Hill & Dale Issue 7 | The San Quentin Prison Marathon

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Apparently, people run marathons in prison. I discovered this fascinating phenomenon after reading a July CBS News report about Markelle Taylor.

Taylor, who spent almost eighteen years behind bars at San Quentin State Prison in California for the death of his unborn son in 2001, joined the facility’s 1000 Mile Club for penance.

A victim of abuse as a boy, Markelle ran to “honor his son” and become a “better person.” A fast runner too, he earned the nickname “Markelle the Gazelle” and qualified for the 2019 Boston Marathon by running 105 laps around the prison’s recreation yard.

Taylor was released a month before Boston and received permission to participate. “I couldn't really enjoy Boston because I was still, you know, being happy and appreciative of just being free,” said Taylor about the experience.

I have no doubt that Markelle enjoyed Boston this April as he set a new personal best: 2:52:00. I loved the race too, though I finished twenty-four minutes slower than him.

At forty-nine, he achieved what I’d like to achieve before reaching fifty years old: a sub-three marathon finish. But beyond running, I noticed a visible humility in his interview with CBS News lead national correspondent David Begnaud.

I noticed a desire to own and atone for a tragic moment that derailed his life for nearly two decades.

I can’t fathom the thought of prison for eighteen years. Nor can I fathom running 105 laps to finish 26.2 miles. I can fathom the thought of running as a catalyst for escape.

Not from concrete walls or barbed wire fences, but the stressors of life. Indeed, recurring anxieties can feel like a prison for the mind. From a global perspective, there’s the pandemic, poverty, wars, and climate change.

From a personal perspective, there’s raising children, managing money, work, and navigating relationships among family, friends, and colleagues. Running is a brief (and literal) exit from the stress, a chance to recharge and refocus. Some runs still end with lingering mental fog; others, however, yield clear skies and a sense of clarity.

“Running is humbling,” says Taylor. I think he felt the same about his stint at San Quentin. In fact, I’m sure he regularly wondered whether he would ever be a free man again.

He persisted, though, and achieved release in 2019. He’s off parole too. “Man, that was a beautiful feeling,” he said in an April New York Times interview about landing in Boston to make those famous “right on Hereford, left on Boylston” turns once more.

Blue skies, a gentle breeze, and Nike Alphaflys provided bib number 4310 a chance to reexamine where he’s been and where he’s going.

I hope you have a great day. We’ll talk soon.

NOTE: 26.2 to Life: The San Quentin Prison Marathon, is a forthcoming documentary about the 1000 Mile Club.

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Photo courtesy of Emiliano Bar