Ev Dog Blog Travelogue II: The 2026 Penn Relays
On Saturday April 25th my father, AKA Scott Dog, and I traveled to Philadelphia for the 130th running of the Penn Relays. On top of attending my first ever track and field event, I would also cross off an event on my sports bucket list that has been in the making for six years. In 2020, I was in the process of completing my one-year master’s program at the University of Pennsylvania. In late February of that dreaded year, I headed home on the train for spring break and looked forward to the second half of the semester that would feature a trip to the 2020 Penn Relays. Over spring break, the university switched its operations to remote, the relays were cancelled, and the world shut down as COVID-19 raced around the world faster than a sprinter from Kingston. Despite everything returned to normal in the subsequent years, I still could not attend the event due to either living on the other side of the state and was apathetic about the idea of driving five hours or having other commitments require my attention on the weekend of the relays. Fortunately, the stars aligned this year as my late April weekends were free, my commute was only two hours, and even if there was another plague spreading across the country, our top officials ignore public health concerns in 2026.
One of the many victories for Team Ev Dog Blog
The Joys of the Morning Train to Philly
Like nearly all of our other father-son journeys to Philly, we took a 9:30 AM train. I deeply treasure travelling via train for a myriad of reasons, including the following: embarking onto the train feels a lot less stressful than the typical airport experience, you’ll rarely experience a delay as the train reliably departs at its listed time, you temporarily make stops at quaintly-named towns like Paoli, most of your fellow passengers respectfully maintain a lower volume of conversation or keep to themselves entirely, you can bring outside food and/or drink with you, no TSA lines, and you don’t have to deal with traffic or the chaos of expressways outside of cities.
I finished up the last remnants of my sesame seed bagel I brought in a sandwich bag as we approached the Elizabethtown station. My dad recommended taking leftover salmon to utilize as an omega-3-laden topping, but in consideration of the nostrils of my fellow passengers, I opted for just the addition of low-fat cream cheese. Mischievously, I did devise the idea for a gag candle business venture that would display a flowery label on its exterior and smell like leftover fish heated up in a microwave when lit. (DO NOT STEAL THIS IDEA OR YOU WILL HEAR FROM THE EV DOG BLOG LEGAL TEAM. IF THIS IDEA ALREADY EXISTS, OUR LAWYERS WILL SUE FOR STEALING THE CONCEPT VIA TIME TRAVEL!)
With no food left, I searched for something to engross my unstimulated mind as I started to fear I would actually think about important matters in my life. While I appreciated the tranquility of our quiet car, I grew bored of staring at the train’s dull monochromatic interior paneling and the repetitive exterior sight of rural landscapes. In an attempt to conserve my old phone’s battery for pictures and NFL Draft Day 3 updates, I resorted to an antiquated source of entertainment in the form of a local Thursday newspaper. I reviewed previews of sporting events that had already occurred, read an article on war-affected prices that had likely gone up 10% since the time of publication, and examined a comics section that possessed a low hit rate for producing just a meager heh. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring a pen with me, so the game section became more challenging as I constantly tried to remember what words I had deciphered or determined in the daily unscramble and crossword puzzles. This at least killed time quickly as we suddenly arrived in Philadelphia.
Franklin Field
We maneuvered around the scaffolding and FIFA World Cup merchandise vending machines that engulfed 30th Street Station. It felt strange not heading straight onto the subway towards the Broad Street Line and the stadium complex, but at least Franklin Field, the home of the Penn Relays, was only a few blocks away. After a short walk and six long years, I had finally arrived at the Penn Relays. Thankfully, the rain’s arrival got delayed until later in the afternoon, so we only had to endure the chilly winds of an overcast 50-degree day.
Atop the stadium, the flags of competing colleges and countries dashed back and forth in a competition of their own. Despite the stadium’s capacity only being half full, Jamaican national pride and the smell of weed permeated throughout the crowd. (To not perpetuate stereotypes, our olfactory systems first registered that aroma as we left the station, so that’s probably just a common Philadelphia fragrance one will encounter from time to time in the City of Brotherly Love and Brotherly Bud.) In spite of just turning 130-years old, Franklin Field looks a lot closer to a spry eighty. Its inner bowels exhibit its age more, but the classic architecture surrounding it makes it easy to ignore. As a fan of sports history tidbits, I took delight in learning that these hallowed grounds currently host the site for the oldest operating college football site in the nation on top of being the setting for both the first ever radio and television broadcasts of college football. For the haters of Philadelphia’s sports teams, you’ll be overjoyed to learn that this was also where the notorious snowball struck Santa Claus. (As required by the pedantic Philly fan code, I must inform you that the real Santa was late and some drunkard dressed as him took his spot before stumbling and regurgitating all over the place.)
Target acquired.
As we made our way to our seats, an unexpected roaring BANG rang out and caused me to jump in the air like a startled dog hearing the first firecracker on the evening of the Fourth of July. With no other spectators reacting whatsoever, I then recalled that the starter pistol was the device utilized to indicate the start of a race. To alleviate my embarrassment, I started to stretch in an effort to make the crowd around me believe I suddenly jolted because of a muscle cramp. The few that even noticed my frightened movement returned their attention immediately back to the action. We hiked up a narrow stairway past a large contingent of Jamaican fans to our section in the nearly empty second level. It made sense why as we soon discovered that our view of the finish line was obstructed by the opaque guardrails at the front of each section. We treaded cautiously down the sharply-sloped bleacher rows to the front viewing area to optimally take in the action.
