Tim Sprinkle

Washington-area runners make statement with protest marathon

Blue Ridge Outdoors
March 2003
Jay Wind stepped to the makeshift microphone stand at precisely 7:00 am on Sunday, March 23, 30 minutes before the 2nd Annual Washington DC Marathon had been set to start. Wind, a local ultra-runner who has been active in the running community for many years, then welcomed the crowd with his trademark race-day greeting.

"Good morning, Washington!" The small speaker cracked to life, grabbing the attention of the runners, fans, and reporters that had gathered under the Lincoln Memorial. A few passing cars slowed at the sight of the half dozen police motorcycles and news vans parked at the intersection, but for the most part the city streets were empty. It was in many ways a typical marathon morning: racers mingling at the start, families snapping pictures, and first-timers pacing nervously. But this year the Washington DC Marathon was markedly different.

"I am not your official race director," Wind beamed, eliciting an energetic cheer from the crowd. True, there was something different about the marathon this year, something that the 6,000-plus registered runners could never have expected. It was still March 23, and they were still running 26.2 miles, but this year the participants were doing it in protest of a race that many felt had been needlessly cancelled.

Just three days prior, area runners had been notified that, due to security concerns, race organizers H2O Entertainment had decided to cancel the marathon. Entry fees would be applied to next year's race, but the decision left thousands of runners in a tight spot. There was backlash: the mayor's office threatened an investigation, runners raised questions about the event's financial problems, but the fact remained that there would be no race.

"I remember thinking it was just really disappointing and saying 'what are we going to do now?'" said 'unofficial' race organizer Bob Schneider, 26. "We had been training for months, my parents were coming to town to watch me run; it was a real bummer."

There are times to complain, and times to act, so Schneider and several friends decided to turn their negative experience into a something positive for the city.

"We were like, 'we've got the course map, and we're prepared to run this Sunday, let's go do it anyway.'"

Friend and fellow organizer Therese Cluck echoed Schneider's feelings of disappointment. A first-time marathoner herself, Cluck had been training hard for the race and wasn't ready to throw in the towel after the cancellation.

"This is my city, I grew up here," the 24-year-old said, "and to run a marathon here would mean so much. I've heard people who aren't DC residents say things like 'oh, aren't you scared of what might happen,' and I just think that's BS. This is a great place to be, and we wanted to take something devastating and turn it into something positive."

The two decided to post their idea on some local message boards to see if any other racers would be interested in joining them for an informal "protest run." As of 7:30 Sunday morning, 470 others had taken them up on the offer.

Schneider was next on the mike, thanking the array of sponsors and volunteers that had materialized to support the event, proclaiming: "yes, you can have a marathon in this city. [Washington] is a welcoming place for this sort of community activity." He then grabbed a number and joined the runners at the starting line, eventually finishing third.

One finisher, all smiles, couldn't stop using the word "fantastic" to describe her experience, using wild hand gestures to illustrate the people who had lined the course. But the smile on her face said everything: she had never run a marathon quite like this.

"I think it sends a positive message that it's safe to be here, and it's safe to run," said co-winner Kevin Kozowski, 26, of Silver Spring, Maryland. "It's fun to finish first, but that's not why I was out here today."

Co-winner Paul Rades, 30, a security policy analyst also from Silver Spring, agreed. "I did it because I'm not going to let threats change the way I live. I'm not afraid, I'm just going to go on and do what I do. I don't want people from other parts of the country to think that Washington is some sort of garrison town."

Renee Butler, 42, from Glen Echo, Maryland won the women's title.

That the "unofficial" Washington DC Marathon even happened at all is a testament to the strength of the Washington running community. Over 100 volunteers helped pass out numbers, man water stations, and mark the course in the wee hours of Sunday morning, organized by little more than word of mouth. Local sponsors provided food for the finish and printed up "You Can't Blow Up What You Can't Catch" t-shirts. In all, over a dozen running clubs and organizations were involved.

"A lot of people emailed us and said 'we'll do whatever it takes to make this happen. We want to support our runners and our city,'" said Ryan Ozimek, who helped publicize the event with a web site. Not a runner himself, Ozimek was awestruck at the grassroots support.

"This has turned into something so much bigger than we ever expected it to be," he said. "It's just amazing to see so many people out here."

The cancellation of the 2003 race is not the first problem H2O has had with the Washington DC Marathon. Last year's inaugural event was plagued by opening day jitters, ranging from inadequately stocked water stops, to a course that passed by dozens of busy churches on Palm Sunday. But H2O, which has hosted marathons all over the country, pledged to offer a streamlined event this year. Their office remained unreachable as of press time.

By the time the last runner crossed the finish line, the organizers were waxing poetic about the experience.

"I think this is such a great thing for the city," Schneider said. "Even with all the security, this is still a place where people can come and run. Yes, we can make this happen; a community event like this can still go on."