“It’s a two-command start,” calls the announcer. At his words, 19 of the world’s elite male competitors reflexively rock back on their heels, ready to spring forward onto their toes—an instinct learned from the countless times they’ve stood on a starting line. Most wear singlets in their national colors. They have traveled from 13 countries to Leuven, Belgium to take part in this race, hoping to be crowned world champion.
The events of this October afternoon look like any other international race, except today, the runners each hold a can of cold beer, and in the brief beat of the opening command, they find the ring pull and hook their finger around it.
When the announcer, Travis Price, calls “Chug!” the simultaneous crack of aluminum cans replaces the usual starting pistol, and the athletes attempt to down their beer while pacing forward, heads tilted all the way back. When the cans are empty, they drop them into a plastic container and start running as quickly as possible.
No other race begins like the Beer Mile World Classic, and certainly no other race ends like it. Athletes cross the finish line, gasping for breath and clutching their stomachs, faces contorted in pain. It might not look like it, but they’re about to experience the ultimate runner’s high. “There’s this moment that happens,” explains Price, away from his commentator’s microphone. “The beer hits you. It’s one of the best buzzes you’ve ever had. It’s immediate euphoria.”
The Beer Mile World Classic is the annual world championship for people with the unique ability to chug beer and run really fast. It’s a simple and relatable race: Short enough that anyone can attempt it, hard enough that most will fail miserably, absurd enough that anyone who learns about it will want to hear more.
The event consists of four 400-meter laps around a running track, beginning nine meters behind the official starting line to reach the metric 1,609m of an imperial mile. That extra nine meters becomes the designated “chug zone” in which, before each lap, runners have to down one 12oz beer. It’s four beers, four laps, and try not to puke.
At the 2022 Beer Mile World Classic, some 100 people—in “amateur” heats and “elite” races—have already run a beer mile by the time the final elite men’s contest begins. A lot of beer has collectively been consumed around the track. There’s a growing energy, heightened by the excitement of the previous race, which saw the women’s fastest runners contest one of the greatest beer miles ever seen: There were record-fast running splits, controversies, disqualifications, and extraordinary feats of athleticism. The women now sit inside the track, some eating pizza, some opening fresh cans of beer. All of them are chatting and cheering on the runners, getting louder as the four beers they’ve just drunk begin to kick in. There’s a general sense that, in about six minutes’ time, the party is going to begin.
Canadian runner Corey Bellemore is the favorite to win. Price announces him as “the best beer miler ever.” He’s the current world champion and the world record holder, with a remarkable best of 4 minutes, 28 seconds (the women’s world record is 6 minutes, 16 seconds). We might all know someone who can slam a beer in seven seconds, but can they also rip a sub-70-second lap of the track? And do that four times in a row?
While the beer part of the beer mile might catch most people’s attention, this is a fast running race, and Bellemore has competition. The Belgian home team is talked up as a contender, and includes several excellent triathletes, plus Pieter-Jan Hannes, the Belgian record holder for the mile (3:51, without beer). He wants to add the national beer mile record to his collection. Then there’s the Swedish team, which includes Markus Living, one of only 10 people to run under five minutes in a beer mile (4:53), and his countrymen Emil Granqvist (5:07) and Jonas Andersson (5:00). Whatever happens, it’s going to be a fast race.
The cold carbonation bites the back of the throat, but the excitement of the race’s beginning numbs the sting as everyone tries to down their beer in one motion.
Living, in his blue-and-yellow Sweden singlet and bright pink Nikes, has the fastest chug and is the first to start running. Bellemore has an uncharacteristically slow start, and he’s effectively in last place when he drops his empty can.
The runners accelerate with the adrenaline of the race, that thrilling chase instinct which threatens to jack their heart rates. They try to settle into a smooth racing cadence, try to control their breathing, try not to panic as Bellemore blasts past them—and he passes everyone within the first 150 meters. If anyone has questions about the athleticism in a beer mile, or thinks that this is just a drinking competition, they should watch Bellemore run.
“He’s just eating up some track right here,” calls Price, with an audible break of awe in his voice as Bellemore extends his lead. Next to Price trackside are the event’s creators and two of the sport’s biggest fans: John Markell, in a Beer Mile hoody, and Nick MacFalls, wearing a referee’s jersey and watching as the race official. They love seeing Bellemore run—and drink.
