Dashes To Ashes, And A Proposal
The starter’s gun means different things to different runners.
At the beginning of the race, a half-dozen participants who were lined up on Riverside made a mad dash for the momentarily unoccupied portable toilets located near the corner of Washington. All were able to rejoin the slow-moving herd before the runners at the very back finally crossed the starting line.
Another Bloomsday ailment
Heat exhaustion. Hypothermia. Cramps. Sprains. There may be a new ailment in Bloomsday, but this one only affects spectators. Maybe it could be called Bloomsday Vertigo.
As the eyes of Cecil Hayter and his daughter Sally Egan danced over the mass of runners looking for Egan’s son and Hayter’s grandson, both felt a little dizzy. Other spectators along the route complained of a similar malady.
It seems having your eyes dart about trying to find a familiar face can set your head spinning.
“You’re better off looking down the hill than looking at faces as they go by,” Hayter said.
After the contest, wet T-shirts
Bloomsday runners looking for a dry T-shirt to slip on after the race got mixed results when they went to pick up their Bloomsday bonus. Many of the cotton cover-ups, particularly for folks who finished early, were wet.
But there were lots of other goodies that made up for the damp shirts - like free apples and bananas distributed by KGA radio.
“That was the best apple I’ve ever had in my life,” said Penny Lynberg, who ran the race with her 17-year-old daughter Sara.
If only the pair could regain some feeling in their fingers, the 40-year-old joked.
Getting the running bug
“I have to dress up every year, that’s the only way I can handle these stupid races,” said Margaret Caldwell, 46, a Spokane Valley resident who was decked out as the “Y2K Computer Bug.” Dressed in a big white box, insectlike antennae hung from her sides and black dots decorated her face.
Caldwell has walked 10 Bloomsdays in costume. She’s also been a bumble bee, the Statue of Liberty, a birthday cake and an Idaho potato.
Her costume inspired quite a row at one water station, where young men grabbed cups of water and doused Caldwell, shouting, “Get the Y2K Bug!”
“Someone told me to go home and I said, `I will in December.”’
A little help from his friends
Longtime Spokane elite runner Stan Holman thought he’d have to sit out this Bloomsday, as he is recovering from knee surgery.
Nothing doing, said his friends, who are among Spokane’s elite running crowd.
Setting Holman up in a dog sled modified with wheels, six friends pushed and pulled Holman through the course, after first finishing the race themselves.
“We’re getting his T-shirt,” said Kari McKay, the No. 10 woman finisher this year. Jerry Graham, Chris Morlan, Mark Brady, Tom Fuchs and Jim Wharton rounded out the crew.
“I was gonna be a spectator this year, but Jerry said you’ve got to keep your streak running,” Holman said as his speedy cart overtook walkers and strollers. “You really find out who your friends are.”
Nuns on the run
“Who’s the saint of lost causes, sister?” asked one runner, preparing to climb Doomsday Hill, on his way past the Holy Names Convent.
The answer: Saint Jude.
But the six nuns, manning their driveway across from Spokane Falls Community College, showed enough spirit to make all the Bloomsday runners and walkers feel like they had a legitimate shot at winning the race.
For their kindness, two of the sisters received flowers from a racer and had their picture taken. One runner stopped to dole out hugs and kisses.
“This is the most responsive group,” commented Sister Brigid Mary, who spent the morning shouting words of encouragement. “They’re in great spirits considering the downpour.”
Haven’t got time for the pain
Some injured Bloomies can be pretty demanding, considering they’re asking volunteers for help.
“Hurry, I don’t want my husband to beat me,” said Yolanda Nelson, 63, as she dashed in a first aid station on Government Way with skinned knees and hands, holding them up to be bandaged.
Aid workers surrounded Nelson, clad almost entirely in purple, from her wool hat to her silky jacket. They asked her name, age, address and race number. “The computer can tell you, the computer can tell you,” she said, anxious to get back to the route.
“I will have an excuse, you know,” she yelled back over her shoulder to the chuckling medical workers.
Nebraska on my mind
Knowing the University of Nebraska’s nickname was worth a Hostess Ding Dong Sunday.
