by Al Pastor
Spectators line the route in beach chairs. It’s race day, a marathon. I’m standing with some of the other volunteers. Here come the runners. Support staff deftly step out onto the course. Arms extended with flimsy cups, these are alternately: consumed, dropped, spilled, tossed, squashed. I’m reaching out, too, as if hailing a cab, holding out my race refreshments. Instead of a cup of water, I’ve got the good stuff: packs of regular Camels, a can of Colt 45, several Hav-A-Tampa Jewels, wrappers thoughtfully removed. Runners dart and veer around me. They scatter like gazelles through the veldt. Let’s never forget that community events like these couldn’t happen without the support of dedicated volunteers. Feels good to lend a hand.