Field-Testing Your Message

My 96 year-old Grandpa is a total rock-star. For at least the day of the annual Capital 10,000 here in Austin. He has "run" it every year since 1983, winning every year since about 1987 (an unbroken win streak now of 20 years!). When he first started, the age categories went up to 59, and then there was the "60 and over." Well, Grandpa started running at 72, so felt the age categories were just not right. He lobbied the Statesman (who sponsor the race) to extend the categories, which they did. The next year Grandpa was in the 70 and older category. He kept doing this every few years (75 and older, 80 and older, 85 and older) as he reached new milestones). About at 75 and over, he became the class of his age class. There is family speculation of him tripping an 82 year-old woman in the 1990's.

Last year was tough, he had trouble getting to the start and the family was literally begging the race officials not to tear down the finish line 3 1/2 hours later as grandpa came toward the finish. So this year, when he went down to sign up, the race people gave him his own start one hour before the real start, and pledged a golf cart to follow him in case he needed a rest.



My dad, my daughter Kaileigh, G-pa's friend Emily and I started with him at 8 am. Four generations of Smiths. The announcer made a big deal of his start, and he got an extended ovation from the thousands of people lining up to start the race. The gun sounded, and we were off. Slowly but steadily. The woman in the golf cart (her name was Lai), had created "Team Sid" bumper stickers and brought water, towels, and snack food. It was not a golf cart, it was a pit crew!

We headed up Congress Avenue and got about a mile and a half before anyone caught up with us. It was eerie to be the only racers on the course. We actually had to ask about which way to turn a few times.



The pack caught us, and quickly we realized how much of a rock star he was. People would run by and say, "Great going Sid!" "You're an inspiration!" and would break out into extended applause as they passed. People took his picture, encouraged him, told him how amazing he was.

Of course, Grandpa couldn't really hear all of this. We told him that people were calling out his name and applauding for him. Over the course of the race (another two hours or so), Grandpa honed his message.

Mile 1.5 - To us: "What? What are they saying?"
Mile 2 - Loudly, to the crowd: "John! John! John!" - thinking that since everyone knew his name, he would be able to do a shout-out and someone had to be named John.
Mile 2.1 - Me, to Grandpa "OK, that just makes you look like a crazy old man."
Mile 3 - responding to "Keep Going!" - Grandpa: "Where am I going?"
Mile 3.5 - responding to "You're an Inspiration!"
Grandpa "I'm a desperation?"
Well-meaning runner, "No, an inspiration."
Grandpa "I'm a perspiration?"
Well-meaning runner - nothing, because by then, they were a 1/2 mile ahead.

Having settled on a few clever retorts that generally drew a laugh from the crowd, grandpa practiced them as people passed. The brilliance of the situation was that he would have a new crowd every 30 seconds or so as waves of people passed us.

Mile 5 - getting near the end, he came up with his final retort:
Encouraging runner or bystander: "You're almost there."
Grandpa: "Bullshit!"

He did rest a few times, and his pit crew sprung into action. Interestingly, whenever he was sitting and resting, the crowd stopped shouting encouragement. It was like they switched from "look at this cool old man running the race" to "gosh, I certainly hope he's not dying."



He did finish, and by the time he walked across the line, he had a large entourage and an adoring crowd. He never rode in the cart, he walked the entire 6.2 miles. He was not last, and the finish lines were still up. My Grandpa was a rock star.