Another year, another race accomplished. That’s one of my thoughts following the Beach to Beacon. And here’s another: Ouch! What business do I have running this race? I’m not really a runner.

Real runners love this sport, and get an exhilarated high as they pound the pavement, wearing out all kinds of running shoes. They also have that real runner look – muscle definition in their legs, a lean build and an eager glow in their face that says, “Bring it on, I’m ready”.

I’ll confess, that’s the look and feeling that I aspire to, but I am miles away. This year, my registration just squeaked in. Leading up to the race, I had heard from many real runners about how disappointed they were to not be running this year, because they didn’t register soon enough, and the race filled up before they knew it. Perhaps I should have felt guilty and trained harder. This didn’t happen.

Is this fair that I be hogging the spot of a real runner, I wondered? The day before the race, I made my way over to Cape Elizabeth to pick up my number. On the way, some young entrepreneurs were selling lemonade and more. It was actually a gourmet lemonade stand. There was a waiter, who presented an extensive menu: three different flavors of lemonade, popcorn and brownies. This had become a pre-Beach to Beacon tradition that began 11 years ago. On this day, they had a captive audience, with lots of traffic thanks to racers coming to get their numbers. Business was brisk, the best year ever, $65 earned so far. Money raised went to a sponsored child in Burma. A photo of the child was on the table. I told one of the mothers supervising that I hadn’t trained at all this year.

“You’re not alone” she said. “Several people have said the same thing”

Well-wishers had called me earlier in the day. “Eat a big plate of pasta,” one advised, while another, in the same training situation, agreed to run with me. I picked up my number, ate an energy bar and a banana, and headed home for the pasta dinner. I dug through the closet, assessing the four pairs of running shoes that had yet to be worn out. I was looking for the pair that looked the newest, and probably had the best cushion left in it. My training this year was not even deserving of a new pair of shoes for race day. I found my lime green running shirt (the only one I have) and my running shorts, believing that I’d run better if I at least looked the part.

By 7 a.m. on race day, I had downed two large cups of coffee for the caffeine charge, and a large glass of water to be sure I was hydrated. There was no need to be nervous. My goal this year wasn’t about time, but merely to complete the race without walking, and be able to walk the next day.

The Beach to Beacon is more than just a 6.2 mile race. On my own, there is no way that I can run 6.2 miles without hating every step of the way. In training, I have pounded out a 6-mile run only once, and it seemingly took forever. During the Beach to Beacon, I have never felt the urge to stop. While I can’t wait for it to be done, I don’t dread the actual run. It is challenging, very much in the moment, and also very exciting – thanks to the crowd that supports you every step of the way.

Regardless of how bad of a runner you are, on this day, you command respect. If not freely given, you can demand some. “Pray for us,” I ordered friends standing by St. Batholomew’s church as I ran by, soaking up cool showers provided by spectators, clapping high-fives to those who offered, drinking, dousing, and sharing cups of water provided along the route as bells rang, bands played, and stereos blasted amid cheering crowds who clap as you go by. Somewhere, I found the energy to smile and say thank-you, because I know that there is no way that I could do this without the support along the way.

Crossing the finish line, there’s still one more hill to climb in Fort Williams Park. The loudspeaker repeats: “Just put one step in front of the other….hand your chip in when you get to the top of the hill.” I hand over my chip, grab a bottled water and head straight to the massage tent, where a long line has formed. Your race number bib has your first name displayed, and everyone addresses you as if they know you. To my surprise, there are only fair-weather Beach to Beacon runners like myself in line.

On he shuttle bus back to the start line, a woman in the seat next to me is exhilarated because just just completd her first Beach to Beacon. “I’m a walker,” she says. “I can’t believe that I walked 6 miles this fast.” She’s happy with her time of 1 hour 36 minutes – a personal best for her. “It’s a good thing I didn’t drive the course beforehand,” she said. “I never would have thought I could walk this distance.” I can relate.

The Beach to Beacon clearly means different things to different people and offers something for all. I can think of no other sport where wannabes can be in the same event as world-class athletes. And so, I should not feel that I’m not worthy of being there. The crowd along the way assured me of this. Congratulations to all who competed in the Beach to Beacon, and special thanks to all the spectators. Your encouragement and support every inch of the way was greatly appreciated.