“You’re almost there.” Three words I never thought I’d utter from the sidelines. 

As a longtime back-of-the-pack runner, I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with the incredible volunteers who donate their time and energy to hydrate, inspire, and ensure I safely cross the finish line. I’ve always been cognizant of the fact that my less than stellar speed means they are stuck at their station longer than necessary, which I thoroughly appreciate. 

But… 

Let’s be real for a minute. The annoyingly loud cowbells. The rage-inducing encouragement such as “looking good” and “way to go, you’re amazing” or the infamous “you’re almost there” that’s shouted from the sidelines when your unwashed body has miles to go. It rubs my already chaffed body the wrong way.

Plus, I’m a wee bit jealous watching these warmly dressed humans with their hot coffee and parked cars just steps away that will take them to the finish line if they want. It can all be a bit too much for this stoic Scandinavian.

Yet, here I am. A year ago, I made a career change. A year ago, I found myself walking in a race for the first time. A year ago, I found myself entering a new chapter in my life focused on peace. Sure, grit and persistence are still embedded in who I am, but how that shows up daily is different. And in this case, this subtle shift led me down a road where I am now one of them.

In my defense, it was an easy sell. The Duluth Women’s 10 Mile, which benefits my workplace, was created by our local running shop to empower women and address some of the equity gaps we experience. Dollars raised support women-owned businesses. Then, there’s the course itself. It starts high, winds down Duluth’s hillside on maple- and oak-lined streets crossing a series of spectacular stone bridges before ending next to Lake Superior. 

Old Beth would have signed up to run it. And perhaps in the future I will. But, in my heart of hearts, at this stage in my life, I knew running was not in the cards for me. And that’s what brings me here. To the first water station at Mile 2 to volunteer. It’s on a steep downhill stretch, and approximately 500 women and a few men are zipping by on a crisp, fall morning. 

Water. Electrolytes. Clapping. Cheering. And the infamous, “keep up the great work, you’re almost there” are bookended with, “Hey, it is all downhill from here.” As each runner passes, I find myself looking into a reflection of myself at various points in my running career. The runner unwilling to look up because she is terrified she will trip over her feet. The determined face of a runner hell bent on setting a PR. The gal pals skipping along in matching outfits enjoying a gorgeous fall day. The undertrained runner who is questioning if she can actually finish. And, the first-time racer who is feeling intense imposter syndrome, embracing encouragement wherever she can find it.  

The experience fuels me. I realize that volunteering at this particular race at this point in time is as much about helping me as serving up water for others. A former co-worker rounds the corner and gives me a sweaty bear hug. An odd time to reconnect—but a much-needed reminder of the power of community. 

And with that, my work is done. I’ve thrown the few discarded cups in the trash (runners are surprisingly neat), dumped extra liquid, and folded the tables. I leave with a new found appreciation and gratitude that comes with giving back to a community that has given me so much.