Lakefront Marathon (maybe) ushers in new era of Milwaukee racing on hot day over the Hoan
A prediction: Someday, maybe soon, you will be able to mark the start of a new era in Milwaukee distance racing at precisely 7:10 a.m. Oct. 1, 2023. An eager crowd of thousands had swelled to fill a barricaded block of Wisconsin Avenue next to Milwaukee’s downtown conference center, and on that unseasonably warm Sunday morning, the Milwaukee Lakefront Marathon finally began living up to its name.
And yes, I was there in that crowd too, about to find out if I had just made a colossal mistake.
Jim and I smiled as he snapped a pre-race selfie, but his confidence was teetering too. He had an iffy ankle, and I had no solid base of training to run 26.2 miles. Both of us were Lakefront Marathon first-timers, though this year’s race was new to everyone. For 40 previous runnings of the Milwaukee Lakefront Marathon, the starting line was at Grafton High School, nowhere near Milwaukee and not even in sight of the lakefront. That traditional course was dominated by farmlands and northern suburbs, only entering Milwaukee’s city limits for the final miles.
This year, as race director Scott Stauske prepared to give the thumbs up to start the race, our feet were planted at the base of urban canyons, our GPS devices about to be thwarted by Milwaukee’s towering skyline.
The hosting Badgerland Striders are not normally known for bold departures from tradition, but their hand was forced starting in 2022 by multiyear construction on and around I-43 that blocked part of their reliable Grafton-to-Milwaukee route. Last year, they failed in their attempt to secure the permits needed to center a new course in Milwaukee and incorporate a rare crossing of the Hoan Bridge, that iconic local landmark. If anyone still bore grudges over the unexpected cancellation, at least no one was pelting Stauske with over-ripe bananas.
“I know some of you were a little disappointed by some of the efforts last year, but we have made up for it,” Stauske said. “We have doubled the numbers. We are ready to rock and roll. Let’s make this the best event we’ve ever had.” Voice rising to crescendo: “This is amazing, a great day for Milwaukee!”
Great day for Milwaukee perhaps, but with the temperature expected to near or top 80 by the end of the race, it wasn’t exactly a great day for runners dreaming of a PR or qualifying for the Boston Marathon. The Twin Cities Marathon, scheduled for the same morning, already had been canceled because of the heat. Lakefront Marathon’s message to runners was basically, let’s do this but take it easy and hydrate, hydrate hydrate.
Earlier that morning, on the shuttle bus from the Summerfest parking lot to the Baird Center, I was sitting next to a runner from New Berlin, also named David. The US Bank building rose ahead of us like an illuminated monolith against the black pre-dawn sky. David told me this was his first marathon, and with no baseline finishing time yet to set expectations, he had decided on a goal of 10 minutes slower than his Boston qualifying time. In the coming heat, sticking to any pre-race goal might be a stretch. Even so, there it was — Boston, another city, another time zone, half a country away but never far from the mind of the marathoner.
The BQ is the undeniable benchmark of our sport, and it sometimes rears its head in ways we don’t expect. In 2017, the Milwaukee Marathon — similar name, different race — embarrassed itself and frustrated a lot of runners when its course came up nearly a mile short, which meant the total number of participants achieving a BQ time was zero.
I’ve harbored my own fantasies of BQ glory in the past, only to discover that running so fast for so long is REALLY HARD. For mortals like myself, the endless quest for that mythical perfect marathon is bound to come up short. So many paths lead to imperfection. And anyway, a BQ was the farthest thing from my mind at 7:10 a.m. when Jim and I followed the mass of runners taking off east down Wisconsin Avenue.
I had signed up just days earlier, figuring I would keep Jim company as he tried to rebound from his ankle injury. And I was curious about the new course. Surely the best way to see it would be to actually run it, If I could make it that far. My odds weren’t great. With one exception, I hadn’t run more than 12 miles in the previous six months. But my regular group runs with Jim and other friends made me think that by keeping to a conversational pace I might be able to endure to the end.
And it was my first Lakefront Marathon but not my first time at the race. I had worked with the race’s timing company a couple times, back when the starting line was in Grafton. Standing next to the mats that collected runners’ 10K or half marathon splits, it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. I remember corn fields, trees and country roads. I don’t remember any spectators.
