I appreciate the marathon fan that goes out of his or her way to encourage runners. Having suffered through many races, I know how immensely helpful this can be.

Three cheers if the fan goes through the trouble to handcraft a sign: the icing on the cake of robust support. Naturally, I look forward to witty signage. But the best marathon posters aren’t merely clever. They reveal a deeper understanding of the runner’s journey… of the runner’s pain. They exist at the intersection of creativity and understanding.

Marathon Noir



2007 St. George Marathon | Photos by sabrebelle courtesy of Flickr.

I’ve always believed morticians were secretly whimsical. You can’t take yourself too seriously if you apply cosmetics to dead folk all day. At once inspiring and hilariously morbid, these signs would take my mind off the pain of long distance running. More businesses should cultivate darkly comedic marathon support.

I can only imagine what similarly grim humor embalmers might hoist upon marathon runners:

Mile 21
Got guts?

Mile 23
Nothing Lasts Forever!

Mile 25
Want your mummy?

Refreshing Candor

2007 Las Vegas Marathon | Photo by Dawn – Pick Chick courtesy of Flickr.

That’s right, no one made you get up at four in the morning in the dead of winter. No one made you cough up a lung during speed work. You are responsible for your shin splints, planar fasciitis, tendonitis, stress fracture or groin pull. The stressed relationships, funky laundry and graveyard of shoes belong to you alone. Timothy Geithner didn’t fund your training. No one held a gun to your head and made you run the marathon.

You were this stupid all by yourself.

Good for you.

E Tu Wellesley?

2008 Boston Marathon | Photo by dengaterade courtesy of Flickr.

Motivation comes in so many forms, especially at the Boston Marathon’s infamous Wellesley “Scream tunnel.” To wit, right after you kiss this enthusiastic coed, the girl in the dark shades punches you square in the mouth.

Classic bait and switch, really.

Open to Interpretation

2008 New York City Marathon | Photo by whas courtesy of Flickr.

Option 1
You too can come out of nowhere, rise despite the odds and become an inspiration to others.

Option 2
If a remote, unknown provincialist can find herself on the Presidential ticket, surely you can do damn near anything.

Either way, you’re inspired.

Stark Militarism

2007 New York City Marathon | Photo by Library Maven courtesy of Flickr.

Meet Marine Gunnery Sergeant Hartman’s civilian brother and scourge of marathoners. Don’t drop out of the race in front of this dude. His maniacal cohorts might burst from the crowd to beat you senseless. You’d certainly endure an expletive-laden tirade. Stanley Kubrick would have loved this guy.

But perhaps he just understands runners.

Deep inside the marathoner’s psyche, lies a core uncertainty. “Can I do this?” “Will I fail?” But runners are also fiercely determined. Resolve and fear exist in parallel and war for the runner’s mind. This simple poster indirectly acknowledges the fear and bluntly shuts it out, offering only stern defiance – the very thing a runner needs to achieve their goal.

This may be the most singularly insightful and blisteringly motivational marathon poster I’ve yet seen.

For those who’ve seen it in person: As soon as the nightmares pass, you should be fine.

Hialriously Indecipherable

2006 Kiawah Island Marathon | Photo by Angie.

This is my all time favorite marathon poster. Who needs coherent signage when one has access to the creative innocence of a four-year-old mind? Only this boy knows what his scribblings mean. There’s an guileless beauty in his determination.

At least he was clear on the fundamentals; marathoners need encouragement, even if they’re too tired to translate.

- Dean

Runners have uncanny body awareness. We can tell if our IT band feels ever so slightly off the mark, we describe everyday aches and pains to the minutest detail and we routinely discuss optimal methods for body glide application.

So it seems inevitable that marathon posters should reflect this obsession. A majority of hand-made race signs have something or other to do with the oddity of pushing the human body to the brink of endurance. Some just fixate on the body itself.

Not every sentiment is dignified.

Mensa Oblique

2005 New York City Marathon | Photo by sabrebelle courtesy of Flickr.

In case you didn’t already know, ATP refers to adenosine triphosphate, the “universal energy currency for metabolism.” Basically, ATP stores energy so that you can do stuff. I had to look it up.

