Berna's Great Legs 5K for Women

Come run in a local tradition!  Berna’s Great Legs 5k is a long established women-only race. Now in its 44rd year, it is the second oldest continuously running women’s only event in the country.  This race is for women of all ages and abilities; both runners and walkers can sign up to enjoy the fun 5K course through the Belvidere neighborhood of Lowell.  Bring your friends, mothers, daughters and sisters and come check out this amazing race.

This event is managed by the Greater Lowell Road Runners with all Timing and Race Management donated by Yankee Timing.  100% of net proceeds from this race are donated to the House of Hope in Lowell, MA.

Do you want to increase your business's brand visibility and community engagement?  Is your target demographic women with an active lifestyle?  Do you want to support House of Hope and do your part in easing the housing crisis in Massachusetts?  If you answered yes to any of these, consider becoming a sponsor for Berna's Great Legs 5K.  Connecting with potential customers in a festive, supportive setting could be just the boost your business needs.  Sponsorship ranges from $60-$500.  Email bernasglfw@glrr.net for more info.

Hard to believe, but in 1980 the longest distance for women in the Olympics was 1500 meters (less than four laps around a track).  While still a male-dominated sport, women's participation in running had been growing and and athletes were starting to realize how ridiculous this was.  A call went out to the member clubs of RRCA (Road Runners Club of America) to hold women-only races to prove women could run longer distances.  The board of Greater Lowell Road Runners decided to join the cause by putting on a women’s 5-miler out of Cawley Stadium starting in 1982.  The name "Great Legs Road Race" was the idea of Margaret Mason, a play on the club's initials of GLRR.  

Race Director Carrie Steinman at 1st Great Legs Road Race

Carrie Steinman of Chelmsford volunteered to be the race director and she assembled a women’s crew to manage the race. Like today, the men worked race day so the ladies could run.  Dennis Conners was also very instrumental in getting this race going. The effort worked; in 1984 longer distances were added to the Olympics and New England’s own Joan Benoit Samuelson won Olympic Gold. 

Winner of 1st Great Legs Road Race with her prize, a picture painted by Margaret Mason (on the left).  Carrie Steinman is standing behind the trophies.

Volunteers at the first Great Legs Road Race.

Berna Finley got involved with the race a few years later. You can see her write up of the race in 1990 by clicking here (her article is on page 8).  Below is a photo of Berna's artwork, which she created as the age group awards for the 1999 running of Great Legs.  Berna passed away from lung cancer in April 2000.  In recognition of her significant contributions to the event, it was renamed after her and we've been proudly carrying her legacy since.

2025 - Results and Pictures

 
2024 - Results and Pictures

 
2023 - Results and Pictures

2022 - Results and Pictures

2021 - Results and Pictures

2020 - Virtual Results

2019 - Results and Pictures

2018 - Results and Pictures

2017 - Results and Pictures

2016 - Results and Pictures

2015 - Results 

2014 - Results and Pictures

2013 - Results and Pictures

Berna Finley wrote the following article for the GLRR newsletter "Starting Lines" in 1999. She passed away in April 2000.  Click the PDF icon to read her obituary.

Running a Different Race
By: Berna Finley 

It was the kind of day runners dream of-- breezy, sunny, 65 degrees, a perfect day for a long, easy run. It was also the day my life unraveled. I had in fact just returned from one of my increasingly difficult 5-mile runs when the doctor delivered the news. I had lung cancer.

"This is a woman who never smoked. She ran five miles this morning," my daughter wailed in disbelief. Sobbing, we searched the doctor's face for an explanation.

The explanation was simple. A primary tumor in my right lung had spread to other parts of both lungs and possibly to other vital organs. "Stage-three cancer" read the final diagnosis. I was to learn later that some 164,000 people contract lung cancer each year (it is labeled the invisible epidemic) and of the 75,000 women affected, more than 20 percent are non-smokers.

Although the news felt much like a wrong turn on the race course, I slowly accepted the fact that I had a life-threatening disease. And before long, I began to realize that running, the sport that has played such a key role in my life for twenty-five years, was once again about to lift me from utter despair. It was running--more specifically the difficulties I had been experiencing on the road--that prompted my initial visit to the doctor and the subsequent chest x-ray. Further probing and tests affirmed other benefits of running. Because I had been a runner, my muscles, blood pressure, heartbeat and other vital signs were strong. Even my preliminary tests of breathing, endurance and lung capacity weighed in on the plus side, leading the oncologist to propose a treatment plan that offered hope for redemption.

By this time, the Brunch Bunch had rallied, standing by like the girls at Wellesley College on marathon day, screaming their encouragement. Their voices echoed through my head as I lay enveloped in the cavernous CT scan tube. They accompanied me to the Dana Farber Institute and held my hand to ease the pain of intravenous needles and surgical procedures. Cards, letters and phone calls offered refreshing interludes like the cups of water handed out at a water stop. And in the chemo aftermath when I felt like I was starting the 27th mile, they were there to see me through long, silent hours when nothing seemed to matter except the person at my side. The annual Christmas celebration was modified so I could join the Brunch Bunch on the road. The traditional Jingle Bell Run became a one-mile, hand-in-hand walk singing songs of the season.

Now as my hope and desperation play out against each other, I continue to count the ways my years of running influence my life and, possibly, the outcome of this disease. The self-discipline I developed as a runner carries over to my new daily routine. I still awake at dawn with the singular thought of hitting the road. The morning run has turned into walking a pair of miles around the neighborhood. But it serves the same purpose as my earlier six-to-ten milers: I can do it and it feels good. Instead of miles, I count down the days until my next treatment and concentrate on building stamina to confront the demons released it chemo drugs.

I call on visual imagery from high mileage times to get me through the days following chemotherapy. I picture myself pushing through that beyond tired feeling at 18 or 20 miles and imagine the drugs, like the training, will wash away the pain and leave me clean and strong. I call into being the races I struggled through---the Boylstons and Bostons that taught me I could survive physical pain that leaves me shaken and sick. I settle on my favorite running story, The Tortoise and the Hare, as a subject for meditation. I recall the moral of the story: slow and steady wins the race. Then taking my first steps on the road to recovery, I visualize a slow and steady progress that will help me win this race with cancer.

My running partners are here, passing their strength to me the way they did on long training runs. Now our conversations take place at a walking pace or maybe on my living room couch. But I still hear and share the life sustaining joys and tribulations that kept us close for more than a dozen years. They remind me that I must turn my mind toward triumph and away from defeat. They urge me to look at this experience as another marathon.

And so I summon the rituals of running, calling on the mental strength marathoning gave me, that mile-20 attitude when only the mindless devotion to reach the finish line drives me forward, that final push after hitting the wall, that outlook that says, "It hurts now, but the hurting will stop if I keep going."

And finally, each night I say a prayer of thanks for the strength, willpower and, especially, the friends running has given me.