This year, early miles of the Lakefront Marathon were entirely different, with people holding signs and cheering seemingly on every turn in the course. Less than a mile into the race we all made the turn onto Prospect Avenue, past the orange sunburst sculpture, “The Calling.” The tip of the Milwaukee Art Museum pointed like a compass needle toward heaven. The city itself seem like a character in this drama, and the sunrise over the lake, though obscured by the high-rises ahead of us, blanketed the narrow gap between buildings with a mystical glow.
“Looking good, Milwaukee!” Jim shouted as we passed the three-mile mark and an inviting vista opened over Bradford Beach and Lake Michigan.
So far, his ankle was holding up, but both of us were thinking we should hit the next restroom stop. Tough call. It’s anyone’s guess how long a restroom stop will take, and every one we saw had lines already forming. We keep going, down and back on Newberry Boulevard, around the corner of Lake Park and down the hill to the lakefront on Lincoln Memorial Drive. At the aid station near the six-mile mark, Jim made a move to the right. I wasn’t sure if he was stopping for water or to use the restroom, or maybe he was thinking of ducking into the woods. I pulled over too, so I could hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
When I looked up from my empty paper cup, a mild panic began to set in. I had lost Jim.
Milwaukee racing approaches an anxious turning point
The recent history of Milwaukee racing can be read as a story of loss. The upheaval is perhaps most dramatic in the marathon, but it isn’t exclusive to that distance.
The last time runners were able to cross the Hoan Bridge (without being arrested) was Summerfest’s 2017 Rock ‘n Sole half marathon. The next year, Summerfest unceremoniously took itself out of the road racing game. Another huge loss was the discontinuation of Briggs and Al’s Run & Walk, once capable of bringing thousands to the streets of downtown Milwaukee every September. After 45 years, Children’s Wisconsin Foundation said last March that it had decided instead to focus its energy on developing more inclusive fundraising events.
But it was the pandemic that brought major disruption to the local race schedule. Lakefront Marathon and the Milwaukee Marathon both canceled in 2020. Lakefront came back in 2021, but Milwaukee Marathon did not and still hasn’t. It may never recover (a theme I developed for a Milwaukee Magazine article in March 2022).
Milwaukee Marathon has had its own unique set of problems, some of its own making and some out of its control, from a notoriously cranky alderman to a Brewers playoff run to an ill-timed snowstorm. But it was the only serious marathon that took this city seriously. Chris Ponteri founded it in 2015 as a destination race entirely within the city, showcasing not just key landmarks but also some of the city’s neighborhoods and its people.
Is this city big enough to support two major marathons? During the pandemic, it was at the risk of dropping to zero.
In hindsight, although the Badgerland Striders took some heat for flubbing 2022, the road construction to the north on I-43 might have been the best thing that could have happened to Milwaukee, at least if you’re a marathoner. This new Lakefront Marathon course isn’t deeply embedded in the city, but it still feels undeniably Milwaukee, a local product, one that might appeal to more out-of-town marathoners.
I had reached out to Stauke by email before the race, to let him know I had signed up and might be checking back with him afterward for a report on the new course. His response indicated that the Badgerland Striders already are looking to the future, and may never return to Grafton. “I’m sincerely hoping that we make some history this year by starting a race that will last as long as the Grafton-to-Milwaukee course,” he said. “But keeping everyone safe and avoiding a major negative is our main focus.”
At mile six, my immediate concern was finding Jim. Was he behind me, hoping I would wait for him? Had he continued on ahead of me? Should I stay put or start running again?
As I contemplated my next move, I spotted a familiar face. There stopping for water was Mike, a frequent marathoner and former co-worker of mine from when I worked at the Journal Sentinel. I surprised him with a slap on the back and paused as his eyes widened with recognition. “Hey, Dave!”
I started running with him, explaining my dilemma, the Case of the Missing Jim. I tried texting Jim while Mike and I caught up on work stuff, family stuff and running stuff. Like me, he had only recently signed up for the Lakefront Marathon and had not trained as well as he had in previous marathons. And then there was the heat. The morning’s merciful cloud cover was beginning to yield to an insistent sun, and Mike and I were both battling sweat. Neither of us sounded entirely sure we would make it to the end.
But I was so grateful that we had cross paths and were able to chat a bit, even if it was only for about a mile. I wished him luck and ran ahead to catch up with Jim, who had responded to my texts.
“Just passed the art museum,” Jim texted. “I will slow down a little, try to do the Hoan with you.”
Mystery solved: At mile six, he had only stopped for water, not a bathroom break. I caught up to him, and we began the ascent of the highway approach to the Hoan Bridge. The bridge was always the Badgerland Striders’ main selling point of this new course. And it was tremendous. All of Milwaukee in a panorama on one side. All of Lake Michigan spread out to the east. And the distinctive yellow crossbars of the Hoan bracketing the sky above us.
