Hint: It’s mostly “I’m cold” and “this better be over soon.”
Your support crew. Your rock. Your motivator. Your number one fan.
That’s what you tell yourself.
In reality? They’re stood at the side of the road, half-frozen, holding a flapjack in a Tesco bag and wondering how they ended up here on their day off.
Support crews are essential, emotionally, logistically, and photogenically. But beneath the signs and the forced smiles lies a raw inner monologue they’ll never admit out loud.
So here it is: the brutal truth of what your race-day support crew is really thinking.
1. “It’s too early for this.”
You made them get up at 6am. On a weekend.
They didn’t sleep well. They couldn’t find parking. And they haven’t even had a coffee.
You’ve already done your warm-up and 800 nervous wees. They’re still half-asleep, holding your bag and wondering what sort of relationship they’ve entered into that requires voluntary outdoor suffering at sunrise.
They will never forgive you for this.
2. “Where even are they?”
You told them you'd be passing around 10:37am. It is now 11:06. You’ve missed the tracking mat. Your phone’s in airplane mode. The crowd is too big. You may or may not have died.
They’ve stared at 400 strangers’ knees, hoping one of them was yours.
Every time someone in your club singlet approaches, they perk up… only to have their hopes crushed by a man called Seán from Tipperary.
3. “Why are we standing here when we could be waiting at the pub?”
They’ve been outside for 90 minutes. They’ve got a numb arse from sitting on a kerb. The child beside them is crying. The dog has eaten something mysterious. And every shop is closed.
They’re starting to question everything. Their life choices. Their wardrobe. Your hobby.
You said this would be “fun.”
It is not fun.
4. “Smile! Wait. Why do they look so… dead?”
They spot you! They cheer! They snap a photo!
And in that exact moment, you look like a man emerging from a cave after 30 years. Your legs are flailing. Your arms are confused. You’re sweating out your eyeballs. You are… not okay.
They go from excited to mildly traumatised in 0.2 seconds.
The photo will haunt you both.
5. “Do we really need to stay for the finish?”
You said it’d be about 1:45.
It’s now pushing two hours.
They’re holding your banana, your hoodie, and the contents of your race bag like a sherpa in emotional distress.
They cheer as others cross the line, but really they’re just hoping you appear soon so they can finally leave and get food like normal people
6. “They’d better not ask me to film them running.”
You will ask. And they will try.
But the video will be from a weird angle. It will include at least three strangers. It’ll start too early and end too late. And for some reason, it’ll be in slow-motion, even though nobody asked for that.
You’ll say thanks. But you’ll never post it.
7. “Do I have to say well done?”
You’ve crossed the line. You’re sweaty. Shaking. Euphoric. You’re trying not to cry.
They are not allowed to say,
- “You didn’t win though, right?”
- “You don’t look that tired.”
- “That took you longer than last time.”
They will smile, say “Well done!” and hand you a bottle of water.
But deep down, they’re wondering how long this phase of your personality is going to last.
Final Word
Your race-day crew might be cold, confused, and silently judging your choice of shorts. But they showed up.
They stood in the wind, they held your gear, they cheered like lunatics when your sweaty, broken body finally came into view.
So be nice to them. Buy them breakfast. Send them memes. Apologise for everything.
And maybe, just maybe, let them pick the next weekend activity.
Because you might’ve run the miles, but they earned the emotional marathon medal.