5:32 am

Hoover, Alabama

The sun has yet to come up over Veterans Park, but on the day of a big event, I find it best to be early. Spirits were high as my early morning stealth had not allowed any alarms of the furry or normal variety to disturb my slumbering ladies. Something was strange, however. On a day where thousands of people would be running a variety of races from a 5k all the way up to a full marathon, this location that hosted last year’s event was devoid of any of the usual infrastructure.

With shaky hands I grabbed my phone and went to the race home page, which maybe I should have done prior to this moment. While the host city remained the same, I quickly realized that our 2024 start line was now twenty minutes across town. With a bit of hustle and knowledge that Hoover’s police force was largely tied up at my destination, I spirited the Subaru westward. I could still make it on time and my boss would never know.

Anna had most certainly told me about the change. The race director, not by coincidence, is my Italian cousin by marriage. We see each other regularly and team up each Christmas to turn out heaping pans of handmade raviolis. In life and especially on race day, Anna does not suffer fools.

5:56 am

I arrive as the sound crew is wrapping up their setup. Crisis averted. Still, no need to tell anyone who the big dummy is this morning. The scene is already frantic enough, light barely peeking through to illuminate tents, equipment, barricades, banners and faces of the usual suspects. This is the eighth edition of our mini-reunion, where we are all accustomed to our part in the show. Anna’s dad fronts the post-race band. Her college friends manage volunteers. Representatives from the charity smile warmly and greet everyone as they dart about in their name badges. And me? Well, I’m DJ Chappalicious.

The short explanation of how I got to this point is that I throw a pretty excellent party. Entertaining other humans is my sacred duty in life. With that kind of mindset, how can you not own a very outsized PA system for your band that only plays house parties that you throw? While also being involved with events not held at my bachelor pad, it became apparent that people put an outrageous premium on background music. I could engineer diligently for two days at my normal job and make less than it paid to sit in a parking lot on a Saturday morning for a few hours and set my playlist in motion. No record scratching for this guy. If there was any concern over job security, however, it evaporated in the nervy moments where someone must own the mic and communicate to the eager throngs who await instruction. It was a good ride, but now my alter-ego only makes an appearance once per year as a volunteer. I still feel the butterflies though.

5:58 am

The AV crew wants a final check on assorted sound inputs, which is why I’m making OSHA jokes and fiddling with the latch on a scissor lift. A group warmup, our first scheduled activity of the morning, is to be led from an elevated position next to the start line. I’m impersonating the CrossFit trainer who is not yet present so we can get a level on his hands-free mic. My voice echoes through the recreational complex. Birds scatter. Startled volunteers do their early morning best to turn “who’s this obnoxious idiot?!” faces into those of understanding. Once solidly back on earth, I feel much more comfortable with a trusty corded number that I can follow all the way to the sound board. When you have seven hours to go, it is best not to be worrying about batteries.

6:00 am

Anna has provided two copies of the announcement bullet points, which sit atop my designated table under my designated tent. I have a chair too. Much has changed since year one, like how we’ve outgrown my personal sound system. No matter what, we both know the next hour is going to be nuts. With thousands of humans about to flood in and get their endorphin fix, you can only embrace that there will be chaos. That’s why there are two copies and the paper is card stock.

6:04 am

I take a quick lap to inventory the various stations required at every event (medical, timing, bag check, etc.). Inevitably, I will be asked about all of them. My closest neighbor introduces herself as Mrs. Kim, who looks like the active grandmother everyone wants to have. We chat briefly before she directs her energy to the pile of freshly printed t-shirts before her. I vow to find a song that gets Mrs. Kim dancing before the day is out.

6:10 am

Time to start the music. When you are breaking the ice, it’s best to come in at a low volume and build. For this reason, and because it’s my guiltiest pleasure song, I selfishly chose Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” Reason would suggest that you simply create a playlist and let it ride in this situation, but my preference is to read the room. I might amass a four or five-song buffer, but those hundred or so decisions are all intentional. Oh, you want to hear more of my professional DJ tips!? I’m so flattered.

DJ Chappalicious’ first rule of deejaying is to not oversaturate with the same artist. Absolutely no repeats of the same song, no matter how long you are playing. This also applies to car rides. As in public speaking, you must always consider the audience. Do not force your niche introspective indie tracks on a crowd who’s simply there to run as fast as they can. As much as it may pain you, pander to the demographics represented. There is good music to be found in every genre and generation that will make those toes tap. Lastly, and more recent in establishment: Zach Bryan is not party music. If you want to ride around in your truck alone and be sad, by all means go ahead.

