Party at Your Pace

Credit for the rise of mass pacing goes partly to this magazine. In 1995, then executive editor Amby Burfoot came up with the idea of organizing groups at the 1995 St. George Marathon in Utah, which the magazine had crowned the "fastest fall marathon," for runners who wanted to try to qualify for the next year's 100th edition of the Boston Marathon. The team I'm running with began in the late 1990s as an informal group of runners from Columbus, Ohio, helping to pace their friends. They were noticed at the Flying Pig Marathon by Clif Bar, which offered to sponsor the team in 2002. It has now grown to 28 members--18 men, 10 women--selected on the basis of such criteria as endurance, consistency, and personality. Members of the group get travel, lodging, and gear through Clif, but they're not paid. They do it, says Scott Stocker, leader of the 3:30 group in Philadelphia, "because of the amazing feeling you get from getting people across the finish line."

Star met Darris at—where else?—a marathon (Pittsburgh, 2001). They got married in 2004; both hold full-time jobs in Columbus. Star is the team's co-coordinator and one of the most popular leaders (runners at the expo asked for her by name). We approached Chestnut Street in downtown Philadelphia, its sidewalks crowded with cheering spectators, around mile five.

"I don't want to see you 100 meters ahead of me, pumping your fists in the air, waving to the crowds as if you're homecoming king and queen. Every extra ounce of energy you expend now, you no longer have at mile 23. Yes, you do look great, but you'll look even better when you're able to run the final meters to the finish line."

No one sprinted. No one pumped fists. They're listening, I thought to myself. I could hear the sound of feet on pavement, the rustle of bibs, and the clatter of cups when we passed through a water stop. But with Star giving constant instructions, there was little chatting or conversation. "When I was listening to Star's stories, I forgot about the pain, I forgot about the distance," Aquilino Garcia of Harrisburg, Mississippi, would later tell me. "It helped me focus on the running."

As we approached a sharp decline at mile nine on Lansdowne Street, Star coached our group on form.

"We are using downhills for recovery. Drop your arms, cut the size of your footsteps, and let gravity do the work for you."

Among our group of about 75 was Kevin Nolan of Havertown, Pennsylvania, who was running his second paced marathon. "It really works," he said later. "It's kind of like driving while listening to a motivational tape."

At mile 17, Star bucked up the group with what she calls "our single-digit countdown." "We now have only nine miles to go!" A struggling, stocky runner looked up angrily as we came upon him. "How the hell can you listen to that for 26 miles?"

We passed him easily.

Pace-group leaders learn from experience what works, and with 10-K to go, Star launched into her memorized countdown. It was so effective, I got absorbed in it myself, and almost forgot that my mission wasn't my own finish.

"Okay, everyone, this is where we start taking the race one mile at a time. For each mile, I'm going to ask you to focus on something. For mile 20, your focus is on the reason you're in this race. Is this a Boston qualifier, a personal best, a dare from a friend?"

We ran for another eight minutes, 45 seconds.

"Five miles left. Now for this next mile, I want you to focus on all the work that you've done to be here, and how it's all paying off now."

I recalled that it was around this point at Twin Cities that I had to stop and walk. It was humiliating. I was supposed to be the one suffering runners could turn to for help. Instead I was helpless as the temperature reached 80 degrees.

Another mile down: 8:43.