Bellemore rounds the final bend, coming back into the chug zone for a 56-second first lap, decelerating to a fast stride, grabbing his beer, opening it, drinking it all in six seconds, placing the can down, and beginning lap two.
The idea of a beer mile formed over crisp glasses of Lager on a balmy evening in Burlington, Ontario in 1989. Seven runners, looking to celebrate the end of the summer track racing season, decided to combine their two favorite activities into one race. They took cans of Lager to the running track at Burlington High School and ran the first proper beer mile. As they flopped onto the track at the end, the unexpected and intense discomfort of the run was displaced by the endorphins of racing hard, of the alcohol from four beers. The result was a heightened buzz unlike any they’d had from running or drinking alone.
As those runners later went to college and continued to run, they told their new teammates about the race they’d conceived. Several of them went to Queen’s University, in Kingston, Ontario, where the beer mile became a tradition at the end of the winter cross country and summer track seasons. That’s how John Markell, studying engineering, came to run his first race in 1993. The beer mile gave the athletes one final inter-team race; while seriously contested, it also took away the seriousness of running. (“How can you take yourself too seriously? You’re running around a running track drinking beer!” says British beer miler Laura Riches.)
When the runners went to track meets in the U.S., and elsewhere in Canada, they’d describe it to their competitors. “We’d tell them: Hey, we do this thing called the beer mile where you chug a beer, run a lap, chug a beer…” says Markell, explaining how it was more of a fun conversation-starter than a challenge. But the idea caught on, and the beer mile baton began to relay through colleges across the Midwest.
As beer miles grew in popularity across campuses, they necessarily remained low-key and clandestinely arranged, not exactly underground but also not quite legal. They were run behind closed track gates, behind the backs of security guards, in the dark, lit by car headlamps, all giving the events a frisson of the illicit beyond the thrill of running fast and drinking hard.
As the races spread, and as collective competitiveness meant runners wanted to compare their times with others, Markell and his teammates grew aware of the need to standardize the beer mile. And so, in the winter of 1993, six runners—Markell included—gathered at Queen’s University and wrote a list of rules.
Those rules were passed around at meets and circulated online. They were also uploaded to BeerMile.com, and became known as the “Kingston Rules.” The site has since become a database of times from around the world, a virtual leader board which helped take the competition beyond local tracks.
If you want to run an official beer mile, it’s four beers and four laps of a 400m track. The beers must be 5% ABV or above, and no light beers are allowed (nor are hard ciders, seltzers, sodas, and so on). There are also non-beer beer miles run with drinks like chocolate milk, which have their own race records, as well as riffs on the form. Take the beer 2-mile (also known as the double beer mile), where competitors consume eight beers over eight laps, with a record time of 10:18. Then there is the Chunder Mile, more common with British runners and using imperial pints (20oz or 568ml), where mid-run puking is unpunished; the record is 4:53. American beer mile record holder Chris Robertson has the best time in both of those races, plus numerous other non-traditional runs (like an eggnog mile and one with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s before each lap).
This principal beer rule was deliberately conceived to assist the rule writers. “We crafted the rules for Canada’s advantage,” admits Markell, as at that time much American beer was light and under 5% ABV. The beer also has to be in a 12oz bottle or can, and all four beers must be unopened prior to the race. Competitors can carry implements like bottle openers to help them open the beers (and some wear a glove if they have a screw top), though tampering with the container, like puncturing a can to “shotgun” it or using a straw, will get you disqualified.
All beers must be drunk within the chug zone and must be finished and dropped before stepping out of the nine-meter area. A small amount of beer and foam inevitably remains, so a maximum 4oz of leftover liquid is permissible as a combined total of all four beers. More than 4oz means disqualification.
Runners have to keep down all the beer during the race, and any vomiting or visible regurgitation of foam means one penalty lap (regardless of how many times a runner pukes, it’s just one lap). As soon as a runner crosses the finish line, they can, if they want to or need to, lose the contents of their stomach (there’s no “hold time” once the race is over).
And that’s all there is to a beer mile: Drink all your beer as quickly as possible within the chug zone, run fast in between, and hold onto your stomach for as long as you can.
Belgian mile record holder Hannes is five seconds behind Bellemore at the beginning of lap two, but a 16-second chug sees him overtaken by several runners, and Sweden’s Granqvist moves into second. Already the race is spreading out like a slinky, a pack of runners chasing together, distances growing then pulling back, some faster on the run, others at the chug. And this year, the drinking comes with an extra challenge.