This sign would appeal to the relatively few molecular biochemist marathoners who would instantly recognize the acronym and draw great inspiration from this highly energetic, essential molecule.

Intriguing Offer

2008 San Diego Rock n’ Roll Marathon | Photo by tned_99 courtesy of Flickr.

Any male who has experienced the dreaded bloody nipple phenomenon would never accept this offer. The last thing I want after a marathon is excessive nipple stimulation.

But perhaps I’m missing the point. The real question here might be “just who massages whom?”

Shamed Into Achievement

2007 Twin Cities Marathon | Photo by Pookareena courtesy of Flickr.

You haven’t lived until you’ve been passed at mile 21 by someone who doesn’t appear to be in tip-top shape. You stare incredulously and helplessly as they drag their stout frame past your unworthy carcass.

This Clydesdale probably didn’t run quickly enough for this. He may have finished his marathon in a sedate six hours. We don’t know. He may be one of those annoying folk who looks like they’ve enjoyed one Denny’s Grand Slamwich too many, yet is a perennial Boston qualifier.

What can I say? Life’s not fair.

Inevitable Excretory Humor

2008 Grandma’s Marathon | Photo by Sjixxxy courtesy of Flickr.

Every race features at least one urination or defecation poster. Usually runners are encouraged to press on regardless of need or consequences. If George Lucas frequented marathons, he’d hold aloft a sign like this. I’m sure of it. Nothing amuses the masses like poop.

But this girl’s sign is a bit different, and quite plausible. She wants to know if her father has lost control of his bodily functions. Perhaps dad sweats profusely and she can’t tell the difference.

Ominous Reassurance

2008 Boston Marathon | Photo by Jake T courtesy of Flickr.

Translation: You are about to attempt something that could cost you one or more toenails. But don’t turn back, because losing them would be COOL.

Incidentally, let’s not forget the raw entertainment value of the marathoner’s toenails. Next time you’re about to lose one, show your kids. Describe the injury with your best Bear Grylls accent while pivoting the dangling flap like a curiously squeaky hinge. Add sound effects at just the right moment, and your tweenage daughter will run from the room screaming.

Rather Personal Encouragement

2006 Chicago Marathon | Photo by Andy Marfia courtesy of Flickr.

This guy is either:

a) A brash, young rogue who plays by his own rules.

b) Providing an indecently awkward romantic overture that may not be received well.

c) Actually cheering for a man.

To be continued…
Stay tuned for the next series of marathon posters!

- Dean

There seems to be no end to the creativity of marathon fans. Perhaps they just have time on their hands. What else is there to do while huddling in the cold waiting to cheer your favorite runner for a few precious seconds? At least clever signs are a source of entertainment.

But there may also be a competitive subtext on the sidelines. While marathoners run against the clock, some in the crowd engage in a fierce battle of wits. It’s a poster arms race: The more humorously urbane the sign, the more worthy the fan.

If runners happen to incidentally draw inspiration from this drive to out-chic other spectators, so be it.

With this in mind, let’s examine another batch of marathon posters:

Fandom Dualism

2006 Chicago Marathon | Photo by kabn courtesy of Flickr.

On the right, we see well-meaning marathon supporters, lightheartedly cheering runners. Shivering on the side of the road, they’d clearly be happier if the whole nasty business were complete. Clint Eastwood wouldn’t approve.

Apparently, neither would the spectators on the left, who sport a rather hardcore message. But perhaps this harsh sign is not meant for runners. It might be a challenge to the nearby fans holding the weak-kneed sign. The Namby-Pambyists proclaim, “We are the heartier fans! Bring on the Frostbite!”

Amen sisters!

The Defiant Cliché

2007 New York City Marathon | Photo by edEx courtesy of Flickr.

This sign (or variant thereof) has become a staple of road marathon fandom, probably because it serves both runner and spectator well. For the runner, the message appeals to base instincts. It actually helps to see something like this at mile 22. For the fan, the low-grade profanity is benignly naughty, the counter-culture equivalent of the magnetic earring (all of the rebellion none of the commitment).

