Today’s article is a guest post by Tim Killian (John Galo’s nephew)! Happy reading 🙂
My relationship with running is nearing a decade-years-old at this point, and has seen many different faces. What started off as an excuse to keep me out of the house sophomore year of high school has blossomed into a lifestyle that has given me an excuse to travel all around to run all matter of races, and experience an array of achievement (and leg cramps).
At first, my running life took the form of track & field or cross country meets/practices. I could barely make it up and over the next hill or longer than a mile before my legs felt heavy, and my breathing louder than the footsteps around me. That being said, with the help of some generous teammates who became friends along the way, I fought through the pain and found relative success in the sport.
While I never made a state competition, I collected a few conference and sectional awards in the three year high school career, posting PR’s at 56 for 400m, 2:03 for 800m, 4:40 for 1-Mile, 10:23 for 2-Mile, and 17:49 for 5K. I am proud of every single one of these times because they cement the dedication and willingness I had to push myself in my teenage years.
With all that being said, I have a number of moments that could easily explain my own personal love of running, but Grandma’s Marathon weekend takes the cake. My first Gmas experience was in 2015, when I decided to run a full marathon for the first time. By this point I had done a number of halfs, and countless 5K’s, but as the race date grew closer, I found myself starting to panic. 26.2 miles is an obscene distance to cover on just your own two feet. The day before the race I had excuses running through my mind, anything to get me out of this $100 obligation I had told all my friends and family about. But then, I forced myself to go to the expo.
Being a resident of Duluth means my obligation to the race is the registration fee, and finding a ride to the bus pick up. For others, I imagine there is added stress of hotel rooms, road trips, maybe even flights to pay for. For them, maybe the race experience begins on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday when they first arrive in town. For me, the experience begins while arriving at the expo.
The first time I walked in, I was amazed at the sheer volume of runners and spectators I saw. There is a layer of excitement throughout the DECC as everyone gathers around and the tension (or maybe it’s fear) is palpable. Months of training, dieting and getting the right amount of sleep are about to culminate into an effort to either beat a personal best, or cross a life goal off the bucket list.
The sense of unpreparedness is suffocated by the vendors offering any cure or remedy to the excuses I made up in my head. New running shoes, an extra arm band to carry my phone, a runner’s belt, energy gels, anti-chafing cream, warm weather tops and cold weather gear (both of which are necessary for Duluth in June) and even some fun items like post race drinks and apparel to memorialize the whole experience. It’s an amazing appetizer, but we all know the main course comes the following morning.
The 4 AM wake up call hits a little lighter than any other early morning throughout the year. While it may be the follow up to an exciting and restless night, I always wake up ready to rock and roll. Putting on the gear you will go to battle with and pinning the bib to your shirt or shorts is the reality that the start time is approaching faster and faster.
The pre-race meal for me is a couple bananas and some toast which I eat on my way to the buses. The city is a ghost town with the exception of the city buses taking everyone to the start line. Driving by the DECC you get another overwhelming view of just how big this race is. Cars line up on 35 forever and you get a last glimpse of the finish line before it disappears behind the tunnels.
Arriving at The Edge, the parking lot is crowded and everyone is hyped. Nervous conversations fill the early morning silence and the chills set in waiting for the bus. The wait is never too long, and the ride to the start feels like a team trip to an away XC meet in high school. Everyone talking about their personal preparation, other racing experiences, or just general excitement. I usually put in my headphones, and listen to the beginning of the playlist I made just for this run. Looking out the window I try to forget that every inch further we drive I will be running back, but the sites are too beautiful to care.
The start line is the end of all my nervousness, at that point, the prep is done and, “the hay is in the barn” as my mom would say. Helpful volunteers, hundreds of porta-potties, and an extremely talented MC are the highlights of the stretch of road leading to that line. With spectacular views of the lake, and a typical breeze that chills you, both of which remind you that you’re in nature.
The last ten minutes leading to the start go by in the flash of an eye. Silence falls as the National Anthem is sung, and everyone practicing their last minute rituals. Some try to find an open space to stride out, others finish fumbling with their phones and armbands getting their music ready, and some just jump around trying to quell their remaining nerves.