Runners can typically choose their beers, and most use bottles because they’re faster: They have better fluid dynamics, and since they’re translucent, competitors are less likely to leave too much foam and beer behind. The Leuven track wouldn’t allow glass, however, so everyone has to use cans (mostly of Jupiler, the only Belgian beer that meets the 5% ABV and 12oz criteria, but some runners have brought their own preferred brands). As it’s a forced choice of cans, and to add extra incentive to the top runners, there’s a $1,000 bonus if the can-specific world record is broken (4:57 for men, 6:18 for women). There’s an expectation that both records will be lowered today.
Markell and MacFalls have the best trackside view for the event that they’ve organized together since 2015. That inaugural Beer Mile World Classic was held on Treasure Island, San Francisco, and it came about just as the beer mile reached its tipping point.
The race had remained on campuses, always more track clubhouse than frat house. But a critical mass of fast non-collegiate runners started taking on the beer mile with their running clubs, while professional athletes also attempted the run, and a new competitiveness pushed the record closer to breaking five minutes. With YouTube, social media, and running forums, the beer mile found new momentum and a wider audience.
The beer mile’s graduation came on April 27, 2014, when James Nielsen became the first person to run a sub-five-minute beer mile. In a video posted to YouTube, which has subsequently had over 1.7 million views, he deadpans into the camera and tells us how he’s prepared and “spent an excessive amount of time training my stomach to expand to be able to intake the massive amounts of carbon dioxide I’m about to put into it.” He’s studied the anatomy of the esophagus to help speed up drinking; he’s considered the optimal temperature to drink the beer at; “most importantly,” he says, he’s “mastered the physics of fluid dynamics and air displacement.” Euphemistic technical language for chugging and burping without puking.
His time of 4 minutes, 57 seconds set a new world record. As he stands wide-legged, buckled over, hands on knees, all he can breathlessly say is, “That was really painful.”
It was “the Big Bang of the sport,” says MacFalls, and it reached into mainstream media with coverage in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Runner’s World, and ESPN, which led more people to try the run for themselves.
By that time, Markell and his old college running buddies had started families and progressed through their careers. Upon moving to San Francisco for work, Markell joined a local running club and suggested they run a beer mile. He experienced that old euphoria once again. He met MacFalls, and they talked about the idea of hosting a world championship. (Markell has improved as a beer miler and his PR is 5:28, which he ran at the age of 46, making him the second-fastest masters athlete of all time. MacFalls is a sub-four-minute miler but “I don’t consider myself a beer miler at all,” he says. “I’m not good at it, [the discomfort is] not fun, but the people are awesome!”)
They shared the idea with sports broadcaster FloTrack, which took it for itself and held a race in December 2014. Undeterred, though understandably aggrieved, Markell and MacFalls waited a year to host their first race in 2015.
There were three sub-five runners in the field for the inaugural Beer Mile World Classic of 2015: James Nielsen, Canadian James Kent, and Australian Josh Harris. Kent won and would go on to have his own media success, including an appearance on “Ellen”, a Brooks shoe sponsorship, and a book deal. Thanks to the coverage, and the videos posted to YouTube, the sport moved into the mainstream. Then came Corey Bellemore.
In Bellemore’s first proper attempt at a beer mile—he’d done a couple of casual ones in college—he broke the world record. His time of 4 minutes, 39 seconds was eight seconds faster than had ever been run before.
Bellemore uploaded the video to YouTube and it quickly reached Markell and MacFalls who, in just-about serendipitous timing, were in London, England, ahead of the second Beer Mile World Classic (which Bellemore didn’t know was happening at the time). The organizers offered Bellemore a return plane ticket and a hotel. He’d run the world record on Wednesday night and was in London by Saturday. “I went to England for 50 hours, broke the world record, then went home,” says Bellemore, almost in disbelief at how everything had panned out. His time of 4 minutes, 34 seconds was his second world record in four days.
“That honestly was the best thing—in terms of an athletic event—I’ve ever seen,” remembers Price. “I’m getting tingles right now,” says MacFalls, recalling Bellemore’s race. “We knew we were witnessing something amazing at the time and that was euphoric. A couple of times in your life you get a feeling like that.” He suggests Bellemore’s current record is “Ruthian” and “the only thing that can beat him now is the beer,” meaning the beer not going down fast enough, or coming back up too quickly.
