Is the ransom negotiable?: Lucky 13

A large portion of the United States has no idea what a Beer Mile is and until yesterday I was part of that population. My ignorance of the event kept me safely within my Gatorade and Powerbar nutrition bubble. There is however a large subculture of runners who celebrate the beer mile and look forward to competing each year. Andy Roberts is the local who keeps Tallahassee on the Beer Mile map within his quiet yet supportive neighborhood.

First timers club. Notice the girl on the left is drinking non-alcoholic beer, and who's Mountain Dew's are those, cheaters!

The Beer Mile on the surface quite simple, drink 12 ounces of canned beer, run a quarter mile, then do it three more times. Some folks think wow, that’s easy it’s not much drinking and not much running. Other folks (me) wonder how that much beer can fit into a stomach in such a short span of time. I cannot tell you where the beer goes but I can tell you what it’s like to finish third from last and what runner #13 saw from the back.

The many faces of the Beer Mile from ignorance to the final beer.

I knew I was in trouble when I saw the heart rate monitors and GPS enabled watches. The drinkers lined up at the start with a beer in their watch hand so they could start a timer with their empty hand. The course was an out and back quarter mile and was great for runners and spectators alike.

Once the starting gun went off everyone but me ripped open their beers and started chugging, sadly I bite my nails and I don’t drink canned beer so my buddy Keith opened mine while his head was tilted back draining his own. Within in seconds everyone was off except for me half a beer and the girl next to me with the same wild eyed look in her eyes wondering how we will finish our beers. A few obscene belches later we took off as the first batch of runners were already cracking their second beer. Once my new race buddy and I had nearly completed our first quarter a car zoomed past us and we thought nothing of it because we were dreading the second beer, and we made pact to come in last place together to avoid the individual shame.

The car with the future winner on board.

I reluctantly grabbed my second Pabst Blue Ribbon from the beer table and managed to open it with out assistance, fueled by the memory of the crowd rolling their eyes at me and my wife shaking her head in shame. The second beer started out as awful as the first but a jaw dropping distraction took my mind off it for a moment. The occupant of the speeding car that past on my first lap contained an elite Beer Mile competitor. While I was keeled over in pain forcing 12 more ounces of gas inducing yellow liquid Ashley franticly laced up her running shoes, unpacked her beer and moments later her first can was empty and her heels were a blur. Despite me wishing her the stomach ache of the century I couldn’t help but be impressed. A few hundred belches later my last place companion and I finished our beers and headed off.

I was so preoccupied with wondering where all the beer will fit that I forgot about the oncoming effects. The alcohol first became apparent when my calves felt as if they were shaking violently; could this be where the beer is going? The ensuing apathy and vile off-gassing were the only other indicators.

Our fallen heros.

The third lap was much like the first two, other than there were runners everywhere and no way to know who was coming or going. After I was passed by the drinker with a running problem for second time the crowd blew up and I knew there was a shake up in progress. I arrived behind my last place companion to a completely empty beer table other than my lonely PBR surrounded by runners with hands on knees trying not to vomit and folks looking weak and green who had one more lap to go. Thanks to my dangerously high blood alcohol level and inspiration from the mystery girl who drinks cans of beer faster than I can shoot down a tequila shot, I got my second wind and downed my last beer before the other last place contenders took their hands off their knees. I even managed to overtake a couple runners on the last lap to safely keep me out of last place contention.

Momma, the trees are talking to me.

As expected the late girl kicked everyone’s butt and despite not starting at the official time and whether it was their 4 beers or lack of courage, nobody had the strength to look weak enough to contest her dominating 8:06 beer mile.

Andy the race director admiring Ashley's steller beer drinking speed. (update: after video analysis her best beer drinking time was 16 seconds)

I’ve participated in lots of difficult endurance events in my time and I’ve never considered quitting before the beer mile. Good thing I knew what was next, a pile of friends, food and an outdoor screening of Zombieland while bobbing in a pool.