AUBURN - They were all essentially neighbors, and neighbors don't always get along.
From left to right, Al Wilson, Marty Keough, Jim Hanley and Don Dello Stritto are the four original Great Race Committee members who have stayed on through the race's 25-year history. Jim Michalowski / Staff Photographer
For example, back in 1984, for the start of the sixth edition of the Captain Myles Keogh Paddle, Wheel and Run, better known as the Great Race, Marty Keough, rumored to be a distant relative of the captain, had a big surprise planned. Before the starting cannon went off, runners would be treated to a host of "Indians", a "Seventh Calvary", and a bagpipe band playing "Garry Owen", with all of them rising up from the lower fields at Auburn High School, where the race began in those days.
The trouble was in the surprise: no other race planners but Keough were aware of this Battle of Little Bighorn reenactment.
"In those days, a race starts at 8 o'clock, it starts at 8 o'clock," says Al Wilson, who like Keough is one of the original members of the Great Race Committee who is still involved today, on the event's 25th anniversary. "So right at 8 o'clock, boom - cannon goes off, runners take off, and Marty's there, screaming, 'Wait, wait!,' and here come all these horses and calvary and Indians and the bagpipers, playing 'Garry Owen' in full gear.
"'What is all that for?' I said. 'What do you think it's for?' he said. I think we didn't speak for six months."
In 1978 a handful of health-minded Auburn acquaintances - it would be a slight stretch to call them all "friends" - all of whom were absorbed in the running boom of those days, decided to put a race together right here. Keough and a couple other gentlemen had just witnessed something called a team triathlon in Pittsfield, Mass., and the group quickly adopted the same idea - a 10-kilometer run, followed by a teammate's 16.6-mile cycling leg, and ending with two more teammates' 4-mile canoe - for their own race, about as casually as deciding between softball or volleyball at the church picnic.
In the realm of human racing, the Boston Marathon is your dad's fearsomely fit older brother - that venerated doctor who, out of equal parts tradition and personal pride, limbers up for Heartbreak Hill year-round with the local running club.
The Ironman Triathlon, and the nuttier torture tests it has spawned, is the young uncle on your mother's side, the ever bright and cheery one who is nevertheless alienated from the rest of the family via weird glances and uncomfortable silences.
But the Great Race is Grandma. All she does is get the whole family together, and she never fails to put a smile on everybody's face.
Even though, as with any family, folks don't always get along.
The Great Race Committee started out with eight members; a budget of $1,870, by Wilson's recollection; slightly more than a hundred teams; a sound system consisting of two speakers; handmade sub sandwiches for the after-race party; and precious little knowledge about how to, say, handle a medical emergency, or keep the local authorities apprised of what's going on.
Today the committee numbers 17, the budget has climbed to over $50,000, the sound system can be heard virtually anywhere on the course - and the same sub sandwiches, some 3,000 of them, are assembled by volunteers the day before, and stowed in a refrigerated truck to be fresh for the after-race party.
The original mission of the committee, they insist, was to give the locals goals for getting their bodies in shape (an admirable venture, given the snowy, doughy nature of upstate winters), as well as fodder for debates, challenges, bets, and general conversation.
What they created, as everyone now knows, turned out to be far more than your average race. The Great Race is a day-long party - centered around Emerson Park and Deauville Island on Owasco Lake, and held on the second Sunday every August - and it brings the community together perhaps more than any event all year.
At its peak in the mid-80s, the race drew about 650 teams, and today the number, which has climbed gradually since the addition of a short course (5K run, 10-mile bike, 2-mile paddle) six years ago, could reach 500. It remains the largest team triathlon in the country.
"The race has become a community focal point for the summer," said committee member Don Dello Stritto. "Many (high school) classes have their class reunions at the race. We probably use over 300 volunteers for the race. There are a lot of pleasure boats that come out to watch. Through the city of Auburn, there are people at Stryker Homes that are out there Sunday morning cheering people on, and there are thousands of people all around the course."
Committee members never really planned for the kind of growth the race has enjoyed. But then again, the wrinkles they've added have kept the race fresh and popular. They devised a prize system that awards the top 20, so regular folks can come away with something after the big shots get their glory. The short course attracts newcomers, and keeps some of the dedicated old-timers in the mix. This year, they've introduced kayaking as a one-person alternative to the two-person canoe leg.
"You're going to get your top-flight athletes coming in to race it, but our goal is to get the everyday guy to go out and try it, and he might win an award without realizing it," says original committee member Jim Hanley. "It's a working committee: there's nobody here for decorations. Everybody works throughout the year, and on race day everybody works. That's how it works so well. And we don't always get along, either. That's good."
You might notice there's no prize money, even for the top athletes who will win the toughest divisions. Your prize, should you earn one of the more than 200 waiting to be claimed, is a local artist-rendered work representing the spirit of the race. Nothing more or less.
You may also notice the committee members' shirts all displaying the cryptic acronym "IOFR". Some corporate sponsors have continually, over the years, subtly or not, tried to wrest some control or say-so from the committee members. "IOFR" stands for the committee's response to these overtures, and if you've encrypted the letters by now, consider your community blessed by these people's gift. They've made the Great Race everyone's race.
