my take on a beer mile

It started, as most questionable decisions do, with beer and friends. A year ago, amidst the holiday cheer, the topic of the "Beer Mile" came up. For the uninitiated, the rules are deceptively simple: drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Repeat four times. That's four beers and one mile. My friends and I were immediately hyped. We talked strategy. We talked tactics. We referenced a friend's dad doing it for a Fantasy Football punishment. We even brought up the fast food challenge (feel free to look it up but that's where I draw the line with running challenges). But mostly, we did what most groups of friends often do with ambitious, slightly idiotic ideas; we talked about it, and then we absolutely did not do it.

Winter turned to Spring, and the cold was no longer an excuse. My friend "E" and I kept the dream alive. E and I bonded over soccer and a shared taste in music, which meant we spent a lot of time driving to DC for shows. That hour in the car, plus the queuing, gave us plenty of runway to hype this theoretical event. We planned invite lists. I even wanted to make a visual (which I ended up making—but more on that later). But spring came and went. Nothing.

The origin of this story actually takes place not from my love of running, but from soccer. Two years ago, walking by the local elementary school in Hampden, I saw a group of people playing. That pickup game turned into joining their co-ed rec team, "Bobson" (named after a fictional character in a Japanese SNES baseball game, obviously...). From there, I found some of my closest friends—let's call them E, N, J, G, J1 (no J2s here!), and C. We bonded over post-game burgers and chicken sandwiches (with questionable toppings—looking at you, E). We started a "Bad Movie Club" in my living room, fueled by buffalo cauliflower dip, G encouraging us to take Buzz Ball shots, and his excellent selection of p1r4t3d movie websites. We became the kind of friends you can just hang out with one-on-one. But the Beer Mile remained the white whale.

Summer passed. Still nothing. I finally snapped. I made a flyer, set a date, and told everyone: We are doing this.

Response? Everyone was busy. Or cancelled. I felt defeated. To me, this was a personal challenge I needed to tick off. I was ready to run it alone.

But a month later and some change, E rallied the troops. He found a date that worked. Suddenly, it was on.

Race Day: November 22, 2025. Four participants: myself, E, G, and K (my partner—new friend unlocked & newest recruit). Two Beer Keepers/Judges: J and J1.

The Venue: A mapped-out loop at Patterson Park. It was a chilly late fall day. We obviously didn’t close the park down; we just co-existed with the dog walkers, Frisbee players, and parents pushing strollers.

The Race

Lap 1: I went for strategy. I wanted Coors Light (closest thing to water), but G brought Modelos. Fine. I chugged the first one and sprinted off. My background is in soccer—I was always good but heavily relied on my endless stamina to keep up with the more skilled players. I felt good. I left everyone in the dust.

Lap 2: Still feeling okay. E is behind me. Confidence is high.

Lap 3: The Wall. I had just sprinted from point 2 to point 3. J cheerfully hands me my Modelo as she is recording this whole thing. I let it fizz. I take my time because my stomach is bloated, feeling like an ICEE machine. I'm burping like a madman. E and K catch up, respectively. Panic sets in. I chug, motion my beer upside down towards J to prove it's empty, and take off. I hold my hand over my mouth to keep everything inside me.

Lap 4: The Disaster. I reach the final section. I get 4/5ths of the beer down and my body says, "absolutely not." J1 is chatting with a friend that is at a going-away-party literally next to point 4. I "casually" walk to a tree next to said party and let it rip. E is doing the same nearby, but he's a step faster at puking than I am. He takes off. I finish my beer and sprint. I'm fast, I know I can catch him. But my stomach had the final vote. I stopped to puke again, as I watch E cross the finish line.

The Aftermath E took home the gold. Humbled me, with an empty stomach, in second. K came in third, the only one that didn't puke (though rumors has it, she might have spilled a little... my precious Coors!). G wisely quit after beer two.

My takeaway? Sometimes it's okay not to follow up with friends, but this was not one of those times. I was just excited to do the damn thing. And regardless how badly I wanted to win it (man, I tried so hard to win) it was awesome seeing E being so excited about winning, texting his whole family about it. Two years ago, I didn't know these people. Now, I'm puking next to a tree on a public park with them.

I’ll see you next year, beer mile.