I ran a marathon in my UPS uniform. I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me.

After months of training, I became ‘UPS Guy’ for one unforgettable morning.

Whenever I put on my brown work uniform, I seem to disappear. I don’t mean I become invisible; I’m just no longer recognizable as an individual. I disappear into the character of ‘UPS Guy.’

I still remember the first time I delivered to my previous workplace, not long after I started driving for UPS. I’d been in that office full-time less than a year before.

I walked up to the person at the front desk and greeted him by name. That person – Jesse, my former front desk person – looked right at me and said, ‘Hi, may I help you?’

This has happened to me more times than I can count. Not just with former coworkers, but also with neighbors and even friends I haven’t seen in a while. I wait, amused, until the recognition dawns on them.

But I don’t mind. Most people, most of the time, are happy to see their UPS driver, even if they don’t know him personally. What’s more, wearing my uniform helps me feel seen in a way that feels safe to me.

Maybe that’s why dressing up in costume is so appealing – even in adulthood. Any kind of costume:

• Formal wear for a gala or wedding;
• Period garb for a Renaissance Faire or Civil War reenactment;
• Superhero suit for a comic convention or Halloween.

Whatever you’re wearing it for, people notice, but it’s not you they’re noticing. You’ve disappeared, in whole or in part, into a character. You’re still yourself, of course, but you’re also someone else.

Over the years I’ve seen all kinds of people at the races I’ve run wearing all kinds of costumes. It’s a way to be creative and have fun at a public event. But never in all those years had I ever seen anyone race in a UPS uniform.

At some point – I’m not sure exactly when – it occurred to me that I could do it. Maybe I should do it?!?

For a while I just sat on the idea. But the more I considered it, the better I liked it. Why not? I thought. Why not me?

I had to choose the right event. The Atlanta Marathon was a no-brainer: UPS’s World Headquarters is in neighboring Sandy Springs, Georgia. I was going to rep my employer in its own backyard!

Once I made my decision, I realized that training would come with an interesting twist.

There’s an expression in the running community: nothing new on race day. I would have to train at least once in my uniform. Of course I train in my own neighborhood, so I’d be running down my streets, near my home, in my work clothes.

I tried to be discreet about it. On one long run I wore my brown shorts, which have no logo on them. On another, I wore my brown socks and brown polo shirt – turned inside-out to hide the UPS shield. I’d raced in a ballcap before, so I didn’t worry about that.

But the boxes were another matter.

I’d decided that my uniform wouldn’t be an honest-to-goodness costume without a stack of empty boxes. Since I feared that running around my neighborhood with boxes would make me look suspiciously like a porch pirate, I went out under the cover of darkness. I didn’t go very far, but it was far enough.

Every piece of the costume had now had its test run.

So many times I’d considered backing out – even as late as the morning of. But I followed through.

I took a deep breath as I left my hotel room in downtown Atlanta on Sunday March 1st. I guess I’m actually doing this!

Even though the corridor was empty and quiet and the sun wasn’t up yet, my skin already felt like it was on fire. Soon enough I’d feel everyone’s eyes on me.

It came much sooner than I expected: at the end of the hall. A couple other racers joined me on the elevator ride down, and of course they wanted my story. It would be the first of countless wonderful encounters that day.

We walked together down the street to the starting area. I felt a little less awkward when I came across another costumed racer there. Pirate-lady seemed a lot more chill than I was feeling, and she helped me relax a little.

As I lined up in the starting chute, other racers approached me from every direction. All had a UPS story to share – a story they wanted to share. With me. Some worked for UPS; others had in the past, or knew someone who did.

By the time I crossed the start line I’d fully disappeared into the character of ‘UPS Guy.’ Random strangers were asking for a picture, either of me or with me. Some wanted to high-five me or shake my hand. Some told me they’d heard about me and had hoped they’d get a chance to see me.

All along the course, spectators were shouting, laughing, waving, clapping. For me. Little kids would point at me, their mouths agape. I lost track of the times I stopped for a photo or slowed down for a video.

Drivers in blocked or diverted cars were honking their horns. Police officers directing those cars couldn’t keep their game face – they’d break into a huge smile or nod their heads and say ‘I see you!’

This was so unlike me. At every other race I’ve run, I show up at the start line, stick my earbuds in, and put my head down. No talking; no photos. Just do my thing for 26.2 miles, accept my medal, and make a beeline back to wherever I’m staying.

Atlanta revealed to me just what I’d been missing out on. Looking back, I don’t know why I’d been so anxious. It had never occurred to me that my costumed marathon experience could be the same kind of wonderful experience I enjoyed every day as a UPS driver.

It took me out of my comfort zone, but I’m so glad I went through with it.

All that love and positive energy, along with my special playlist blasting from my portable speaker, propelled me across the finish line. And for the first time in my running career, I actually enjoyed the time it took me to finish.

I’m not a fast marathoner; I’m out there all morning. But this was the one time where it really was about the journey, not the destination. Running in my UPS uniform made the Atlanta Marathon unforgettable.