The gong echoed and we were off! Wait a minute. Gong? What kind of race is this? I had met Marybeth a little earlier outside the Endicott mansion and we walked down the sweeping lawn to the starting line. A chorus serenaded us as we wound our way to the rear. “This is my first 10K. My training runs have been slow. I want to be in back so I don’t get run down.”

With the gong, I eagerly dash forward but with almost 2,000 people in front of us, I had to settle back to a walk until people started moving out. I then was able to dart ahead of a few, and passed my first reader, in Victorian dress, spouting from a James Joyce novel, “The road ahead is long…” Didn’t catch much more since I was, after all, trying to run. The James Joyce Ramble is famed for its actors, many in period dress, who read from his novels along the 6.2 mile course. In Dedham Center, were two readers: identical twins, at least 60, with shoulder length curly hair and long gowns. We runners clapped enthusiastically as we ran by. I settle in running by three men, probably in their 30s, who were having an extensive conversation. One, in particular, talked pretty much non-stop with his comrades filling in now and then. Now I wasn’t exactly panting at this point - I could possibly manage a sentence here or there - but extended conversation was certainly beyond me.

“Oh man, wait ‘til we get to the hill.”
“Hill?” I interrupt. “Someone told me the last mile is uphill.”
“Nah, that’s not so bad. But we’ll turn a corner by the school and there’ll be a steep one.”
I hunker down. Pass another reader perched atop a rock discoursing dramatically, wearing a wool blazer, beret, and scarf jauntily tossed around his neck. My few runs of an hour have felt long but looking forward to each new reader was making this run fly by. I was trotting right behind a father and son. They were both making this look easy. The boy looked young. His father checked in with him regularly, “Feeling ok?” “Yup, fine.” Someone from the spectators called out, “Hey Jim!” and the dad waved back. I heard that person say to a buddy, “He’s running with his 9-year-old.” For much of the rest of the race, I went back and forth with them losing track of the pair about a mile before the end, but I think they finished ahead of me. I was impressed.

We turned into the Noble & Greenough school driveway. It was beautiful with grounds most colleges would be delighted to have. The road curved and as promised, there it was. The hill. I recall it being a 45 degree angle but that would be ridiculous. It certainly wasn’t trivial. I pant out loud, “I love hills. I LOVE hills. I love hills?” hoping I could make it so. The gasping people around me couldn’t even laugh. Grim bunch. And what goes up does come down but don’t think that is a good thing. It’s the downhill that can kill your quads. I see some people running with brakes on, bracing with each footfall. Thankfully I know better and let my feet just lift off and have gravity carry me down.

We pass the four-mile mark and a volunteer is yelling out times. I’m keeping under a 10 minute pace so I’m pleased. Then the five-mile mark and I know I’ll make it. I’m running out of gas but nothing will stop me now. Run a bit more and a spectator yells out, “Less than a mile to go!” Whadya mean less than a mile? I’ve run a ways since passing that last marker. What the heck! As if he could read minds, he yells out again, “Way less than a mile!”” Whew.

It is a gorgeous day, blue sky, very light breeze and not hot. But I’m almost an hour into this and it’s pushing noon. I regret the vanity that made me leave my smudged hat at home. As if anyone would have cared and I could have used some buffer from the sun. I spy that some kind spectators have set up a sprinkler and aim right for it calling out, “Thank you!” and I could hear thanks echoing behind me from fellow runners. I feel a surge of energy re-entering Dedham Town Square and was delighted to see the twins had moved to the other side of the street to read to the returning runners. “You’re the best!” I tell them as I run by and get smiles in return. My surge is short lived and I’m relieved when the course turns to East Street - location of the Endicott Mansion . With my newly competitive nature, I tell myself that each person I can pass will move me up that much more in the standings and I do my best. Home stretch! There is an enthusiastic crowd cheering all of us and I summon up a sprint to cross the finish line.

I walk a little bit, catching my breath before bending over to take off the timer wrapped around my ankle. Regardless of my time, I knew I couldn’t have done better that day so I was pleased. I set off toward the mansion in search of water. It just so happened that I ran into the beer line first. Free Harpoon. Yum. Drink that as I continue my water search. This race had multiple water stations but I don’t need to drink during a one hour run. I certainly need to drink afterwards though. I find the water table and they’re out of cups. There are gallon jugs and I end up taking an almost empty one of those so Marybeth can have something and then head to the flag on the other side of the grounds, where we agreed to meet. Soon enough, she came up the hill and I handed her the jug. “Boy, that beer smells good.” I greedily clutch my beer cup and we wiggle through the beer line and then relax on the lawn, glorying in our accomplishment. After a bit, we amble over to where the results are being posted and crane our necks until we find our names. I finish in just over an hour with a 9:44 pace. I’m almost at midpoint for my age group. Feel pretty good about that but am humbled when I see that a 77-year-old woman beat me by over 2 minutes. We stay for the awards ceremony, learning that instead of trophies winners got James Joyce books. If I can drop 20 minutes off my run time, I can win one of those books next year!