6:15 am

I’ve just made the first announcement to a few hundred who mill about nervously. The downside to calling all of this attention my direction is that now anyone with a doubt in their mind is thinking about coming to me with a question. I can see it in their eyes. My table becomes an impromptu lost & found as someone has already misplaced their keys. Another, their debit card. We’re off to a hot start.

6:40 am

Yoga is more often my go-to these days, but I’m still a runner. The energy before a race is palpable. I get a little anxious even as a spectator. Any distance on our agenda would require a legit level of willingly applied discomfort, but the marathon is a silly undertaking. I’ve weathered a few and it simply feels like you run, and run, and run for an entire day. Time slows to a crawl as you strip away every motivation save sheer stubbornness, nay well-informed stupidity. Forgive my language, but when I see the faces of these brave souls walking up, I just want to yell “hell yeah dudes and lady dudes!” straight into that microphone. Instead, I dutifully mention our sponsors. Early and often!

The masses were hoving into view, and they had needs, occasionally of the ridiculous variety. There will always be a few. I fielded as many questions as I could without escalating up the chain of command. Most were easy changes at the timing tent, some requests were not deliverable even with the help of science. Mental reminder of Anna’s motto: “This is all for charity.”

6:45 am

Pressure builds as we begin clipping through the posted schedule. I pass along operating instructions for the mic, which clips out a few times during warm-up. No biggie. Participants are bouncing around, the blood is flowing and they are slowly migrating toward the start line. But wait! We’ve hit a snag.

Traffic. I guess it’s a good sign when your event draws a headcount that can clog roads built to withstand the SEC Championship. Anna calls an audible and we push the start back by five minutes. All good. The timing company and I have a visual/verbal confirmation routine that can adapt to such a situation. We’re not launching a missile, just pressing start on a fancy clock.

6:52 am

I resolve to draw things out a bit by letting the prayer and Pledge of Allegiance breathe a bit. Chelsie then did her patriotic duty with a soulful extended rendition of the national anthem. An awkward lull could have followed, but I was ready with Wannabe by Spice Girls. Then why not thank those sponsors again.

7:04 am

I do not thirst for power. When it is handed to me, however, I’m a bit more cautious than I used to be. As mentioned previously, getting this thing going should have been as easy as an amplified countdown of “3-2-1, Go!” but I could not see a soul from the timing team. Without the high sign, I could not willingly lose the full corral of runners who eyed me with waning patience. The fifteen seconds that followed just about made my heart explode, but protocol was followed. I enthusiastically set marathon, half-marathon and ten-mile participants in motion with the howling intro of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song. It feels good.

7:18 am

On to the next wave, which contains all of the 5k and 10k runners. With this many races happening all at once, I offer a reminder that everyone needs to pay attention or else they might end up running further than they had bargained for. Once you reach a critical mass, someone is bound to go off course. You can throw up a barricade, put a police officer at the intersection and paint directions on the road, but at least one goober will inevitably defy logic. I’ve witnessed top-tier professionals run past dozens of “Half marathon finish straight ahead” signs only to turn with the marathon route and lose. This time, when I do the countdown, there is no awkward pause. The crowd streams by in a wave of smiles. I breathe a sigh of relief.

We’ve reached the much-appreciated lull.

7: 30 am

At this point, I’m glad to be where I am and not trotting along the pavement. It’s going to be a hot day, which is a bit worrying for anyone expecting Alabama to be mild in October. The hardest thing I have to do now is decide what artists from my well-oiled playlist are off-limits this year. Dave Grohl is currently in the news for making a baby with not his wife. Diddy is probably going to jail for a long time, but hasn’t officially been convicted yet. Molly, a long-time volunteer, is my sounding board as we collectively decide that it’s ok to drop some Notorious BIG on ‘em with Diddy doing whatever he does in the background.

“Poppa been smooth since days of Underoos”

7:35 am

With everyone out on course, I’m searching for a volumetric sweet spot that entertains without deafening patrons. Before me is a herd of volunteers who will be handing out medals to every finisher today. This is a thankless job. Standing in the unrelenting sun for many hours, they play a high stakes game of roulette that involves navigating sweat, wobbly legs and even puke. Given their proximity and the fact Mrs. Kim has joined their ranks, I decide to use this group of ladies as my litmus test for the groove I’m laying down.

8:22 am

After announcing winners coming down the chute for our shorter races, I get to put the microphone down. We started off by calling every name of every runner in the early years, but I’m super thankful that is no longer the case. With timing and scoring updates, I get a precious second or two to make my best guess at a pronunciation and then own it at 100 decibels. You very quickly start to hate the sound of your own voice. Plus, people will stop you on the street to tell you how bad you messed up their name.

