Yankee Stadium's Runyon 5k race a big home run

As expansive as Yankee Stadium may be, it wasn't built to host road races. So the idea of 4,000 people running a 3.1-mile course inside it seemed rather far-fetched, even as I was standing among other runners at the start yesterday morning.

Was this really happening?

Once the opening horn sounded, kicking off the second annual Damon Runyon 5k to benefit cancer research, it became clear this was anything but your typical fun run.

We started running down the 100-level concourse with the field to our right. Every so often, runners, some in Yankees gear, would stop to take cell-phone shots of the unusual course. This is definitely the one race where you don't see runners habitually checking wristwatches for splits.

One runner actually came dressed as if he were about to take the field, wearing a pinstriped jersey and pants. It was Derek Jeter's uniform, to be exact.

Greg Phillips, 33, of Hoboken, N.J., said he ran the race last year and noticed a few people doing it in full Yankees uniform, so he vowed to do that this year. He even dug up a pair of dark blue socks and pulled them high over his ankles for effect. All he was missing was a pair of cleats.

It wasn't exactly an ideal running outfit - "It was definitely hot," he reported after crossing the finish in about a half-hour - but this also wasn't exactly the typical course, either.

After two laps around the 100-level concourse, everyone ran down a ramp and entered what's called the subzero level. The bowels of Yankee Stadium provide far from glamorous scenery, looking like any other basement alleyway. But this was a place no fan ever enters, so people took photos of the random machinery parked against the walls.

Then we turned right and - whoa! - suddenly we were on the warning track in centerfield. Immediately you're reminded that this is essentially the view Mariano Rivera gets when the bullpen door swings open for the ninth inning, and you're struck by the size of the stadium. It's a stunning scene.

Runners followed around the warning track, which was damp and actually somewhat slippery for those in running sneakers. No one cared. Some people stopped to touch the padded wall, but others, such as Phillips, jumped against it, pretending to rob a home run.

"I was thinking I was Swisher or Paul O'Neill," he said.

We did two laps on the warning track, hitting the first-mile marker after the first lap. I remember thinking that first mile passed rather quickly, which probably had to do with the fact that my mind was elsewhere. There was simply too much to look at to think about running. Every race should be like this.

Dozens of volunteers and security workers guided runners along the course. Upon leaving the warning track in centerfield, I noticed security guard Frankie Babilonia directing traffic. You might remember him as the worker who snagged Alex Rodriguez's 600th home run two weeks ago and gave it to him without asking for anything in return.

Then came the stairs. Think it's annoying to climb those flights of stairs to get to your upper-deck seats? Try running them. Twice. We climbed from the subzero level to the 200 level, across the concourse to the other side of the stadium and then up to the upper deck. After zooming down the ramps, we did the trek once more for good measure.

But unlike other races, I never longed for the finish line and others I spoke to agreed. Seeing the stadium in this unique way was too much fun to want it to end.

Maybe next year I'll bring my glove.