Relays Part 1 - Races, The Marines, & The Missing Aqueducts of Piss
The local high schools were finishing their races and the college teams were set to begin shortly. Unlike the middle schoolers that participated earlier this week, neither level was divided into “large boy” and “small boy” categories. Fascinated by their feats of athleticism, I quickly became envious of the young competitors’ abilities. Although, I did not feel envious of the triple and long jumpers, who likely ended up with sand in a lot of undesirable areas. As a first time track event attendee, my experience was amplified by the supplementary aspect of pride for my alma maters as I fervently cheered on both the Quaker and Nittany Lion relay teams. Surprisingly as someone primarily looking forward to the sprints, my favorite event was the 4 x 1 mile relay as it unexpectedly remained a tight contest throughout its entirety and featured a tremendous finish where the Villanova Wildcats barely held off a late surge across the final stretch by the Oregon Ducks.
We took a quick break from the action in order to stretch our legs and acquire some carbs. We ambled around the outdoor section to properly examine the food truck options. Their quirky names including Humpty’s Dumplings captivated our attention, but most featured long lines that would likely take forty minutes to wait through just to order. We were sincerely tempted to try some Jamaican cuisine at Cuddy’s that sold oxtail and jerk chicken soup (I may have to come back to Philly next soup season) but ultimately ended up settling for a couple of convenient hot dogs and coffees. To accompany our simple meals, we sat on the curb and observed some entertaining scenes that were almost as amusing as the events on the track. On the lawn across from us, packs of teenagers danced next to a few red wacky inflatable tube men as electronic music blared out from a set of speakers. At the Marines-sponsored stand, teenagers tried to impress their friends by doing more pull-ups than the preceding contestant. The recruiters’ mouths watered as they witnessed their next batch of targets perform admirably. As this transpired, I sipped my coffee and thought of a new dad joke.
What does a Marine order at a café?
Semper Chai
The few. The Proud. The Chai Enthusiast Marines.
We then headed to the bathroom for a quick pit stop. I hoped with it being an older stadium that we’d get to use the intimate trough urinals that mesmerized me as a kid at football games. Back then, I always interpreted them as an aqueduct of piss. Alas, I was disappointed as just the standard individual urinals mounted the walls. Before we returned to our seats, we checked out the merch store, but swiftly left due to it containing only pricey attire in sizes no smaller than XL.
Even the Roman Dogs were ahead of their time!
Relays Part 2 - My New Jamaican Family
For the second half of the day, we decided to watch the remaining festivities in a couple of empty lower-level seats. It was a wise choice as not only did it provide us with a better view of the finish line, but it also gave us cover from a persistent drizzle that started ten minutes after we sat down. The Jamaicans around us made no objections to us joining their section as they were more concerned about the weather that felt closer to Beaver Stadium in early November. To honor our nonchalant section hosts, I started to root for every athlete our new adopted family of overzealous Jamaican brothers and sisters preferred, no matter their college or country affiliation. Their passion somehow augmented the tension of each final lap. Several fans around me excitedly cheered and howled out a high-pitched “WHOOP” as the runners came down the final stretch. After hearing me celebrate a Team Jamaica win enthusiastically, a few fans six rows below turned around and did a double take when they detected the color of skin on my face underneath an oversized jacket hood. Thankfully for their sakes, I didn’t have the audacity or BAC to discuss their opinions on rapper and reggae artist M Dot R.
PATRIOT, GENTLEMAN, CHAMPION
Things started to go awry on the track as the rain picked up. One guy ran without a shoe for final one hundred meters of his relay portion, youthful arrogance was negatively impacting the high jump competitors as an unrelenting wave of faults persisted throughout the event, and a thunderous Bronx cheer was let out as the 4 x 400 relay finally restarted properly after the three previous botched starts. The event I eagerly awaited all day for, the 100 meter dash, had finally arrived. And just like that, the transient event concluded before I knew it. SAD WHOOP!
Post-Relays Gyro-related Activities
In an effort to work off the disappointment, I took a stroll down memory lane on Locust Walk that cuts through the center of Penn’s campus. I relived past memories as I passed the Graduate Student Center where I often took advantage of the free coffee and the Class of 1949 Bridge that would make me sweat profusely right before class. From what I could tell, Friday night in University City looked fun as I spotted multiple dirty bras, packs of Newport cigarettes, and a pack of Magnum condoms littered across campus.
We eventually wound up at the Greek Lady where we met my dad’s college buddy, John Boy, for dinner. As we devoured our gyros, John Boy shared old war stories from his undergrad days with my father and inside scoops on the Phillies that he’s gathered over the years as a Citizens Bank Park usher. We finished our meals and John guided us to the 40th Street Station Subway. I was saddened by the sight of a lifeless half-eaten cheesesteak that laid on the dirty tracks, however, it was still lower on the list of upsetting things I’ve seen in a Philly subway station.
We said our goodbyes and headed home. I finally crossed off the Penn Relays from my sports bucket list and thought of what event might be next on the train ride home. Perhaps the Olympics, where I can watch a few of the same athletes I just observed at the relays compete again. See you in 2028 Los Angeles! WHOOP!