Cue the Umpa Lumpas

2007 New York City Marathon | Photo by misplacedparadox courtesy of Flickr.

What has become of us? Apparently, fathers are now making smart phone bribes to pre-teens under the guise of spousal encouragement.

I don’t trust dad’s agenda. He’s using mom’s marathon to prop up his sketchy parenting skills. Consider: A poster like this can’t possibly inspire mom. She does all the work and gets nothing in return. The family budget takes a hit, coach potato dad becomes the undeserving hero and little Veruca Salt gets a better cell phone than me.

I hope mom finished in precisely 4:31:01.

Sacrilegious Error

2006 Salt Lake City Marathon | Photo by deltaMike courtesy of Flickr.

The main refrain to Vangelis’ Chariots of Fire (our most sacred anthem) features precisely twenty-two “NAs.” This sign inadequately offers only fifteen “NAs.”

Without clarification, one might assume the sign referred to “Get a Job” by Sha Na Na (potentially insulting); “The Na Na Song” by Cheryl Crow (lyrics only make sense after mile 25); Possibly the “Theme from Rocky” (three cheers for pugilism); or more likely the inevitable “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” by the Chateaus/Steam (hardly encouraging to marathoners).

Codswallop

2005 London Marathon | Photo by Rufous Y Anunciada courtesy of Flickr.

Right. So this bloke named “Stooz” must really fancy lard. How else could he put up with such cracking, barmy signs? I’m interested in the wee bonny sign on the right. It directs Stooz to “Follow the crowd to free beer, fags and lard.”

Beer, I understand. Fags less so. Only dodgy buggers would smoke after a long distance race. But what of the lard? Why is it free? Does it possess mysterious recuperative qualities? Is it (gasp) tasty to the knackered runner? Should I give it a go after my next race?

British readers, please enlighten me.

All Hail Sakyong!

2005 New York City Marathon | Photo by whitkick courtesy of Flickr.

Weldon Smith doesn’t instantly command respect. Dennis Frumperton is nobody’s tyrant. Replace “Sakyong” with “Bill” and “Mipham” with “Jones” and you have one boring poster.

I love the swirls here, which add a hypnotic quality to the design; as if Sakyong is far more svengali than sovereign.

Indulging the Id

2007 Marine Corps Marathon

These young ladies offer the perfect fusion of motivation and witticism. Let’s scrutinize their respective messages:

Woman on the Left
An avid marathoner and ultramarathoner, I do indeed possess abundant stamina. I also take people at their word. So I called the phone number on the sign. A woman answered, and was quite taken aback by the subject of my call. Odd; she seemed so earnest in the photo. Perhaps I reached the wrong person. The last digit of the phone number is a bit fuzzy.

Woman on the Right
At least Woman Seeking Stamina had the courage of her convictions. I question the commitment of Cleavage Sally. Runners pushed their bodies to the limit as they passed, offering their last measure of endurance to the unforgiving course. If this woman were serious about inspiration, her neckline would be far lower.

To be continued…
There’s more where this came from, including a classic sign from Brooklyn, and an intriguing offer seen at the San Diego Marathon.

- Dean

Banks, insurance companies, lending institutions, automobile manufacturers, municipalities, and Wall Street? Yes.

You after mile 21? No.

After you’ve run a few marathons, you begin to notice themes. Some races are tougher than others. Some courses are beautifully scenic. Sometimes you run elbow to elbow with thousands of people. Other times you virtually race alone. Within this variety of experience, one constant remains: the imaginative marathon fan.

In a way, marathon fans are more unusual than marathon runners. It’s one thing to take your body to the point of collapse. It’s another thing entirely to encourage someone else to do it. And that’s the rub. Marathon fans are more than just spectators. They have a job to do. They must help their runner drag his or her sorry carcass across the finish line.

Fans have two primary means of cheering runners: vocal chords (drop by Wellesley during the Boston Marathon and you’ll experience this to great effect) and naturally, the hand-made marathon poster.

