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Aging Flatlanders race conquers one more hill

By DAN DEWITT
Published April 9, 2007

My 11-year-old son, Noah, had what seemed like a sensible reason for not running the Flatlanders Challenge road race.

"It makes my legs hurt," he said on Saturday morning. "During the race it really, really hurts."

But don't you realize, I wanted to tell him, that's the whole point?

The brutality of Flatlanders is renowned around the state: a 6.2-mile death march on Brooksville's canopied brick streets. Even the core idea is sadistic. It was conceived as an invitation to runners in the flat regions of Florida - to those unprepared for any grade more severe than the approach to a drawbridge - to test themselves on some of the steepest hills in the state.

It was a long tradition, starting in December 1979, and one that almost ended this year.

The burden of organizing the race had been carried for too many years by too few members of the Red Mule Runners. After attendance at last year's rain-drenched race bottomed out at about 93, they decided they'd had enough. In December, former race director Chuck Boldt announced that the race had reached its sad end.

"I'm sick over it," he said. "How did Cal Ripkin feel the day he couldn't play one more game?"

Two young Brooksville residents, Addison Sullivan and race director Jay Pingley - assisted by several of their young friends - came to the rescue. Pingley's father, Norm Pingley, was one of the original Red Mule Runners, as was Sullivan's father-in-law, Ernie Chatman. They had worked at aid stations as kids. Now in their late 20s, they see the race's heyday as history, an era worth preserving.

The second generation had joined with the first on Thursday night, Sullivan said, stuffing the bags for entrants at the Coney Island Drive-Inn.

"It was great to hear the old stories," Sullivan said.

"They really respected the history of the race," Boldt said.

The new organizers improved the race with a few new features, computerized timing and an optional 5K, which I passed on, in keeping with the event's masochistic spirit, and ran the 10K despite a near total lack of training.

It was slow and agonizing, but, still, I could see what Sullivan and Pingley had accomplished. They had kept the core tradition of a hilly, scenic course. It was hillier, in fact, and more scenic than before, with a loop bringing runners up the steep hill on Bell Avenue and down historic Irene Street.

The taunting signs - "Hills? What hills?" - had been restored and strategically placed on the steepest slopes. Cars stereos out on the course blared era-appropriate tunes from Bad Company and Credence Clearwater Revival.

At the end of the race, I found that an even more cherished ritual had been preserved, the post-race party. That was a basic part of the deal offered to runners in the boom years of the 1970s: exhaust yourself out on the course and reward yourself later.

It has been lost, in recent years, with the ubiquitous, meager, post-race offerings of bananas and bagels. Flatlanders had all that, of course, but after crossing the finish line I could also smell steaming hot dogs from Coney Island and see, on the other side of the SunTrust Bank parking lot, the beacon of the Bud Light tent.

Though total attendance was slightly less than the organizers had hoped, about 200, many of the runners lingered, enjoying the combination of a hard workout and a cold beer, almost all of them saying good things about the race.

"Once the word gets out about the job they did this year, I'm sure it will start to grow again," said longtime Red Mule member Omer Hensley.

My other son, 9-year-old Jesse, also liked the idea of the post-race party, the preparations for which he had seen when we arrived.

"I'm just here for the refreshments," he said.

Some day soon, I thought, I'll have to break it to him. Sorry, son, it doesn't work that way.

Dan DeWitt can be reached at dewitt@sptimes.com or 352 754-6116.

[Last modified April 9, 2007, 06:50:52]