Elm Street Run

Running events - and especially road races - always have this certain hype to them. I hate to say it, but: “If you know, you know.” Even if you have to wakeup at some insane hour of the morning (3:30 AM wakeup call just to eat oatmeal 90 min before a marathon, anyone?), just to pound out a unit of measurement, there’s this very specific feeling when you arrive.

It’s kind of a circus. It’s this controlled combination of pinning bib #s just right, sucking down some disgusting energy gel in one’s preferred flavor and praying you don’t shmizz your pants mid run, that weird race day smell of sunblock/anti chafe cream, people doing their pre-race ritual of dynamic stretches and strides and changing from sweats or leggings to itty bitty shorts, and sea of multi-colored compression socks, booty shorts, warmup shoes, race shoes, recovery shoes, compression shorts, and tattoos you had absolutely no idea someone had until they have on their racerback singlet or 2” split seam Nikes.

Usually, I’m inwardly trembling, nervous talk, nervous sweat, think my bowels actually might prolapse, convince myself it’s a life or death situation, and get in line for the porta-jon, even though I used it 3x in the last 10 minutes. But dang, that one whopping sip of comfort water I didn’t actually need, and sound of those plastic doors thumping kind of makes me have an existential crisis for a hot minute.

It’s a thing. Anyway.

I notice there are typically three categories of race day people

1. The happy go lucky folks, who definitely wore something new on race day, but could care less and might possibly have on a tutu and rock it with absolute confidence and see this as just one gigantic runner party.

2. The really serious, laser focused people doing a really serious, laser focused warmup/pre race ritual/some sort of vicious dynamic stretching all the way to the Start line, prepare for spandex ridden war, and kind of look like they could come at you with a pitchfork, eat you, or trample you down. It’s inspiring and also terrifying. They’re kind of like creatures from the jungle, and they’re out for amicable blood.

And yes - I absolutely cower in fear, but especially if they’re in running underwear and their last name is printed on their bib #.

3. The zen, chillax, mellow runners who have been doing this 20, 30, 40+ years and just roll with the punches. These are the people I would pay to read some sort of cozy mantra, reassure that it’s not in fact a life or death situation, and you’re actually allowed to have fun and, you know, enjoy everything.

But, those are “most” road races.

High Point Athletic Club (also known as “HPAC”) brought a different kind of energy. These guys are something else. As a recovering anxiety ridden snowflake, I can attest that they make running as familial and welcoming as it gets. They have runners of all ages, paces, personalities, goal types, walks of life, and there is none of the gross “hierarchy” nonsense that can be prevalent in sports. HPAC is like this big, happy family that sees the best, the potential, and the beauty in everyone. The team wardrobe colors are a good punch of orange and blue, and I saw a sea of orange and blue not just racing, but coming together, volunteering hours of their time, and making an absolutely joyful event come together. If I could describe Elm Street Run, it would be “palpably joyful”. They really should get a bus or creeper Vanagon and do a world tour.

I swear I wasn’t paid to say this. Want to know a secret?

I used to be terrified of running with HPAC. No; I’m dead serious. I was so nervous to run with these people and so intimidated - you know, with runners who knew what they were doing and already knew each other (gasp) - that I literally drove up to their group run one morning, almost turned into the parking lot…

And then drove away and texted a friend that I couldn’t do it and felt like coward. How’s that for a brutally honest sentiment?

Three years ago, I actually photographed some of HPAC before I dared to put my life out on the line by showing up to a 7am group run.

Turns out? They didn’t bite and were actually super welcoming and supportive! Who would have thought?!

So, to the runner who feels “not enough” of something, or can’t even fathom the idea of calling themself a “runner” :

That is totally normal and you’re not alone.

2. There is always a seat at the table…er…extra set of feet to run alongside. Always. Or support from this sea of orange and blue from afar!

Brandon Hudgins, one of the OG founders and now run shepherd over HPAC (our light, our guide, our teacher #Namaste), became my run coach when I returned home from Los Angeles in 2020. I also was super intimidated by him.

And it also turns out that he wasn’t scary…just like the rest of HPAC! You can find him, among the magnificent chaos of everything else he has to oversee for his athlete tribe on race day, yell cheering for every single HPAC runner, likely get a video of your salt crusted, sweaty, grueling Finish of victory or death march, even if it means 40+ runners, all with different paces and times.

All of that to say - and not to sound all woodstocky, but:

The community, the vibrancy, the grit, the tenacity, the constant support, and the palpable joy of this group - this entire race - made my soul feel so alive. I love running, and I also love photographing the art of running. People don’t realize how amazingly fascinating they are just by existing. Even if they’re not out on the course, getting down and dirty in their sexy $300 race shoes, I find people and strangers so beautiful, so fascinating, so interesting…just by existing.

At the end of the day, amazing race, first ever race, or crap race, you being you is enough and there is nothing to prove. With that novella of a post, I hope you too find beauty and awe from Elm Street Run, 2025. Godspeed, friends!