Creative posters are the spice of the marathon experience. The most inventive rise above the bland “Run mommy!” or “You can do it!” variety. Signs can be witty, sarcastic, comedic, inspirational, confrontational, and yes, even vulgar.

They’ve become something of a genre unto themselves. I’ve found brilliant examples. Here’s the first batch:

Lowered Expectations

2008 Marine Corps Marathon | Photo by Kicksie courtesy of Flickr.

If Lisa survived this race, her biggest fan will have considered it a crowning achievement. Really, we should all have such support, especially at work.

“I know you’ve got umpteen thousand status reports to write, but there’s no rush. As long as you live through the process, management will be completely satisfied.”

Perhaps the same consideration should be given to this fan, who apparently wasn’t concerned about which way the sign was facing.

Encouragement for the Rest of Us

New Jersey Marathon | Photo by shanonala courtesy of Flickr.

Most marathoners are not very fast. According to the USATF, the median finishing time for males is 4:19:52; for females, 4:52:55.

So, these intrepid fans really know how to motivate the meatiest part of the bell curve: By imploring runners to beat Oprah’s respectable 4:29:20.

Another target that could provide supreme motivation: George W. Bush’s 3:44:52.

Poor Advice

2005 Chicago Marathon | Photo by fxdirect courtesy of Flickr.

No Joe! You should run! Hopping is much harder and will put undue stress on your knees, shins and kidneys.

Do not listen to this woman.

A Gift for Understatement

2007 Chicago Marathon | Photo by soundfromwayout courtesy of Flickr.

Most marathon posters offer highly superlative encouragement. Runners see endless signs of the “My Parent is Awesome” or “You’re My Hero [Frank, Joe, Chet, etc.]” variety. The nonstop overstatement can become a bit boring.

Annie’s sign rises above the din. One imagines the author seeking to inspire uniquely without resorting to exaggeration (or engendering undue pride). He has succeeded brilliantly.

Unless of course Annie was expecting superlative encouragement; In which case, he’s failed miserably.

It’s the thought that counts.

2006 New York City Marathon | Photo by Elizabeth Wentling courtesy of Flickr.

“… But I still went to great pains to create a highly legible, humungous sign. I also risked my life to hang it on a precarious fire escape while nursing a brutal hangover. So when we get to Rother’s, you’re buying, dude.”

Come hither.

2006 Los Angeles Marathon | Photo by concrete cornfields courtesy of Flickr.

I don’t know what’s funnier, the (presumed) woman in Fredrick’s of Hollywood lingerie, the outrageous offer or the cheesy covered sofa complete with low rent boom box. An upscale gentleman’s venue, this is not.

Locals know this to be the infamous Venus de Midol (seriously). Her annual tawdry proposal is not a joke. Yes readers, it’s for real.

I find it necessary to offer prospective clients a few words of advice. If you’re keen for a lap dance, may I suggest a more private setting when you are less exposed publically, clad in something other than marathon attire, not encrusted with salt and can independently verify the gender of the dancer.

To be continued…
A host of witty marathon signs are on the way. Come back on Wednesday January 28th for more!

- Dean

Symptoms of my ill-defined lower abdominal injury first appeared in August. Now, the Winter Solstice approaches and my Inov8 Rocklite 305s still lie fallow in the closet. In Orwellian Newspeak, this whole predicament is DoublePlusUnGood.

I feel trapped inside an uncooperative body and I’ve grown obsessed with the injury that has incarcerated me. More pointedly, I fell I’ve lost something. In my hour of desperation, I turn to the only book that can truly help the beleaguered runner make sense of it all: On Death and Dying.

Writing in 1969, Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, death expert (and apparent enthusiast), introduced the groundbreaking Five Stages of Grief. Her model predicts the emotional roller coaster people typically experience when confronting the specter of death. The stages are remarkably similar to the experiences of the injured runner.

Stage 1 – Denial
Runners are world-class deniers; just like the WWE referee who won’t acknowledge that the Undertaker is pummeling John Cena with a flagrantly obvious foreign object. We won’t admit what’s in plain sight. So naturally, we push through injuries that would down a bull moose. This is done for extremely important reasons like “shaving 10 seconds off a 9.5 mile trail run” or “Winning an online mileage contest with someone from Uzbekistan.”