Since those first runs, Bellemore has lowered the world record to 4 minutes, 28 seconds, which is close to the physical human limits of the event. At the 2018 World Classic, held in Vancouver, Bellemore ran a 4:24 but was disqualified for having too much beer left (4.4oz overall). He thinks a 4:19 might be possible one day.
“It’s uncomfortable from the minute you start drinking that first beer until the end. I want to get it done as quick as I can. The only time I want to ever feel how the beer mile feels is during those competitions.”
Bellemore is an elite runner who has raced for Canada, so this isn’t some quirk of athleticism. He has a 1,500m time of 3:39 and a (beerless) mile PR of 3:57. It’s how he’s able to run those times while decelerating, drinking, then accelerating again, and running with a bellyful of beer, which makes him so good. But just because he’s the best in the world at beer miles doesn’t mean he particularly likes doing them.
“It’s uncomfortable from the minute you start drinking that first beer until the end,” he says. “I want to get it done as quick as I can.” He doesn’t train for the beer mile. “The only time I want to ever feel how the beer mile feels is during those competitions.” Luckily his elite running speed combines with the natural gift of an iron stomach.
The beer mile has been good for Bellemore, and has arguably given him more opportunities than running alone—it’s certainly gotten him more attention as an athlete. He has a kit deal with Adidas, and hat, sock, and nutrition deals. Flying Monkeys Craft Brewery in Barrie, Ontario, brews a special Beer Mile Ale for him. There’s international travel, prize money, and the recognition that comes with being world champion and the world record holder. So far, his stomach hasn’t failed him in any big races.
Bellemore’s lead over Granqvist is 10 seconds coming into the third beer. He struggles to open the can, losing a second or so, but it’s another smooth six-second down-in-one chug and he’s running again. The chase pack arrives all at once, with Hannes ahead of Dutchman Thijmen Van Der Loop, but once again the Belgian is overtaken and absorbed into the larger group.
The race is getting tighter, and tougher. By the third beer, everything feels harder, more agonizing: Heart rates are red-lining, stomachs are filling up. Having held their breath to drink, increasing their already-high heart rates, the runners’ lungs are saturated with carbon dioxide. Then they’re hit with a second slam of CO2, the biggest threat to success in a beer mile: carbonation.
Beer goes down, but those bubbles prefer to go up, and want to escape. “Within the first 50 to 80 meters of each run you really wanna force out the burps, just to get the carbonation out of your chest and out of your stomach,” says Bellemore. “You’re trying to do a controlled burp where it’s not so deep where you’re gonna puke, you’re just trying to get all that air, and everything that’s built up from drinking that beer, out of your system.” It’s a fine balance between gas and liquid, and it gets harder to control through beers three and four.
The first bend of the third lap causes the most problems for competitors, as they now carry 36oz—over one liter—of cold, fizzing beer in their stomachs. They have to burp. It’s here that you’re most likely to see a “reversal of fortunes,” the established euphemism for a runner throwing up.
As a spectator, you know when it’s going to happen, and it never gets less entertaining. You can see the runner’s wide-eyed fear as their lips desperately purse together. They lose their momentum, as if their legs have been kicked out from underneath them. The staggering runner lurches down, then heaves upwards involuntarily, their momentum all wrong. When they raise a hand to their mouth you know that an imminent spray of beer foam will blast through their fingers as they explode like a shaken can of soda.
“We have a reversal! That’s a penalty lap!” calls Price over the sound system while the crowd, who mostly stand near the track’s first bend, groan-cheer in unison. Some runners fail to control a burp and a small amount of beer comes out; others spray a cartoonish Jupiler-yellow hose of regurgitated beer; a few runners manage the impressive feat of puking without breaking stride, as if it were as natural as sweat dripping down their cheeks. However it comes out, it’s a penalty lap, and any chance of winning is gone.
The crowd cheers on all the runners, and as the race intensifies, it’s the Swedish team that makes the most noise—and drinks the most beer. They are the embodiment of what the beer mile means to this community, and why many people return each year to take part. The Swedes often do well in the beer mile, but if it were solely about drinking, they’d have already won.
