Big Man Run. And Run. And Run.
Usually in one of my college courses I tell my students of statistics this: “There is a probability of about 90% that shit will happen.” (Case there is a Pulitzer Prize puff about, I freely admit that I stole this from a source long forgotten.) My students usually chuckle. But Paul Collyer, director of the Big Man Run on Cape Cod, could not have known that the 90% would strike him this Saturday, and he did not chuckle, much, yet.

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By Will Mason
Posted Sunday, 9 June, 2002

Usually in one of my college courses I tell my students of statistics this: "There is a probability of about 90% that shit will happen." (Case there is a Pulitzer Prize puff about, I freely admit that I stole this from a source long forgotten.) My students usually chuckle. But Paul Collyer, director of the Big Man Run on Cape Cod, could not have known that the 90% would strike him this Saturday, and he did not chuckle, much, yet.

Bunches of runners continued past an unmanned (actually, unladyed, since the runners were male and the volunteers were female) post and extended their run from a planned 5.8 to—I am not making this up—9-11 miles. So what happens when discover that things are really awry and it is going to be a long run? Well, you look on the good side, sort of.

The good side? Sure, look at it like this. First, before the race I got to talk to legendary Tom Hurley. Nobody knows New England running (and runners) like Tom. Tom and his wife have been married for 51 years, and he cannot or will not cook. Then I chatted with fellow CCAC members about nothing important except friendship. And, behold and lo, I even got to swap lies with a couple of ancient Greater Lowell comrades.

During the post-race race I teamed up with Kenan Twomey from Chatham. At about 9 miles I mentioned that this was actually a perfect day for running. Know what Kenan said? "Yes, I can't complain." I mean we are 2.5 miles too long with an approximate equal number to go and he does not complain. Only in running circles do you find this attitude.

Then Duke Hutchinson picks up on us (Duke took the long, long turnaround and had to chug to catch us) and we laughed about things past and present as we headed toward the finish. At the very last turn we concocted this idea to make believe we did not see the officials two yards in front of us (real officials this time) and ran a few steps past them while they screamed and pleaded with us to "Turn here." Now that's comedy! (Guess you had to be there.)

And then after the race I chatted with CR's own Dave Camire, who chided me for my 20-minute miles. Dave is working hard and his son will attend BU. That's important. And Dave has a minor running injury. That's not important. And I reacquainted with others I have known for a thousand years, but who just pick up just where we left off the conversation of 20 years ago, in, say, Brattleboro.

There was of course some grousing. Perhaps some of it was warranted, particularly if you flew in from Arizona or Texas for this race. But Paul, Mr. Director, as ably as you think you handled this, I have some advice for you. You don't just grab a mike and announce that you accept full responsibility, explain what happened, and promise to try to make amends. Listen up, Mr. Director: this is 2002. You want to survive; first, you deny any responsibility. Then announce that mistakes were made and that data are being gathered. Beware particularly of lawsuits from the socially harmed or disenfranchised. Plus, something like this calls generally calls for hearings. Announce they are forthcoming, whatever the cost, and that you are determined to get to the bottom of this (which means you hope it will fade away in the analysis). Ideally, you will appoint an independent counsel, but make sure she or he is on your side. Your forthrightness is why you have to work weekends and will never be elected to political office. And do you really think we will accept your offer to come back next year? Ha!

So, all in all, I give this day an A+. Paul gets and A-. And I am looking forward to next year, 5.8, +/-.

P.S. I also got a spiffy shirt and tickets for two beers.

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