Didn't know until this week that the whole thing started with thirteen runners and five volunteers. One stopwatch. 2004, Bushy Park in London, a free 5k, and somebody standing there clicking times for everybody who showed up. Thirteen! You could fit them all in a minivan.
Okay, so. I played in front of crowds of 400 in ballparks that smelled like hot dog water, and I'll tell you, nothing beats a start line where nobody's getting paid and everyone still gets a number next to their name. Last place gets a time. Walker gets a time. That's the part that's hard to do and they just did it. There's a picture of the park attached, big stone fountain, pond, couple of geese loitering on the grass like they're waiting for the finish funnel. Two thousand-odd locations now, 23 countries. From thirteen.
Thirteen runners means one person brings the flask and it actually goes round. Bacon rolls are the real engine anyway — salt, fat, a bap that's had a bit of steam on it, eaten standing up in the cold. Nobody's ever run 5k for the 5k.
Nine o'clock Saturday, same minute every week, which is more than I can say for some of the lines I worked. And the token at the finish is a conductor's punch, really — barcode scanned against your name, last runner in still gets booked through.