It’s Thursday night in Leuven, two days before the World Classic, and the Swedish beer mile team is out on a pub crawl. They arrived earlier in the day, and before heading into town, they ran a beer mile. “We can try the beers, we can see the track, we can start our night out, and we can get a feeling in the legs and get an easy workout, all in one thing,” says Markus Living, the Swedish team captain.
The beer mile is about balance. “The running part is serious, the drinking part is less serious,” says MacFalls, while Markell talks about the beer mile as a way to keep running fun. The Swedes find that balance; their team has top-10 contenders across the men’s and women’s races. They’re also the first at the bar, and the last ones still out at night.
Living is “the father of the Scandinavian Beer Mile,” says MacFalls, and he’s become a renowned part of the community. Living ran his first beer mile at Linköping University in 2009 when a friend who’d studied in the U.S. brought it home with him. It was the university’s orienteering club that took it on as their own tradition.
Gifted at both chugging and running, Living’s best time put him in the world’s top 10, so when FloTrack organized its championship race in Austin, Texas in 2014, he got a place on the starting line.
“I didn’t perform”—he had a reversal of fortunes—“but that’s the thing with the beer mile—you never know what’s going to happen,” he says. He’d been having a fun time in Austin, with perhaps more focus on the drinking than the running. Still, he ran a beer mile every day he was out there, including one in his hotel, which happened to have circular hallways, and he ran a beer half marathon of 13 beers over 13.1 miles (a run he repeated the following year, finishing in a don’t-try-this-at-home time of 1 hour, 48 minutes).
A few years later, when COVID canceled his training plans for a sub-70-minute half marathon (that’s very quick), he “took a couple of months focusing on the beer mile, which turned out pretty well.” He ran 4 minutes, 53 seconds, making him the eighth-fastest beer miler of all time.
The beer mile has become more than just a race to Living. “It’s part of who I am. Half runner, half beer miler, and all of that makes me want to come back.” But then the beer mile itself is much more than just four beers and four laps.
Living’s first World Classic was in London in 2016 and he’s been at all the races since then. It was also in London that the Swedes first earned their reputation as the best—or perhaps biggest—drinkers. They maintain that notoriety in Leuven. They take a crate of beer to the pre-run briefing happening the evening before the race; at 11 p.m. that night, Living announces that the Swedes are going to a karaoke bar and then to a club. Everyone is invited (but at the bar, like at the track, not many can keep up with them). They work because they are a tight team. They wear their team hats and apparel all weekend, and it’s clear that they stick together: They run together, they drink together, they look after each other, and they celebrate together. As Living says, “It’s a magical few days in a bubble with friends and people you don’t know who become your friend.”
Bellemore is clear ahead as he starts his fourth lap, having time to gesture to the crowd, encouraging them to cheer louder. Behind him, a group of runners is coming into the chug zone within seconds of each other. Most can’t manage a down-in-one chug by now. Clearly in discomfort, their breathing is too labored as they stand hand on hip, sucking in oxygen between gulps of beer. When they start running, the liquid weight sloshes in their stomachs, and yet improbably many seem lighter and faster on their feet.
Bellemore’s win is assured as Price calls over the finish line at 4 minutes, 49 seconds, and a new can world record. But the crowd’s attention turns 50m back down the track, as a mass of runners comes around the final bend, fighting to finish as fast as possible.
Granqvist pulls ahead into a clear second (5:05), with Van Der Loop in third (5:17). Behind them there’s a sprint finish. “The Belgians are coming in hot right now,” shouts Price. “Wow, look at this pack finish, I’ve never seen anything like this in a beer mile.” It’s an all-out race to the line and Hannes’ speed gets him fourth (5:23). “Absolutely amazing blazing finish. Holy smokes, I’ve never seen a finish like that. That was absolutely epic!” calls a breathless Price. Living is towards the back of the chasing pack (5:31).
When all the times are compared from previous heats, two British runners finished quicker than Hannes (who couldn’t chug fast enough). Joe Gebbie ran 5:17 and Ritchie Gardiner, a Scottish student studying at Leeds University, ran 5:22 to beat the Belgian national mile record holder by one second (Gardiner will be too young to legally drink at the next Beer Mile World Classic, which is taking place in Chicago in July 2023).
The finish to the men’s race is a thrilling chase to the line, but the elite women’s race, held just before the final men hit the track, had even more drama.
