Running for the sheer good time of it
Preston — Forget what you might have heard about the long-distance runner.
He’s not that lonely. Neither is she.
At least not the ones who began filing into Tim and Kris-Anne Kane’s house on Northwest Corner Road shortly before 9 a.m. Saturday.
They came to run, all right, but they were going to have a good time, too, especially after they finished running.
This has been going on for more than 20 years. Every Saturday morning from January through the first week in April.
They’re called “slug runs,” Tim Kane said, because they’re designed to keep this particular band of southeastern Connecticut running enthusiasts from turning into wintertime slugs.
Runners take turns playing host.
Saturday’s event, the Kanes’ specialty, was the annual “Love Run,” so named because of its proximity to Valentine’s Day.
The turnout was typical for the gatherings, about 30 runners, most of whom belong to the Mohegan Striders, though membership in that august running club, founded in 1972, is not a requirement.
“It started with people training for Boston (the marathon),” Kane said, referring to the slug runs. “Nobody wants to run alone. You want to share the pain of training.”
Nowadays, few of the slug runners are preparing for Boston. A few are happy to walk.
“The level of seriousness varies depending on how old you are,” Kane, 58, said. “You do what you want.”
Runners arriving at the Kanes Saturday dropped off treats and picked up a map from a selection arrayed on the kitchen table. The Kanes had drawn up routes of varying distances.
Norma Vivar, a Strider from Storrs, recalled how she felt years ago when she lived in Griswold and saw club members racing.
“I thought if I could catch on with those guys, I’d join,” she said. “They’re real fast.”
Al Phillips, the Striders’ new president, said the club, “the best in the state,” actively recruits new members and expects to have a total of 300 or so signed up by year’s end.
Still, the social aspect of running is mighty important, the runners will tell you.
“People ask me why I do it,” Vivar said. “Not because I had some health scare. Not because I’m training for some big race. No, none of that. It’s because I can’t help it. I can’t explain it other than that.”
Ritual attends the slug runs.
Before the runners set out Saturday, they gathered on the Kanes’ deck for a group portrait. Later, Way Hedding, another Strider, noted that they'd be bringing out the Lazy Susan bearing shots of blackberry brandy.
He said he’d have to behave himself, though, since he was going to be the best man at his grandson’s wedding in the afternoon.
After the year’s last slug run, they’ll bestow the Bloody Shirt Award, presented annually to the runner who does “the stupidest thing,” such as get lost, or worse.
Marshall Collins, the first recipient, started the tradition by falling and breaking his nose midway through the inaugural slug run.
He saved the shirt he bloodied that day, and they’ve passed it along year after year.
“It’s never been washed,” Collins said. “Nobody wants to touch it.”
b.hallenbeck@theday.com
Twitter: @bjhallenbeck
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