When confronted with an injury we can no longer ignore (like debilitating pain in the pelvic socket) we howl with melodramatic angst like the overacting Mark Hamill in The Empire Strikes Back, “That’s not true! THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!”

We refuse to accept facts, and Darth Vader predictably kicks our whiny ass.

Stage 2 – Anger
Like petulant toddlers who haven’t gotten their way, we feel that life has purposefully struck us a cruel blow. “How could this happen? I wanted to qualify for Boston.” “I was going to run a marathon up a mountain.” “Now how will I test the wind shear resistance of my new Saucony running shorts?” It’s just not fair.

Divorced from our primary means of stress relief, we runners become ill-tempered monsters. A toxic stew of displaced aggression and unseemly narcissism rule the day. It’s best to avoid us entirely, especially if we’re related to you.

Stage 3 – Bargaining
Injuries can help runners regain lost faith, though the recovery may be shallow. The temptation to mold divine providence to our purposes proves difficult to resist. Spirituality may compliment running, but offering bail-out funds to a higher power in return for a pain-free hash run hardly amounts to sound religious practice. Even if we promise something noble, like never again out-kicking a senior citizen in a marathon finishing chute, our injuries will not magically disappear.

Yet we still try to control the uncontrollable. Rather than endure the consequences for our folly, we want to buy some sort of Medieval Indulgence to get early release from Injury Purgatory. Didn’t America fight a Reformation over this or something?

Stage 4 – Depression
The sick sometimes wonder if they’ll ever be well again. Injured runners wonder if they’ll ever compete again. We sit on the sidelines as the race calendar inexorably rolls on. As days turn into weeks and weeks into months, we succumb to listless melancholy. We lose hope.

Because nothing seems to matter, self-destructive choices begin to make sense. We hop off the wellness wagon into the non-judgmental, deliciously nutritionless arms of our favorite junk foods. Complete lethargy follows. Supine on the couch, we command the nearest child to fetch us Mountain Dew and Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos because “Soda and cookies won’t just walk to the living room by themselves.”

This is rock-bottom stuff; the injured runner’s equivalent to the post break-up ice cream binge. It’s all very sad.

Stage 5 – Acceptance
With nowhere to go but forward, runners grudgingly acknowledge reality and begin the slow crawl back to dignity and fitness. The journey usually begins at the doctor’s office. We visit specialists and submit to the inevitable X-Rays and claustrophobic MRI scans. We hope this will lead to a concrete diagnosis – a clear plan of action. Any plan will do.

Alas, such certainty proves elusive. Cosmologists have deduced the precise composition of the universe at less than a trillionth of a trillionth of a second after the Big Bang, but medical science can’t tell me why my groin hurts when I run. Apparently this is too much to ask.

For Kübler-Ross, acceptance is the last step before peacefully embracing death. Most runners just end up in physical therapy. There we’re measured, assessed, stretched, electrified, and put to work in the weight room. But we embrace it all the same. At least we’re doing something constructive.

It’s all quite simple. We do whatever our physical therapist tells us to do. Along the way we breathe the crisp, invigorating oxygen of a clearly defined goal, which reminds us of how it feels to run.

- Dean

In effort to keep physicians, physical therapists and makers of anti-inflamatory medication in the black, I proudly announce my latest running injury: the dreaded groin pull. It’s as uncomfortable as it sounds.

Worse, it’s completely disrupting my marathon schedule. I should be in the visceral, red meat section of my training regimen; the part where Burgess Meredith proclaims through grimy, clenched teeth that I eat lightning and crap thunder. Instead, I’ve been laid low by a deceptively nasty injury not easily described in mixed company.

Where to begin.

A groin pull is very much like a taffy pull, except you’re the taffy. Or, if you prefer vegetables; Imagine the Jolly Green Giant holds you aloft by your feet intent on slowly making a wishbone out of you. Distracted by his diminutive sidekick Sprout, he fails to finish the job. Sure, you may be alive but running is now out of the question.