With Nebraska blood in his veins, Brad Leu would hurl one of the foil-wrapped confections to anyone who called out “Huskers” or “Cornhuskers” upon seeing his red Nebraska flag.
“I limit these to those who know the team name and can catch,” Leu said. “If you miss a throw, the other runners are on these like piranhas.”
Leu prefers the disk-shaped Ding Dongs to the more cylindrical Ho-Hos.
“It’s all about aerodynamics,” he said. “Ho-Hos don’t go through the air too well.”
A legion of volunteers
For cousins Tyson Leifer and Fred Seidel, fencing is what Bloomsday is all about. The 17- and 22-year-old fans are officially in charge of setting up and holding up plastic fence at the starting line that stops regular folks short of the paths of elite runners.
“People try to get in here all the time, get a better position,” said Seidel, who’s been at it since he was 10.
“We just tackle them,” Leifer joked.
In all, about 4,500 people volunteered at Bloomsday this year.
That included some members of the North Central High wrestling team. For these young men, the world’s largest road race was a lesson in motivation and community service.
They were in charge of collecting race tags from the wheelchair racers as they finished.
“They are tough,” said 16-year-old Paul White. “If they can do it, obviously we can do it.”
The wrestlers also had some fun, placing bets on how long it would take before they’d see a runner throw up.
It happened at 53 minutes, just before the finish line. Jeremy Shay took home the cash prize with his guess of 55 minutes.
Cops at a … bagel shop?
If you were looking for a police officer about 7 a.m. Sunday, you would have found most of the second shift at Fitzbillie’s Bagels on West First.
While this crew is known to stop off for some java, it was particularly in need of a jolt of caffeine that morning, said Fitzbillies worker Anna Kerr.
“They were complaining more than anyone,” she joked about the early-morning efforts of officers clearing streets and running patrols.
But the men and women in blue weren’t the only ones in search of a hot drink.
A post-race throng of red-nosed racers lined up three and four people thick at nearly every coffee shop and stand downtown.
Strollin’ in the rain
Some children rolled through their first Bloomsday without ever seeing the course, their strollers covered in black garbage bags.
Parents wore light sweat shirts and the occasional slicker, but they layered their kids in winter gear: gloves, hats, ski parkas, scarves. They hid them beneath layers of baby blankets and afghans.
At least a few kids got an early start on learning how to bend the Bloomsday rules when their parents chose to avoid the crush of people in the stroller crowd at the back of the pack. Instead they stood in doorways along Sprague.
“We’ll wait here until our group comes by,” said one woman to her twins, decked out in their winter finest, side-by-side in a baby jogger.
Looking for the right answer
“Krys Allen, will you marry me?”
It’s a yes-or-no question, but Chris Greiner, Krys’ longtime boyfriend, only left letters for one answer on the 6-foot sign on the Bloomsday race course in the West Central neighborhood.
Big white letters - Y, E and S - were beneath the sign. When the couple, Washington State University juniors jogging Bloomsday together, came upon the sign, Krystal Allen laughed nervously, and then picked up letters to spell “.”
Saying goodbye, Bloomsday-style
A part of Don Compton, a former Rathdrum resident, will stay forever on Doomsday Hill.
On Saturday night, Compton’s family and friends scattered part of his ashes there. Compton died in September from lung cancer and had asked that his ashes be scattered in four places, including Doomsday Hill.
Compton had run Bloomsday 11 times, from 1987 to 1997. On Sunday, about 15 family members and friends ran and walked the race in his honor. They traveled from as far as Alaska and as close as Kellogg, Idaho, and most never had participated before.
“I thought it was wonderful,” said Compton’s daughter, Sally Compton, of Elko, Nev. “This is just the greatest thing.”
The group wore bright red T-shirts, saying “Here comes the Don Compton Clan,” adding, on the back, “There they go!”
“People were calling, `Way to go, Compton Clan,”’ Sally Compton said. “We’ll be back next year. We’ve already got plans.”
Staff writers Robin Rivers, Alison Boggs, Tracy Ellig, Mike Roarke, Paul Turner, Kristina Johnson and Jonathan Martin contributed to this report.