, have to ride with me or something? Is that, like, a rule?” I didn't know what the rules were, but I figured my following him couldn’t hurt. And biking 26.2 miles in four hours and 10 minutes in the rain seemed like great fun. I think I’ll do it again next year.

Comments

[CJ]

The 21st Annual Vermont City Marathon was my first marathon event. I was there as a specator to cheer on my older brother as he tackled his first marathon. I was anxiously awaiting around the corner from the starting line, when the wheelchair marathoners came racing around the corner. Just as I thought all of the participants had rounded the corner, and the runners were soon to follow, here comes this young man turn the corner (with what I thought was on just one wheel) in his wheelchair - not the hand crank wheelchair that the other marathoners had. My father and I watched in astonishment as this man took this race head on without fear, hesitation, or even a simple pair of gloves. Shocked and full of hope, my father and I turned to each other and said "I hope the finishes." We met the runners at several points throughout the race - offering cheers of encouragement for those that looked like they needed a little inspiration (albeit, all with an umbrella and hot cup of coffee in my hand), and saying hi to the faces I recognized as they ran by. After cheering on runners on Battery Street, I made my way through the crowd to the finish line a little after hour 3. I found myself standing on the first step of the bleechers, straining to see around the corner, anxiously awaiting to see my brother's face come around the corner and finish a goal that he had set out for himself many, many months earlier. At hour 4:09 I see the image of Danny come around the corner in his wheelchair, and while I surprised myself at feeling an amazing sense of pride watching a total stanger cross the finish line, I realized that it was more than inspiration that I felt, but astonishment and a little bit of shock because his face had remained the same since the beginning of the race. He must of been exhausted, but he didn't look it. He was still as serious, confident and looked just as determined as he did at the start. I screamed, cheered, and a little "thank god!" may have slipped out. But for me, watching Danny cross that finish line, was one of the highlights of the marathon.

[joeconn4]

Hi Lauren-

Thanks for being a part of the bike team for the marathon. Drop me a line at the marathon office and I can fill in some of the gaps for you.

Joe Connelly
RunVermont Technical Coordinator