One typically does not hear the word “groin” in polite conversation, unless of course you happen to know a runner. Then it’s mentioned frequently, without a hint of embarrassment.

Consider:
“Hey runner friend, what do you think of the new Asics Gel Nimbus 10?”

“The heel support is excellent fellow running aficionado, but there’s not enough cushioning to help with my groin.”

“That groin still bothering you? Provide exhaustive detail during our 10 mile training run.”

Things are different for non-runners, where references to the “groin” are uncommon. It’s a lonely word; too vulgar for high speech, and not offensive enough for low speech. The higher classes simply employ euphemisms like “nether regions” or “down there.” Lower classes proceed directly to the sterner, more colorful expletives. Neither are helpful.

Unless you’ve signed up for an Ancient Roman architecture class, you probably won’t read much about the groin, either. Even romance novelists avoid it. Why write wildly of burning groins, when burning loins will do nicely?

So we must turn to proper terminology. Medically speaking, I appear to have a strained, pulled or otherwise damaged adductor longus; one of the important muscles attaching the leg to the abdomen. Science then, has given us the ideal expression. A pulled adductor longus sounds vaguely alluring. Nobody wants a groin pull.

But if for some reason you’d like one, I suggest running incessant, high-mileage weeks with little or no breaks. When you feel the first twinge in your lower abdomen, by all means continue running, competitively if possible. In no time, you’ll be on the sidelines as your companions train in the gloriously autumnal weather.

For serious entertainment, return from the injury quickly, ignoring the sage advice of physicians, spouses, or runners with similar experience. Schedule a marathon immediately.

On that note, I hope to see you at the Lewis & Clark Siouxland Marathon on October 18th. Assuming I’m still in one piece, do flag me down at the Des Moines Marathon the next day.

- Dean

The anticlimactic, maddeningly truncated video is finally up! See below:

Ramsey,

This is the greeting you deserved some twenty-odd years ago from the Wellesley girls. It doesn’t seem fair that you never experienced it; that you never got to run Boston. My measly 3:15 doesn’t hold a candle to your 3:01. But back in the day, qualifying standards were much tougher. And regrettably, injury now prevents you from running this storied race. Doubly unfair.

This may be a trivial surrogate for the real Boston experience. But accept it as a token of friendship and thanks for the miles we’ve run together and the counsel you’ve given. I’d say thanks for the ab class, but my abs are not ready to forgive.

Most of my readers don’t know you. Though I may underestimate your social networking skills, which are prodigiously advanced. I can’t recall running together without a handful of people greeting you, whether on foot, in cars, riding, working or otherwise. Those few who don’t know you would be happier if they did.

I hope this in some small way this gesture assuages any disappointment you may have felt at missing Boston. At least let it show that investments in friendship always reap dividends.

- Dean

The Video!


(NOTE: What on earth is that runner doing at the far end of the sign in the video?)

Unfortunately, the final cut of the video contains less than half of the event. Here’s the whole encounter:

DEAN
(Stops at the craziest bunch of Wellesley Girls)
Hey! Hold this for me and…

WELLESLEY GIRLS
(Not a breath lost, they immediately unroll the sign with great enthusiasm. No reason is requested.)

DEAN
Okay, this is for Ramsey. I swear this is not me. It’s really for someone else.
(Takes several photos)

WELLESLEY GIRLS
(incoherent screaming continues)

DEAN
(Assuming the Camera is now capturing the scene on video)
On the count of three yell, “We love you Ramsey”

WELLESLEY GIRLS
(immediately)
WE LOVE YOU RAMSEY!
(more screams)

DEAN
(laughing)
Let him have it! Tell…
(Filming actually begins)
.. him you love him! YEAH!

WELLESLEY GIRLS
(more screaming)

DEAN
alright!
(filming stops)

Ah well, the best laid plans often go awry. At least we got a bit of it. Ramsey, somewhere in Wellesley, the girls have your sign. Hopefully they’ll check out the site!

- Dean