Orlando runners complete historic virtual Boston Marathon

On another inescapably humid Florida morning, the race began and the only participant in sight started running.

Cheryl Sobering was in the midst of the most historic 26.2-mile race in the country, although it didn’t quite feel that way.

At the Boston Marathon, the spectators were so loyal for the runners. A stranger once gave up her own dry socks to Sobering on a 30-degree torrential rainy race day. Now, no one was cheering at all.

Like almost everything else in American life, this year’s Boston Marathon was swept up and disrupted during the coronavirus pandemic. The live April race was postponed and then ultimately canceled for the first time in 124 years.

But it’s truly hard to stop runners from running, so as a consolation prize, Boston organizers offered something both strange and fitting as millions of Americans work from home on Zoom: A virtual race.

Run from your hometown on your own route, and prove you did it (done easily in modern times with tracking data on phones and watches.) Then get your finisher’s medal in the mail.

From Sept. 5-14, more than 15,000 runners in 100 countries participated, including people from Central Florida.

Ask any serious marathoner. Boston means something.

Sobering worked for seven years, sprinting on the track, going on long runs, and cross training on the bike and swimming. The payoff was running fast enough to qualify for her first Boston Marathon in 2018.

“The first time I qualified for Boston, as soon as I crossed that finish line, I broke into tears,” said Sobering, 36, a payroll administrator who lives in Winter Park. “I was so thrilled that I finally reached my goal. And so ever since 2018, my goal was to run consecutive Boston’s until I couldn’t run anymore.”

The virtual marathon meant her streak stayed alive even if 2020 felt like a big asterisk.

Sobering made the mistake of looking up the weather for what could have been. Boston: Partly sunny and low 60s, perfect for running.

It was already 82 degrees as she headed out before 7 a.m. in Winter Park on her normal 10-mile route and then onto unfamiliar streets without a clear course in mind. She thought about both nothing and everything.

She listened to her indie music playlist as she ran. She brought a pack with chapstick, a credit card if she needed to stop for a cold water and a mask.

She finished her 26.2 miles in under four hours and returned home with little fanfare. The next day, she was out running again.

“I didn’t have a feeling of accomplishment. I didn’t really have any of the joy that comes with running the actual course. But I’m still proud that I went out there and did it by myself,” Sobering said. “I didn’t give up."

Across town, on a different morning, Track Shack co-owner Jon Hughes' approach was more deliberate. He mapped out his 26.2 mile course and sent the route to his supporters who parked their cars along the way for mobile water stops. Hughes wasn’t alone either. His son or a friend or two ran alongside for part of the way after he set out at 4:20 a.m.

“There’s no question I would not have run as well without them,” Hughes said, grateful for his friends and family. “When you’re by yourself, all of a sudden you get that little negative thought. Once that little negative thought starts to take hold in your mind, you can find all kinds of reasons to slow down or stop.”

Organizers had sent all the virtual runners number bibs as if it were indeed a real race, so some strangers realized Hughes wasn’t on a routine morning jog as the sun rose in Winter Park.

“Good job, buddy!” a stranger shouted.

Some cheered.

Hughes remembered those moments later, reflecting on the deeper meaning. They were positive moments badly needed in 2020.

He ran throughout this year as the Track Shack store on Mills Avenue closed for nearly two months and several of its annual races were canceled or went virtual.

Through the stress, Hughes, 62, credits running "with what keeps my sanity,” he said.

A finish line banner greeted Hughes back home at the end of his virtual Boston Marathon.

Hughes' wife, Betsy, who runs the store with him, organized the socially distanced after-race party with bagels.

Like Hughes and Sobering, I, too, ran the virtual marathon on the Sunday before Labor Day.

I cover theme parks for the business desk at the Orlando Sentinel. Since March, I have hardly stopped working as I document the collapse of Orlando’s tourism machine and all the lives that have been caught up in it.

I’m at mercy to email. It dings. That usually means more breaking news, another story to write.

I fell behind on my training quickly. When I had a moment to relax, I binge-watched episodes of “Lost” or ate pints from Kelly’s Homemade Ice Cream. The fire to train for another marathon was gone. I stopped recording long runs on my schedule posted on the refrigerator, a source of guilt every time I opened it to get milk.

But I was determined to finish my virtual race anyway. The medal would feel historic, a reminder of this weird and terrible time. I would always remember this. My dream is to run the biggest and best marathons in the world, an opportunity to travel and explore. Who knows when I can do that again? The virtual race was what I had, at least for now.

I started on my marathon route on the Grand Orlando Lake Tour of Eola, Underhill and Baldwin Lake as I listened to seven-minute melancholy Bruce Springsteen songs. I ran until I gave up and walked.

My dear friend and former Sentinel reporter, Rene Stutzman, put out Gatorade and water in her front yard and waved at me as I went past. My fiancé, Brent, ran seven miles with me and then followed behind on a bike when it got dark. I cherished them both.

Nobody else was out, even the peacocks on Bumby Avenue were sleeping as I ran into the late hours.

At 1 a.m., a car pulling out of a fast-food joint stopped to let me go by on the sidewalk. “I’m on Mile 24!” I said, surprising even myself with my level of enthusiasm. They looked at me confused, and, I went on.

I finished the final few miles on my brick-lined neighborhood streets, my time is not worth the cost of newspaper ink, so I’m leaving it out. Brent hugged me and my dog licked me.

I chugged a glass of chocolate milk, climbed into the shower and then curled up in bed in a fetal position, feeling both glad I had done it and glad it was over.

This article first appeared on OrlandoSentinel.com. Email Gabrielle Russon at grusson@orlandosentinel.com.

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