“This is the largest and best women’s field we’ve ever had at the World Classic,” announces Price as 20 women stand on the start line.
Team USA is the favorite, with Elizabeth Laseter, Melanie Pozdol, and Kassandra Marin all having run under 6:40. Then there’s Allison Grace Morgan, the three-time world champion and current world record holder (6:16).
Britain’s Laura Riches is one of the main challengers. She’s almost won the world championships on several occasions, including finishing first in the 2018 World Classic in Vancouver, but was disqualified for too much leftover beer.
Riches is several seconds behind after the first beer, but her acceleration is astonishing. She’s “out to a blazing start!” calls Price, as she quickly overtakes everyone. Ever since her first beer mile, Riches has become known for just how fast she can run, and for her enthusiasm for the sport.
“It’s kind of neat being world champion. As a female in a sport that’s—I think a lot of men are more-so drawn to it, or to the connotation of beer and running—it was fun to represent the U.S. as a woman in something where we are doing quite well. In life events, it was such a special day. It was that euphoria after the race. I think I would’ve felt that no matter where I placed in the event.”
“I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” says Riches, explaining how she ended up running the 2016 World Classic in London, “but everybody keeps saying it was the right place at the right time!”
She’d been visiting a friend and needed a lift home to Manchester. Someone at the race offered her a ride, so she went to the track. With a background of running the steeplechase at university in the U.S. (where she never took part in a beer mile), and having run for Team GB and played rugby for England, she was persuaded to run in the beer mile.
“I’d never drunk a beer in my life!” she says. “I was absolutely shocking at my drinking, but every time I ran a lap I’d catch everyone up, and then I’d go to drink my beer again and everyone would be miles ahead.” She ended up missing her lift home in the end. “I’d had four beers and I was steaming [drunk] and there was an afterparty, so … I ended up still stuck in London.” She’s been at every World Classic since.
Laseter catches and then overtakes Riches on the chug of beer two. “Elizabeth [Laseter] is absolutely having a monster race right now,” calls Price. She’s the first back to beer three and has a halfway split of 2:59—world record pace.
But the others are chasing. Morgan has been struggling with the cans, finding it difficult to stay in the race, but she still has a shot. Riches and Pozdol are battling back and forth; Riches getting behind on the chug, then ahead on the run.
With three-quarter splits of 4:34, Laseter just needs one clean chug and one good lap to set a new world record. She laps other runners as she drinks the fourth beer in deep gulps, making sure she’s got every drop. As she takes the can from her lips and steps out of the chug zone, she takes one final sip of beer, then drops the can.
MacFalls is there. The race was live-streamed to YouTube, and if you watch it back you see his referee’s jersey pass in front of the camera just as Laseter drinks outside of the chug zone, and he sees it. He yells a despairing “no!” but it’s too late. He reacts as a fan more than the official, raising his left hand, fist clenched, head shaking, shoulders slumped.
Pozdol is second to begin her final lap, six seconds ahead of Riches, who catches up and overtakes Pozdol on the run. They have no hope of catching Laseter, who is flying down the back straight, around the final bend, as Price counts her in. “6:10, 6:11, 6:12, 6:13, 6:14, 6:15 for the finish there!” It’s a new world best time, but it’s not going to count.
Riches finishes ahead of Pozdol. “I was absolutely legging it,” says Riches about the final lap. “I got to the end and Nick [MacFalls] said to me, ‘You’d better have drunk your beer.’” She’d already been warned about not leaving too much foam, but in her hurry to speed up the drinking, she’d rushed it. When her beer is measured there’s more than 4oz left and she’s disqualified (as is Morgan, who also has left too much beer behind). Pozdol is the winner in 6 minutes, 41 seconds. Marin is second (6:45), and Germany’s Katja Tegler is third (7:07).
“It’s kind of neat being world champion,” says Pozdol after the race. “As a female in a sport that’s—I think a lot of men are more-so drawn to it, or to the connotation of beer and running—it was fun to represent the U.S. as a woman in something where we are doing quite well. In life events, it was such a special day. It was that euphoria after the race. I think I would’ve felt that no matter where I placed in the event.”
And that’s the real fun of the beer mile: Everything that happens around and after the running.