8:50 am

After verbally directing about a hundred people to the timing and scoring tent and explaining that my Spotify playlist did not contain their race results, I took some managerial initiative. With the aforementioned extra agenda, I fashioned a makeshift sign that read “Timing & Scoring that way” with an arrow to make it obvious. Albeit, I still had a friendly face so there were interlopers occasionally needing a finger point to the sign. These are the liberties one acquires after years of dedicated service

9:15 am

A good race director knows not to remain still for too long. The queue will form out of nowhere as people word vomit their own personal emergencies at you. Anna was simply checking on me when an older gentleman cornered her with a “greetings young lady” vibe. She was helpful and patient, but I did laugh pretty good when her response to “Do you know anything about the course?” was “A little.” My dad always allowed me to say the word “ass” in polite company as long as it sat in the riddle of what ASSUME really stands for.

10:00 am

The winner of the marathon would have gotten arrested for public intoxication if he were in a normal setting, but you almost expect that level of fatigue with 84 degrees and high humidity. A brave soul steps in to keep him upright. All communication is exaggerated, and one imagines they are checking to see if he knows what day it is. October 6th. No it isn’t always this hot, but you are tempting fate here in Alabama with a furry Halloween costume.

Our last running event of the day kicks off and I’m reminded of the year that Anna asked me to lead the kid’s fun run. I don’t mean in a controlled pace car sense. The duty notably required that I be faster than the children while also steering the mob down a clear and correct path. It was total chaos but a freakin’ rush I tell you.

10:35 am

There comes a point where most participants have finished, chugged some after-party brews and are already on their way to church. But the team and volunteers, who have long since lost their early morning buzz, know we still have a closed course until the six hour time cutoff. This is where you find something to occupy your mind, otherwise the minutes will tick by at a snail’s pace. Runners have a similar experience manipulating time. The group aiming to barely make it will have spent almost an entire work day putting one foot in front of another on warming tarmac. It is a soul exploration that can feel like an eternity.

10:42 am

Mrs. Kim has shimmied. She’s in a chair handing out medals when Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus awakens the crowd a bit. It never fails. Noting that the vast majority of my audience are ladies, I decide to pull a thread that’s familiar in the Chapman house. Time to show off some of my girl dad skills.

10:57 am

Yeah we’re getting it now. Pitbull & Kesha get the crowd going with Timber. Friends grab one another to swing their partner round and round. My own rule is tested as I spin Only the Young by Taylor Swift, her second contribution (So it Goes was first). That song totally slaps on a big sound system. Water bottles are being used as pretend microphones at this point. I’m killing it.

And then Mrs. Kim really joins in. Lauryn Hill finally got her over the edge. Mission accomplished!

11:24 am

My extra special wristband will get me anywhere I want to go. It also comes with free food and drink. I queue up songs for a much-needed break and humbly defer to the donut vendor on which icing is best. Chef recommended strawberry, which was curiously well stocked this late in the day. A hidden treasure!

Having passed through the food line, I stood perplexed for a moment as to where the napkins resided. My eating habits are not civilized. Condiments are always falling out everywhere. It was a bit concerning that I was staring down a saucy sandwich without protection.

But as I aimlessly scanned the room, it occurred to me that a napkin was actually the least of my worries. When thinking about what was set to play in my stead, the lyrics for House of Pain’s seminal hit Jump Around came flashing back, especially the part about “I never eat a pig, cause a pig is a cop.”

One of the first people to greet me in the still dark hours of the morning had been the police captain. With at least twenty of his finest involved in our event, and the fact that they had Anna patched directly into their radio channel, I thought it best to high step it back and change the future.

12:05 pm

It’s a good time to stretch and catch up with everyone. Runners are coming every few minutes at this point. The heat has taken its toll on a few out of state marathoners. I also hear that a local along the route backed their car into a runner. You never want any of this to happen, but it is virtually impossible to shut off an entire 26.2 miles. Just as runners will get lost, civilians along the route sometimes display the worst sides of humanity. If you ever find yourself impeded for a bit because of a well-intentioned event, please be nice. It’s for charity.

12:45 pm

We’re almost there. I’m indulging in a frosty Coors Light and no longer defend my rules as friendly requests fly in. The battle hardened few that remain demand their Taylor Swift and they shall have it. An enthusiastic group reaches full fever pitch during Style. The song lifts their exhausted friend across the line and they all swarm her for what must be months worth of instagram content.

The whole scene is a pleasant reminder of what music can do and what people can accomplish. Don’t you love being genuinely happy for someone?

1:05 pm

I ask for an extra moment to let some Adele play out before the sound crew flips a switch on my day. The load-out will continue for many hours, but my cargo thankfully is just a laptop. With another successful gig in the books, I slip back into a blazing hot car seat and life as boring regular Chappy.