We woke up at 3:30am after a quick nap, and suited up as quickly as possible. I was one of three hundred lucky contestants chosen by way of lottery to set off this year’s annual Labor Day Bridge Walk. Sprinting across the bridge, leading a crowd of thousands of walkers is an exciting prospect to be sure, since it’s not normally open to foot traffic and I’d get to actually run it. The only drawback, obviously, is it’s inhumanly early start time.
I sped through 60 miles in pitch black, avoiding deer and other vehicles - an hour and a half balls out burn to pull into registration at 5:28am, two minutes before closing. I jumped from the car, bid farewell to my Mother and Mae, who were doing the walk, and flung myself at the registration table which was already getting torn down. Not even 5 minutes later, our packed bus, one in a line of 5, is heading north across the bridge to the starting point, where we’re held in queue for the Governor to send us on our way. I asked my bus-seat neighbor if we should practice our sheep noises, and earned myself a terse chuckle in response. Minutes later I overheard him recycling my same joke to an attractive young lady, and I grinned with smug satisfaction.
The morning marked the inaugural Labor Day Bridge Swim. At 6am, 50 fine folks lined up at the shoreline in front of us, staring across 4.5 miles of freezing, strong currents that would be their home for the next few hours. To put things into perspective, it’s almost twice the distance of an Ironman Swim. My mind began to wander into delusion, and I wondered how much practice it would take for me to get to that level. Behind me, some high school kids asked if there were sharks in the lake, and I silently wept for our future.
The run started around 6:30am. Batches of twenty were released in increments, with myself being in round 2. It took about 10 minutes to plow to the head of most of the pack, but it was an all uphill run for the first half and I could only hold out that pace for so long. 20 minutes in I began soaking up the surroundings, finally realizing where I was: running at sunrise across the largest suspension bridge in the states. One of those small moments where you get a bit introspective. I stopped to snap a few camera phone shots, losing the lead I had on a few runners from a mile or so back, but I didn’t mind.
I cut it down another notch and jogged the last mile or so, more or less soaking up the surroundings. I ticked my stopwatch off at the finish line a few minutes later: 38:07 for a 5 miler or 7:37/mile average. Not too shabby for so early on in the day.
It was mandatory that the runners form a tunnel of high-fives to greet the Governor, who was bringing up the rear. 20 minutes later I snapped a shot of the occasion (photo center, blue t-shirt), then high tailed it to the a local breakfast joint to effortlessly demolish a short stack and some eggs over medium. My mother and Mae wouldn’t finish their walk for another hour and a half.
I bummed around the finish line, watching all manner of folks file in off the bridge. A good 30% of them were at the very least obese, with at least 1/2 of those being of the ‘morbid’ variety. It was good to see them walking at least, but you can’t help but have horrible daydreams of the bridge caving under such great weight (50,000+ folks doing the walk, estimated), particularly in the wake of the Minneapolis incident.
There were anti-war protesters lined up at the very end of the walk, most of whom were older, Nam-vet hippy types. It made me happy to see this, especially with a ton of soldiers standing right next to them. At the same time, I noted how absolutely none of our generation were out there with them, and again, I silently wept.
All-in-all, a pretty sweet way to spend a typically blah holiday. I’d love to do it next year but get the time under 1/2 an hour. Possible? Maybe without stopping for pictures and enough practice. But when you look at what it is and where you are, why not just take it slow?
Elk Lake - Vancouver Island, British Columbia