The atmosphere has been building all day. Spectators cheer the racers on while drinking trackside, enjoying the vicarious runner’s high. After competing, each runner joins their friends and takes another beer. There’s one final race, an exhibition four-person mixed relay, which descends into hilarious chaos as dozens of runners chase around the track at the same time. No one really knows what’s going on, and no one cares.
Anyone who’s ever run a race will know how good the finish-line feeling is. There’s a moment of communal pain and joy that only those immediately around you understand. You’ve had the anxious build-up, the uncomfortable endurance of the run, the exhilaration of racing, the hard moments in the middle, the delight at finishing, the rush of endorphins that comes and takes away all the aches, and the collective happiness at seeing others also cross the line.
“The feeling you experience after you’ve run a good beer mile… That euphoric state that you feel is this combo of accomplishing a hard race and alcohol. I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was some substance enhancement in terms of the purity of that feeling, but it’s still a real feeling, and it’s legal, and it’s just kinda cool.”
These are shared feelings. They don’t arise when you’re alone. This is basic, fundamental human connection, which at the beer mile is forged by the running effort, fortified by the beer, and focused around the finish line. The one word used more often than any other is “euphoria.”
As for the beer component, anyone who’s ever drunk a few beers with friends will know that shift, when seemingly all at once everyone is feeling good, when a new warmth of wellbeing and togetherness springs up. Throughout the beer mile, runners are ahead of the alcohol, lapping faster than the beer, but the beer always catches up, and it comes in a perfect progression as all the adrenaline and endorphins and social connection are at their glorious peak. “You’re feeling high off life, for sure!” says Bellemore.
“The feeling you experience after you’ve run a good beer mile…” says Markell, his voice trailing off. “That euphoric state that you feel is this combo of accomplishing a hard race and alcohol. I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was some substance enhancement in terms of the purity of that feeling, but it’s still a real feeling, and it’s legal, and it’s just kinda cool.”
Everyone who’s taken part in one of today’s beer miles—over 100 people across different races—piles onto the track. Competitors swap singlets, take photos, sing, jump around, and laugh, lost in the moment. The DJ starts the party tunes as the sun breaks through the clouds in its final minutes before setting, casting the celebrations in a golden glow.
Later that night, an afterparty is held in a club in Leuven. Almost inevitably, there are people downing beers all around the room, challenging each other, and coming together in teams for boat races. The prizes are handed out, and each podium winner has one more beer to down—a 250ml (8.5oz) Stella Artois, which is gone in a gulp for these champion chuggers. The U.K. men won the team challenge, beating the Belgians, while the U.S. women won overall team.
“If you talk to the athletes about what they like about [the beer mile], yes, it’s a race, but really it’s this community,” says Markell. “I’ve yet to hear anything that is negative, or anything other than, ‘I look forward to this every year, and I love these people, and they make me feel good about running.’”
Both Markell and MacFalls see the World Classic as a kind of family reunion each year, with many people coming back again and again—not necessarily to win, just for the fun of being part of it. It’s a sentiment that Bellemore shares. “The world records are nice, but the trips and meeting people are definitely the best part.” (It helps that the community has cultivated an emphasis on people feeling safe. At the pre-race meeting, Markell addresses the room: “Take care of each other. That’s important, too. There’s probably going to be some drinking. We’re drinking, but we’re safe. It’s an alcohol-fuelled event, but know your limits.”)
For the 2023 Beer Mile World Classic, which will be held on July 1 in Chicago, the run should feature a deeper field of athletes, primarily from Team USA and Canada (many of whom couldn’t make the trip to Belgium), plus there’ll be more beer available at the event, enticing more supporters. The beer mile might never be able to feature at the Olympics, or as a halftime show, but it’s an undeniably entertaining spectator sport that you have to see to truly believe.
“I can’t physically explain the beer mile to anybody because nobody gets it,” says Riches. “They don’t understand that until you’re there, and you see how crazy it is after the races have finished, how much fun everyone is having, you can’t really put it into words. A picture doesn’t do it justice. Maybe it’s because they’re all a bit [drunk], but they’re just having an amazing time, loving what they’re doing.”
The beer mile is a serious race, but it’s one which leads into a party. It’s easy to see why runners come back every year for this, chasing that same finish-line feeling, that euphoric runner’s high lifted up by four beers, and then more beers.
“I realize that it might be crazy,” says Riches, “but really it’s the best time that you will ever have.”
Words by Mark DredgePhotos by Cliff Lucas
