Everyone in Central Indiana knows that the month of May belongs to Indy due to the 500-mile race held over Memorial Day weekend, and the first Saturday of May begins the festivities with the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. This is a 13-mile marathon race that runs in an around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, culminating a whole year's worth of planning and organizing. Running the 2.5 oval of the speedway track comes about midway through the racecourse, so it's a milestone of sorts.
Most people don't know this, but amateur radio operators play a huge role in the Mini. There are operators stationed at every checkpoint, every first aid tent, and at other strategic places to communicate needs with the authorities that are in control of the operation of the race and the safety of the runners. Radio operators all listen to and report on the same radio frequency, thus forming a network, and the guys at the command center are Net Controls. Everything goes through them. This year (today, in fact) there are 75 radio operators workin' the Mini.
For two Minis a few years ago, I was one of those operators. I had a "cushy" station: the entrance to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on 16th Street, and my only responsibility was to be a spotter. Nice work if you can get it! We all used tactical call signs rather than our own, for convenience. For example, it was quicker and easier to identify oneself as "Checkpoint 1" rather than N9QT--the latter of which would require the Net Control to have to look up where N9QT was stationed. And we all worked under, basically, the same set of instructions: Don't leave your station without checking in and checking out. Identify runners in need of assistance by number, gender, and first name only. Report emergencies as priority. And call in when certain people were spotted at each station. We were to report when the fireman running in full call-out gear passed, as well as first wheelchair "runner", first male runner, first female runner, the location of the "tail end" bus, etc. Other than that, stay off the air!
(I should note that the location of the bus was always a source of concern for the runners. It was meant to pick up the stragglers at the end of the race who couldn't finish for whatever reason. If they dropped out early, they either had to walk to the Finish Line--which could be miles away--or wait for the bus.
Most didn't understand that it could be an hour or two or more before the bus would be able to get to them. Frustrating for them, I'm sure.)
In my case, I was calling in the required information from the entrance to the Speedway, which was kind of a "happening" place to be. Several first-timers would hesitate there to have their pictures taken with the "Welcome to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway" sign over their heads. Many would cheer as they entered just by way of having made that milestone. I was able to slap a high-five or two with some of my colleagues from school who were running the race. It was just exciting to share in all of that as a radio operator. Would I ever have been a runner? Not on your life!
There were some amusing things heard on the network, and there was some drama, too. Being on a network like that requires some awareness of confidentiality. It's not up to the spotters to comment on situations but to report them to the Net Control who was rubbing elbows with the police, ambulances, and Marathon authorities. Once relieved of the day's responsibilities, it also behooved us not to talk about some of that stuff on the air. Someone died a year or two ago, due to exertion and temperatures, but we didn't comment on the air, during or even after the fact. The authorities can handle all of that. It was sobering enough just to hear them calling in the need for an ambulance and trying to locate the man's wife at the Finish Line, then trying to determine what hospital the runner was being transported to...and finding a way for his family to get to the hospital. (They were from out of state.) Thankfully, much of that was handled on another frequency. With 30,000 participants, the Mini presents a slice of life, from blisters and bruises to fatigue and heat stroke. Never a dull moment.
The most amusing thing I heard on the net happened on a particularly warm day: "This is Checkpoint 8. We have a male runner in need of medical assistance. His number is 4560, and he doesn't know his name." Self-explanatory!
The most touching thing I observed came at the Speedway Entrance. A young lady, probably in her mid-20s, stood off to the side of the entrance, all by herself, weeping. I watched her for a moment or two, trying to figure out if she was injured, if she was quitting the race early and mad at herself for not making it further, if she was upset that her time wasn't better... (You just never know with runners!) I didn't want to intrude on her privacy but decided to see if she needed assistance. She didn't, she assured me, then told me that she had been running the Mini with her father--just a Daddy and Daughter thing--for the past ten years; but (as you might have guessed), her father had just died a month or so before, and reaching the entrance to the Speedway without him was an emotional moment for her. I gave her a hug and a tissue as she pulled herself together so she could continue the race--for her dad. I'm not at all sure that she would remember sharing that one raw minute with me, but it honored me that she did. And it just goes to show that one never knows the burdens people carry, even with an event as festive as the Mini.
Once again, "the Kenyans" have won. These are fellows from Kenya who enter (and win) the Mini every year. It gets a bit anti-climactic, really...but this year's Kenyan actually broke the course record, running 13 miles in one hour, one minute, and 53 seconds. I'm sorry I wasn't there to cheer him on, but I long ago decided that it is best to let the younger radio operators take over for me. I'll admit, however, that I did have a few minutes of wishing I was there and part of it all again. I worked the Mini from my living room, watching it on TV!
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