Hello! Welcome back to The Footprint – and happy Friday.

Spring has arrived, bringing lighter days, warmer weather, and in my case, a lot of sneezing. Somehow we’re just over two weeks out from the Boston Marathon, and three from London.

Good luck to everyone running the Brighton Marathon in the UK and the Cherry Blossom 10-miler in Washington, D.C. this weekend. I’m headed to D.C., and packing tissues accordingly.

📬 Today: We're heading inside the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center in California, home of the 1000 Mile Club.

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Running Behind Bars

The club meets every other Monday. Around 70 runners gather at 6.30pm. Space is tight, but they make do. 

Each quarter-mile lap has six 90-degree turns. They go round a dozen times in a typical workout, across a surface of asphalt and gravel. 

This is where they train. This is where they race. It’s also where they live. 

For 20 years, a prison yard in California has been home to the 1000 Mile Club. The aim is simple: to give members the chance to work towards running a thousand miles. 

“At the core, these people, they have hopes, dreams, everything else,” said Diana Fitzpatrick, who leads the club with her husband, Tim, and Jim Maloney. “But they’re so starved for contact with people.” 

Each week “you show ump, and you’re just treating the men on the inside like anyone else,” she explained in a recent interview. “It’s a running club. As far as we’re concerned, we’re talking to them as if we’re meeting our friends... for a run. It’s the same setup. It’s the same conversation.” 

The setting, within the walls of the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center, is unusual. But the club itself is strikingly familiar. 

Like most running clubs, the pack is diverse. Some people who turn up have never run a mile. Others have run a marathon in a little over three hours. The youngest are in their twenties; the oldest in their seventies. 

Like most running clubs, its members have goals: this year, like every other, the calendar includes a ten-miler next month, a half marathon in the summer, and a marathon (105 laps of the yard) in the fall. 

And like most running clubs, the community built through it transcends the act of putting one foot in front of another. 

“The real difference is that this group is so appreciative of that kind of treatment – that they’re treated like people, that we care enough to go in,” said Diana, who has volunteered for 17 years. Tim has volunteered for 10. 

“Any running team – we've coached adults, we've coached high school teams, we've coached privately – is built on community,” said Tim. “And the number one benefit that I think we give the incarcerated guys at San Quentin... is the community to go to that they really want to be with.” 

“The sport lends itself so well [to] community building. An intense experience – you run a marathon – it’s super, super cool. But you do it, and you get the support, and this love from this group of volunteers, and fellow incarcerated guys. And it just organically lends itself to people feeling really good, and connected to humanity.” 

Inside places like San Quentin, opportunities to forge such connections do not lie around every corner. “The running's important, obviously,” added Tim. “We wanna see guys improve. But it's more the time you're spending on coaching them. That's the magic.” 

The ties at the heart of the club take shape over months and years. One minute a member is stood in the yard, telling a coach about his knee. “Next thing you know,” said Diana, they’re talking about their kid. “You develop those relationships.” 

They see the highs. They see the lows. And they see all else in between.  

“What we really emphasize is applying what you learn from running to the other parts of your life,” said Tim, from addiction recovery and restorative justice programs to relationships with people in the outside world. “You’re improving yourselves.” 

More than 60 members of the 1000 Mile Club have been released on parole since it was formed in 2005, under founding head coach Frank Ruona. 

Markelle Taylor, who held the club marathon record (3:10:42) for five years, is among the parolees. He was released in March 2019. The next month he flew east, to run the Boston Marathon. He finished in 3:03:52. 

Interest has grown significantly since the release of 26.2 TO LIFE, a documentary about the club. A waiting list has been introduced for outside volunteers. As the club’s leaders heard from more and more people looking to establish similar projects inside other prisons, they published a ‘how to’ handbook. 

All the while, the focus remains the same. “There's still a group of 70 guys running around a circle in San Quentin,” said Tim. 

“These are real people. They're like all of us,” added Diana. “They did something. They ended up in prison. But that doesn't mean they don't have rich, full lives that don’t deserve attention. 

“A running club can provide support, attention, and so many benefits for them – that really, they deserve. Because these are people that are trying to improve themselves, and do better, and be the best people they can be.” 

• Watch 26.2 TO LIFE on ESPN+ and BBC iPlayer. 

AROUND AND ABOUT

🏟️ Grand Slam Track begins. The new global track league, which kicks off its first meet today in Kingston, Jamaica, is designed to take the sport to a new level. Organizers have signed up some of the fastest athletes in the world, from Gabby Thomas and Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone to Cole Hocker and Josh Kerr. How to watch.

💭 Failure does not have to be a setback. Joey Berriatua seems to be the only one who was upset with his pacing work at the TEN in San Juan Capistrano, California, last weekend. But he wrote this thoughtful essay on failure, controlling what you can control, and the importance of positive reflection. “Failure leads to growth.”

💨 What's harder than running 10,000m in 26:52.79? Running 10,090m in 26:52.79. Ethiopia's Telahun Haile Bekele had a nightmarish start to the TEN; he was somehow around 90 meters from the line when the gun went off. He caught up with the pack after an extraordinary run, and ultimately finished forth.

💡 Lessons from a bear encounter. Bethany Pinedo was out on a solo evening trail run five years ago when she locked eyes with a bear. She told the story in the LA Times – and explained what she's changed, from route sharing to scheduling.

📍 New York, NY: Sunrise over the East River, looking out to the Triborough Bridge and Hell Gate Bridge.

RECENT EDITIONS

• #08 Fearless Movement | with Edith Zuschmann, co-founder of 261 Fearless

• #07 Boston Beckons | with a first-timer and a last-timer

• #06 Letting It Run | with Honolulu Marathon president Jim Barahal

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think: just hit ‘reply,’ or email me.

Have a great weekend.

– Callum