Three decades of the Woodruff 5k
You know you’re getting along in life when anniversaries and remembrances start ending in zero.
Celebrate a 20th anniversary. Gather for a 40th class reunion (which I will be doing in a couple weeks). Roll out the 50th birthday cake. Remember this day in history 60 years ago.
I participated in my 30th John Woodruff 5k walk a few days ago. Yep, that’s 30 of ’em in the books.
The genesis of my involvement comes from lunch with a co-worker in the spring of 1989, as we both recognized the need to drop some pounds and get into shape.
I walked my first of 29 Woodruff 5ks that July. (I ran once, more on that in a bit.) The Woodruff was the only race I participated in for many years, eventually expanding my schedule to include the Summit Challenge, the bane of my yearly road race existence (oh, I’m kidding, as far as anyone knows), other local 5Ks, and a few half marathons.
Unfortunately, over time (and lack of participation), several of those races have gone by the wayside.
But, over the years, the Woodruff has been the marquis event on my race schedule.
The course is unique, made a bit more unique this year with the installation of new turf at Connellsville Stadium and closing the track for the finish. The course is basically one lap around the South Side before it dips into South Connellsville. The first half is uphill and second half is downhill.
A common refrain from runners, generally, after completing the course is how “up” it is. How they’ve been running on trails and around the neighborhood, but it was nothing like the Woodruff. The course actually has a rise in elevation of 250 feet from start to the peak on Isabella Road.
I live in the middle of the course, so I’ve covered that ground more times than I can count. I know all the ups, undulations, downs and crowns. Back when Isabella Road was brick, I even had a pretty good idea where missing bricks were.
This year’s start was the most unique of the 30 with the line pushed back into South Connellsville on a banked road. I tried to make a deal with the Connellsville policeman, who was leading the way, for some assistance, and he did offer some help if I was able to come up with a skateboard. So, I had to go to Plan B and actually walk the whole thing.
I didn’t do too bad, covering the altered course in 35:41. My count had six bodies in front of me, but the tape said there was seven, so it was what it was. One of those bodies was Jack Crislip, who I just couldn’t track down with his finish time of 34:34. I was particularly pleased with my mile splits, especially in the final mile.
My nephew Jason Lohr, with the aforementioned finish in mind, was a couple minutes in front of me (in either fourth or third) on the occasion of his 21st birthday. He’s done pretty good over the past couple years, winning in 2015 and finishing second the past two years.
He’s my protege. Of course, if I was three decades younger, 6-2 and considerably thinner, I might be a bit faster, too!
He brought his entourage, buddies Regis Pekar, who was bearing down on Jason in his first competitive walk, and T.J. Fox and Brandon Phillips, who were running their first Woodruff. Jason’s brother Brian won his age group running, despite lingering jet lag from a week’s vacation in Egypt and being on the cusp of bronchitis.
The Woodruff course is also unique because folks actually line the course throughout the three miles, some providing a shower from a hose, others water, and all offering encouragement and applause.
My dad posted himself on the steps of the Presbyterian Church for years as the course crossed Pittsburgh Street for the first time. Dad passed away nearly nine years ago, but my brother-in-law’s father George Lohr was there offering his encouragement.
Bob Wallander, cousin Christine’s late husband, was another fan no longer here, but present in spirit. The Wallanders lived at the base of the final climb of the course. Bob wasn’t feeling well in the summer of 2000, but was standing in his yard cheering everyone along. I will never forget him pointing and letting anyone who cared to listen, “There’s Jimmy!”
I ran the course once in 30 attempts, running alongside Jason in 2009. We almost cleared the final grade when his breathing became labored. (Jason later learned in high school he had asthma.) Former Frazier cross country coach Joe Turek came by and said Jason was hyperventilating. I didn’t have any paper bags handy, so I improvised by clipping his nose with my thumb and forefinger and cupping my hand over his mouth. A minute or so later, he settled down and said we probably needed to make up some time. Jason had enough left on the track to beat me by a second.
One last family race memory. I walked with my niece Emily for her first 5k. Around the same location where Jason had the breathing issue, Emily lost her balance and scraped up her leg pretty good. Moms came out of the woodwork. One offered her moist wash cloth, others solace, “Are you okay, honey?” She, too, powered through and edged me at the finish line.
For all my efforts through the years, all the trophies and medals, I have come up short annually in one aspect of the race. Yes, here’s comes my whine … I kept my streak alive of NOT winning a door prize. I knew winners this year, but none were named Jim Downey. (Well, I was originally entered under a different name because of a slip on the QWERTY keyboard, but an alert staff member found the misprint and we worked things out.)
Few things in life go on with out a hitch, but I can’t say enough for all those involved in putting on the annual race honoring the 1936 Olympic gold medal winner in the 800. Their efforts make it worth coming back year after year.
I’d suggest you enter the 2019 race. Run or walk, compete for a time or enjoy the 3.1-mile journey with family and friends. Just become part of the tradition and make your own memories of a wonderful community event.