It was my turn to take a selfie. We were still smiling.
Surviving to run another day, but also taking in this day
There’s that saying. It’s all downhill from here.
In running, as in life (and on bridges), I’m never sure if that is supposed to be reassuring or doomsaying. And every experienced marathoner knows, you should trust no one who says there will be no more hills.
My bigger concern was what to do for the rest of the race. Jim, after much soul-searching about his nagging ankle, decided to turn back and complete the half marathon course rather than the full marathon. It was great running with him for that first half of the morning, but now I was alone. And in need of a bathroom. And complaining silently about thoroughly chafed nipples.
At the same time, we were entering what would be my favorite part of the course, a short jaunt through the streets of Milwaukee’s Bayview neighborhood. This kind of marathon really inspires, and I wish the Lakefront Marathon had more stretches like this. Narrow streets, neighbors cheering, general goofiness.
After finally making a pitstop at mile 12 and removing my drenched nipple-scraping shirt, I passed by an assortment of local characters, including a woman dancing on the sidewalk in a banana costume. This wasn’t a BQ or PR run, so I stopped and snapped a photo.
Banana Woman pointed to a handmade sign at the side of the house that said “Shortcut.” I laughed. It was tempting, but I continued on the official course.
Around the half marathon mark, I caught up to the 4:10 pace group. By that point, we were following Lake Drive straight through the southern suburbs of St. Francis and Cudahy, perhaps the least interesting segment of the route. It was a big help to tag along with pacers Kat and Carrie and their handful of followers. Kat was from Boston. (Boston!) Carrie was from Green Bay. They were dishing out a healthy helping of encouragement to Amber, who was running her first marathon and doing her best to keep pace.
The course changed abruptly after mile 17, with a sharp left turn, almost a U-turn, onto the Oak Leaf Trail. We were facing north again, closely following the course of another Badgerland Striders race, the South Shore Half Marathon. It was a nice change of scenery, through woods, by a golf course and out into the open on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. And somewhere along the way I passed the guy banging on More Cowbell for the third time.
By now the heat was taking its toll. I slowed down and passed at least three teams of paramedics responding to medical emergencies in the final miles of the course. The water stations appeared about every two miles, and some runners surely could have used a few extra stops. The final one was positioned at the southern approach to the Hoan Bridge, at mile 24. We had reached the homestrech. Most runners wisely walked up the bridge, myself included. I grabbed some cups of water but declined the offer of a pitcher over the head.
Then I saw another familiar face. No, it was a familiar back belonging to Rick, who I’ve run with before in one of our local running groups. I shouted out to him and we began run-walking the final couple miles of the marathon.
Rick seemed in rough shape and appreciated the company. He had been following a heart rate-based training plan but not closely enough. His initial goal for this race was a 3:25 finish, which would have given him a BQ, but now he just wanted to get to the finish line and put this race behind him.
You can learn something from every race, he said, even the rough ones. But the rough ones still sting.
As we crested the Hoan Bridge for the second and last time, passing a jovial accordion player, Rick perked up. He had run Jones Island before but said he had never seen it from above. The perfect view.
The more and more I run, I wonder whether that mythical perfect marathon is ever achievable. We may keep chasing it, but maybe the only real perfection we can find is in those little moments, even on an imperfect race day.
Making the final turn toward the Summerfest grounds, Rick wife’s pedaled alongside us on a bike and cheered him on. He thanked me for helping him through the final miles but told me to run ahead, finish strong. I picked up my pace, just a little, and crossed in under 4:30. My slowest marathon time, but no regrets whatsoever.
After the race, Rick and I met up with Jim near the finish line. I made a feeble attempt to stretch my weary legs and Rick caught his breath and his bearings on a bench.
“Why do we do this?” Rick asked.
It’s the kind of thing a runner might say partially as a joke, but I sensed the question was more than rhetorical for Rick. Why would anyone choose to spend their Sunday morning this way? Aren’t there better things to do with one’s time?
Falling short of one’s goals can be disheartening for a runner. I felt for him and didn’t have a good answer, especially since I entered this race with no real goal other than to run. What made this race special for me was being able to run alongside and chat with so many other runners, from close friends to total strangers. Maybe the BQ isn’t the only motivation.
And maybe this city and its people will have lessons for all of us marathoners, if we can keep the momentum going.
You look good, Milwaukee.