While I cannot speak on the experience for the elite runners, the start for us recreational runners is started with a light jog while we await the waterfall style start to bring us to the line. The chip timer starts and we are off.
The beginning half of the race is a nice warm up and eases into the frenzy that follows when you get into the city. Taking the scenic route up the shore you get the occasional surprise of spectators cheering you on with funny signs that can be found everywhere and are a nice distraction from the heavy breathing that has started to set in. The water stops are operated by eager volunteers that make you feel ready to push the next few miles despite the voice in your head telling you it’s gonna be too hard.
The slight glimpse of the lift bridge in the distance is both uplifting and crushing as it sets in just how much farther you have to go. Most of this first half is flat, and you have the option to run on the gravel edge of the pavement rather than the road itself. While the lakewind is usually the downfall of a nice day in Duluth, it can be a nice cool down on the course during the race, as long as the wind isn’t too strong of course.
In my opinion the best part of the course comes when crossing over the Lester bridge. By that point you only have a handful of miles left, but this is where the energy starts. Whether you are at mile 6 or 19, nothing will make you feel more ready to conquer those last 7 miles than seeing people lined shoulder-to-shoulder on either side of London road ringing cowbells and waving signs.
Most races have spectators and fans for its runners, but Grandma’s and the city of Duluth take it to another level. Residents living right off the course set up tents in their yards – bacon is grilled, beer is consumed, and music is played. You almost feel like a rockstar running with the party happening all around you. It’s a great homecoming as you near the final stretch of your race.
As you work your way down, the road bends left and right and you always have something new to look at. The final bend just before you hit Glensheen mansion can be daunting. Rounding that corner, you see “It” far into the distance. The infamous Lemon Drop Hill. The straight line leading to it becomes worse than the hill itself as you debate in your head whether you should slow down to save your energy or maybe even walk a block or two. But just like every other stretch of road, as long as you keep moving, you’ll be fine.
Cresting the top of the hill offers a new view of the Lift Bridge, which is now just 4 miles away. Passing the shops on London road offers even more spectators spread out, DJ’s are set up along the road playing music, and you can’t help but feel the energy coming from Canal as thousands more are ready to cheer you on for the final mile.
The updated course now diverts down Michigan Street to allow the race to continue despite the construction on Superior. While I have only ever ran the half marathon on this updated route, I can confidently say I prefer it to sticking on Superior street the whole way. Running down Michigan allows the spectators to get closer. Little kids stand with arms at full extension, trying to get a high five from anyone. Seeing that always makes me feel like a professional athlete, and I always oblige. On top of that, fans line the highway overpass, displaying signs and cheering you on from above as you run. I love every second of it.
By the time you take the left and turn towards the aquarium, your legs should feel like they might fall off, and the slight hill that it takes to cross 35 does not help. However, the final mile is what all the work was for. My personal recommendation: Take out your earbuds or any other distraction, and fully take in everything around you. Thousands of people line up and the energy is intoxicating. No matter how hard the first 13 or 26 miles were, it is impossible not to give it your all at the finish.
After crossing the line, walking might be difficult, but the volunteers place the medal around your neck like an olympian, there’s enough food and drinks to satisfy whatever hunger you may have, and throw on the finisher shirt over your running gear like a badge of honor.
My post race ritual involves a greasy burger, cherry coke, and a nap. Whatever you choose to do with the rest of your day, your final destination should be canal once again to celebrate in the tents. Fantastic live music, good food, and people just looking to have fun will cap off your weekend the way it deserves. I swear it rains every year, but it does not dampen the mood. Because well…Duluth.
Most of the main features of Grandma’s can be found in other races: medals, shirts, volunteers, etc. but it’s the Duluth-factor that makes this one so special. The city has adopted this annual tradition, and it is an experience I think every runner should take part in at some point in their career. However, if you decide to make Grandma’s your first full or half marathon experience, I must warn you, it is all downhill from there.
Photo by ginger juel on Unsplash