The highs, lows and huhs of wearing bunny ears
What's it like to be a human pacemaker, decked out rabbit-style? Mark Sutcliffe found out.
Mark SutcliffeThe Ottawa Citizen
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The best part of being a pace bunny is seeing dozens of runners charge ahead of you in the final few hundred metres, knowing that by leaving you behind they are achieving their ambitions.
The worst part is seeing the looks of disappointment as you deliver bad news to runners you pass who were hoping to finish ahead of your time. To them, you are a goal slipping away into the distance.
The most enjoyable part is that the cheers from the crowd seem to go up wherever you pass, especially from the children who like your bunny ears.
The oddest part is when a television reporter asks you at the end of the race why you are allowed to carry a sign that says "60 minutes." And every time you try to explain, she smiles like you are a crazy person who just decided to wear bunny ears for the race and appointed yourself to the role, like a guy holding a sign warning of the apocalypse on Rideau Street.
Last night, my friend Bob and I were the 60-minute pace bunnies for the 10k race. For the uninitiated TV reporters out there, a pace bunny is a volunteer who agrees to run the race at a prescribed pace, wearing a hat with rabbit ears and carrying a sign. Anyone who wants to finish in that time, or slightly better, can follow along and use the pace bunny as a moving timeline.
Honest. This is a formal role, organized by the Running Room and race officials. I didn't make the bunny ears myself at a remedial craft class at the community centre.
The bunnies are a real hit with the kids. Before the race, I was even asked to pose for a picture with a young girl who wanted to wear my hat. When I dropped down to one knee to get to her level, she dropped to her knees as well.
They are also a hit with many runners, especially those who are doing their first race and don't want to worry about pacing themselves. Some runners follow you from start to finish, others use you as a reference point while they run at their own pace.
Bob swears that one woman said to him, "You're going to take me home." He thinks she meant to the finish line.
We had a steady crowd of about 20 runners following us faithfully, and a wider peripheral group of a few dozen who were always nearby. One man from Napanee told me he was running his first-ever race. I asked him if he knew Avril Lavigne and he said he knew her mother.
Another guy had a shirt that said, "Canadian Death Race." Apparently in his case, the event didn't live up to its billing.
A pace bunny is equal parts host, guide, storyteller and leader. It's the most fun you can have in a race, but there is a tough part: maintaining your pace even though the people who might need your help the most are dropping behind. You'd like to go back and get them, but then you wouldn't be doing your job.
At about 6k, we caught up with a woman named Deb who said she had been watching for us and was worried we would leave her behind because her calves were starting to hurt. I encouraged her for a few hundred metres and she hung with us until about 8k. I looked back and tried to wave her up to join us and then a few hundred metres later I couldn't see her anymore.
A surprising number of runners were wearing headphones and listening to their iPods.
With about 500 metres to go, I passed a guy who was wearing the kind of headphones you would have plugged into your record player in 1975. And he had them around his neck. I looked around to see if someone was carrying an eight-track player behind him.
With about 100 metres to go, I glanced back and saw only a few people immediately behind us. That meant most of our group was ahead, which is exactly what a pace bunny wants. I shouted a few words of encouragement to a woman to my right, and she charged on.
It's a bit weird to finish a race with energy left in the tank and still not go into a bit of a finishing kick. Bob and I crossed the finish line in about 59:55. I hung back to see how much later Deb finished.
She appeared a few minutes later and showed me her watch. She had finished in just over an hour and one minute. She didn't crack 60 minutes, but it was still a personal best by five minutes.
"That's great," I said, "and you'll break 60 minutes next time."
"Next time?" she replied.
© The Ottawa Citizen 2008