Behind The Scenes of Bay to Breakers

In 1912, the original San Francisco Bay to Breakers Race, then called the Cross-City Race, was run, as a means to boost the city’s moral, following the devastating 1906 earthquake and subsequent fire, and as a precursor to the world-class planned athletic events for the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition.  That year, there were a mere 200 participants. 

The first Cross-City Race was originally 7.51 miles long.  It started at the Ferry Building along Market Street and progressed to Golden Gate Avenue before turning onto Divisadero Street.  In 1965, the name of the race was changed to Bay to Breakers.  In 1968, the length of the route was shortened to an official 12K (7.46 miles).  It now travels west along Hayes Street and up Hayes Street Hill near Alamo Square before hugging the panhandle and then heading west through Golden Gate Park, past the Conservatory of Flowers, all the way to the Great Highway, ending at Ocean Beach.

In 1986, the race earned the title of the world’s largest foot race from Guinness Book of World Records with an astounding 78,769-registered runners and 110,000 total participants.  Currently, the race draws between 60,000 to 90,000 registered runners annually, with many more unregistered participants joining the fun.  More than 100,000 enthusiastic spectators line the route to cheer them on.

Sunday, May 17, 2009 marked the 98th year of the race’s history, making it the longest running consecutively run race in the world.  Athletes of every imaginable level came to participate in the renowned event—a testament to the unique audacity of one of the most eclectic cities in the world.  Highly trained athletes, Olympic hopefuls, weekend runners, walkers and adventurers endeavored to make their way through the route, which beautifully reflected the life between the breakers and the Bay.

For the third year in a row, I ran the race—this year with my youngest daughter.  The fun began even before the race started with the tortilla-throwing tradition.  I seriously doubt that a corn tortilla existed anyplace other than along the staging coral areas of the race.  Thousands upon thousands of them were hurled high into the air.  The goal was to get them to gracefully glide through the air like Frisbees prior to pegging some unsuspecting soul in the head.  And shame on anyone who was unaware of this age-old pre-race tradition.  Fear not, after being hit by a few tortillas, even the most awkward novice became an enthusiastic skilled thrower.

For some reason, the race seems to draw a number of Christ worshipers who prominently position themselves immediately preceding the start line and after the finish line.  They shout their decree, that all of the racers are on the path to hell and damnation, through blaring megaphones.

Although every participant signed an agreement to not imbibe during the race, the unmistakable smell of alcohol, mostly bear, wafted from cherished brown paper bags from which containers of beer were clandestinely sipped, gulped and slurped.  As recently as two years ago, nary a shopping cart existed in the city on race day.  All having been confiscated by beer-loving racers, who filled them with cans of their favorite brewskies then dumped ice atop.  Quite the ingenious rolling ice chest.  Unfortunately for them, the city Mayor handed down a new decree in February 2009, renouncing tolerance of alcohol possession, consumption or drunkenness anywhere along the parade route.

Another unfortunate victim of the no alcohol on the route crack down has been the elimination of what, in my opinion, made the race so unique.  Individuals went to great lengths to design and build elaborate, and some not so fancy floats that they would push/pull along with them.  Now these weren’t just any floats, but cleverly disguised rolling bars, complete with hidden hatches that when taped, would open to magically reveal a refreshing alcoholic beverage to the inquirer.  These fascinating inventions could be encountered anywhere along the route prior to Hayes Hill, most being too bulky to drag up the steep incline.  Race officials allowed that floats would still be a part of the event in 2009, but were to be sequestered at the rear of the race, following all runners/walkers, thus depriving the majority of race participants the privilege of catching a glimpse of the cleverly created crafts.  

Another item racers agreed to when registering, was that they would remain in their clothes during the race.  Part of the initial February Mayoral decree denounced any nudity along the route.  But officials quickly realized the impossibility of enforcing this rule and decided to turn a blind eye to the flashes of flesh proudly revealed along the route.   Participating nudists were easy to identify.  They wore shoes, socks and neon baseball caps while proudly holding the strings of bright yellow happy face balloons that bobbed above them, announcing their presence. 

Let me not neglect to mention the vast number of costumed racers.  The unofficial theme this year was anything having to do with flying pigs, thus representing Swine Flu.  My daughter and I ran along with an enormous pig that measured near twelve feet in height.  Unbelievably, it managed to cross the finish line, proclaiming that it was staying ahead of the Swine Flu. 

In addition, there were the masses of Elvises, both clothed and naked.  And then there were the annual swimming salmon—a cleaver group of unregistered racers who crashed the route, disguised as giant salmon, and ran against the flow of runners, chased by a giant inflatable brown bear.  This year, we did not see the bear, but did hear several of the salmon tell us that we were going the wrong way, claiming that we needed to “swim” upstream to spawn.  In years past, there has been a giant brigade, numbering fifty or more, of the Star Wars Storm Troopers, outfitted in studio-quality costumes.  Although we searched the entire route this year, neither my daughter nor I spotted a single one.  What a shame.  They really did enhance the race.

And finally, I need to mention that Bay to Breakers is the official site of the world Centipede Running Championships.  The first running centipede was introduced to the route in 1978 when Dwayne “Peanut” Harms of the UC Davis men’s track team, founded a special division of the race, in which thirteen runners are connected, as a unit, entitled “centipedes”.  A floater, usually the team captain, is allowed to run alongside the connected individuals to pace them and fill in should a runner drop out.  This is a serious aspect of the race not to be overlooked.

Despite all the oddities still heavily prevalent amongst participants, it would appear that race officials are attempting to morph the Bay to Breakers Race into a more legitimate 12K.  I hope they don’t succeed.  For in doing so, they are erasing what makes Bay to Breakers such a unique experience that in years past has drawn in excess of 78,000 registered runners who proudly demonstrate their affection for the eclectic traditions of an irrepressible city comprised of a colorful spectrum of individuals.