"Just the ability of everybody to get along together, and put this on," Keough mused. "You're working a lot towards race day, and you get a little tired, and you say, 'Geez, what am I doing this for?' And all you have to do is get up there that day and see all these people having a good time, and really doing something for the community that's fun, and brings some excitement and liveliness to the whole community.
"Our committee has seen that, and stuck it out together, and had a lot of fun. Not too many people can say that after this many years their personalities don't clash, but we've all gotten together and pulled together."
The trouble was in the surprise: no other race planners but Keough were aware of this Battle of Little Bighorn reenactment.
"In those days, a race starts at 8 o'clock, it starts at 8 o'clock," says Al Wilson, who like Keough is one of the original members of the Great Race Committee who is still involved today, on the event's 25th anniversary. "So right at 8 o'clock, boom - cannon goes off, runners take off, and Marty's there, screaming, 'Wait, wait!,' and here come all these horses and calvary and Indians and the bagpipers, playing 'Garry Owen' in full gear.
"'What is all that for?' I said. 'What do you think it's for?' he said. I think we didn't speak for six months."
In 1978 a handful of health-minded Auburn acquaintances - it would be a slight stretch to call them all "friends" - all of whom were absorbed in the running boom of those days, decided to put a race together right here. Keough and a couple other gentlemen had just witnessed something called a team triathlon in Pittsfield, Mass., and the group quickly adopted the same idea - a 10-kilometer run, followed by a teammate's 16.6-mile cycling leg, and ending with two more teammates' 4-mile canoe - for their own race, about as casually as deciding between softball or volleyball at the church picnic.
In the realm of human racing, the Boston Marathon is your dad's fearsomely fit older brother - that venerated doctor who, out of equal parts tradition and personal pride, limbers up for Heartbreak Hill year-round with the local running club.
The Ironman Triathlon, and the nuttier torture tests it has spawned, is the young uncle on your mother's side, the ever bright and cheery one who is nevertheless alienated from the rest of the family via weird glances and uncomfortable silences.
But the Great Race is Grandma. All she does is get the whole family together, and she never fails to put a smile on everybody's face.
Even though, as with any family, folks don't always get along.
The Great Race Committee started out with eight members; a budget of $1,870, by Wilson's recollection; slightly more than a hundred teams; a sound system consisting of two speakers; handmade sub sandwiches for the after-race party; and precious little knowledge about how to, say, handle a medical emergency, or keep the local authorities apprised of what's going on.
Today the committee numbers 17, the budget has climbed to over $50,000, the sound system can be heard virtually anywhere on the course - and the same sub sandwiches, some 3,000 of them, are assembled by volunteers the day before, and stowed in a refrigerated truck to be fresh for the after-race party.
The original mission of the committee, they insist, was to give the locals goals for getting their bodies in shape (an admirable venture, given the snowy, doughy nature of upstate winters), as well as fodder for debates, challenges, bets, and general conversation.
What they created, as everyone now knows, turned out to be far more than your average race. The Great Race is a day-long party - centered around Emerson Park and Deauville Island on Owasco Lake, and held on the second Sunday every August - and it brings the community together perhaps more than any event all year.
At its peak in the mid-80s, the race drew about 650 teams, and today the number, which has climbed gradually since the addition of a short course (5K run, 10-mile bike, 2-mile paddle) six years ago, could reach 500. It remains the largest team triathlon in the country.
"The race has become a community focal point for the summer," said committee member Don Dello Stritto. "Many (high school) classes have their class reunions at the race. We probably use over 300 volunteers for the race. There are a lot of pleasure boats that come out to watch. Through the city of Auburn, there are people at Stryker Homes that are out there Sunday morning cheering people on, and there are thousands of people all around the course."
Committee members never really planned for the kind of growth the race has enjoyed. But then again, the wrinkles they've added have kept the race fresh and popular. They devised a prize system that awards the top 20, so regular folks can come away with something after the big shots get their glory. The short course attracts newcomers, and keeps some of the dedicated old-timers in the mix. This year, they've introduced kayaking as a one-person alternative to the two-person canoe leg.
"You're going to get your top-flight athletes coming in to race it, but our goal is to get the everyday guy to go out and try it, and he might win an award without realizing it," says original committee member Jim Hanley. "It's a working committee: there's nobody here for decorations. Everybody works throughout the year, and on race day everybody works. That's how it works so well. And we don't always get along, either. That's good."
You might notice there's no prize money, even for the top athletes who will win the toughest divisions. Your prize, should you earn one of the more than 200 waiting to be claimed, is a local artist-rendered work representing the spirit of the race. Nothing more or less.
You may also notice the committee members' shirts all displaying the cryptic acronym "IOFR". Some corporate sponsors have continually, over the years, subtly or not, tried to wrest some control or say-so from the committee members. "IOFR" stands for the committee's response to these overtures, and if you've encrypted the letters by now, consider your community blessed by these people's gift. They've made the Great Race everyone's race.
"Just the ability of everybody to get along together, and put this on," Keough mused. "You're working a lot towards race day, and you get a little tired, and you say, 'Geez, what am I doing this for?' And all you have to do is get up there that day and see all these people having a good time, and really doing something for the community that's fun, and brings some excitement and liveliness to the whole community.
"Our committee has seen that, and stuck it out together, and had a lot of fun. Not too many people can say that after this many years their personalities don't clash, but we've all gotten together and pulled together."
The Citizens' Say
There are No comments posted.