When Warren Snaider enters a race, the 68-year-old’s aim is simple: “My goal in any race is to finish under my own power — same day I started — and, for extra points, not be last.”
Once, Snaider didn’t get those extra points. The public information federal employee in the District of Columbia was in Berlin for an invitational hosted by the International Front Runners, an LGBT running club. He ran the 10K, despite not having trained. About one-third of the way through the race, he and a young woman from Hamburg, Germany, couldn’t help but notice the two men trailing them.
“When we needed to slow down or walk, they slowed down,” Snaider remembers. “And I’m thinking, ‘What is it with you two guys?'” Then it hit him: The men were “sweeps,” or people whose job it is to bring up the rear. “We figured out these two guys who can clearly run are just hanging back to make sure we live,” he says with a laugh.
Snaider and the woman grabbed each other’s hands and crossed the finish line together — last. Snaider still took home a bronze medal for his gender and age group, in which he placed third of three runners. “I’m not someone who’s always been at the back,” says Snaider, who used to run 10Ks under 40 minutes. “But once you are, you say, ‘Boy that was fun.'”
Other runners are used to the caboose. More than 2,800 of them belong to the invite-only Facebook group “Back of the Pack,” which aims to unite runners who almost always bring up the rear.
“We think the runners who finish toward the back have a spirit like no other, and we never think of ourselves as lesser of a runner,” the group’s description says. “…We are out there doing it, and that is what matters.”
A few members shared their stories of last-place finishes with U.S. News. Their responses have been edited.
Patricia Dolton, 41
Librarian, historian and needlework artist in Greenwich, New York
I started running in seventh grade because my brother was a runner, and I wanted to be on a team. I was petrified of rejection, so I went for cross-country because no one was cut.
I ran all through junior and senior high, except sophomore year when I hurt my knee. After that, I was considerably slower, though I was far from fast to begin with. Senior year, I finished last in every single race but one. That was 1991.
I didn’t run again until May 2014. After losing 85 pounds and turning 40, I started walking about 1 1/2 miles three or four times a week. When a friend talked to me about his running, I was adamant that I wouldn’t run. He just smiled.
The next time I went for my walk, I tried to run. I couldn’t make it from one stop sign to the next, but I kept trying. Eventually, I ran the whole 1 1/2 miles. I was so excited! I texted my friend, and he congratulated me. I ran three 5K races that fall and tried to keep running over the winter.
On April 4, I ran my first 10K. I had never run a race that long before, even back in high school. I was pretty sure I’d be last. I was. It was a small race: I was 28th out of 28. I got high-fives, words of encouragement and hugs from the other runners. My time was 1 hour, 19 minutes, 11 seconds, and I am very proud.
I’ve learned that just because you aren’t great at something doesn’t mean you should stop doing it. Someone has to come in last — and I do it very well.
Candice Biggers-Allen, 42
Medical social worker for people who are HIV-positive and mother of six in West Plains, Missouri
I finished last in a half marathon on Feb. 14, 2015. During the race, as other runners of all different shapes and sizes began to pass me, I asked myself, “Self, what makes a person a runner?”
My “self” had a very inspiring answer: “It’s the love-hate relationship of getting up before most people on a weekend to run your long run. It’s loving the feeling of your foot sliding into your favorite pair of running shoes. It’s the desire to be better than you were last week. It’s understanding that it’s OK to walk if you need to. It’s having a bad race and still scheduling the next one. It’s the joy of finishing a race but being sad it’s over. It’s encouraging your fellow runners on the course. It’s loving yourself regardless of how you place.”
I finally realized: I am a runner! I may never win a race or finish a long distance race without walking some, but I will start a race and I will finish.
Miranda Freitag, 32
Elementary school special education teacher in Houston, Texas
I started running in September of 2014. I downloaded a couch-to-10K app and got started. When I ran my first 10K race in February, I knew I wasn’t going to be fast and set a goal to just finish.
The course was two loops. Once I started on the second loop, I noticed there were only five or six people behind me. Slowly, those runners crept up on me , and I was left with one lady to run with. I wanted to quit so many times.
I had previously signed up for a program called I RUN 4 Siblings: The Unsung Heroes, which partners siblings of kids with special needs with a buddy. The runner dedicates the race to the sibling and becomes his or her friend. My buddy and I call ourselves #teambatman. I ran for him, for his sister who can’t run and for me. I finished the race with my family cheering me all the way and my buddy cheering me on at his house.
I didn’t race to be first — I raced to finish and to prove to myself that I could.
Christine Surh, 44
Special education teacher in Levittown, New York
I was looking for a half marathon and found one in Pennsylvania in April. The race information said it was a challenging course, and there was no time limit. I contacted the race director, who assured me I could take as long as I needed and that they were very friendly to slower runners and walkers.
The day of the race, it was unseasonably hot and humid, but I was right on pace. At mile 8, I had to cross the finish line before going around again for the second 5-mile loop. The area was full of runners who had already finished eating hot dogs and pretzels, a DJ playing music and people celebrating. Not only was it hard to see all that and know I still had 5 miles to go, but I had to weave in and out of the crowd to continue. Mentally, that took a toll on me, but I got past it.
Then, as I approached the water stop at mile 9, I saw that it was packed up and empty. It was then that, mentally, I hit the wall. I was disappointed and upset. But I still had to finish.
As I was rounding the last corner, I heard shouting. Three women who had passed me during the last 2 miles were waiting for me to finish. It’s a good thing, because all that was left of the finish area were the ladies, the timing mat and one volunteer left with my medal. All the food tents, music and crowds were gone. While I was still disappointed with the race management, nothing took away my pride in finishing.
I have made great progress since starting to run. I will continue to train and improve. I will probably always be in the back of the pack, and I’m fine with that. I plan to celebrate every start and every finish.
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Last Place and Proud: I Finished a Race Last originally appeared on usnews.com