Jonathan Cane is sitting at his wooden dining table, hunched in front of a laptop. He’s bald, and his forehead wrinkles as his eyes, behind black-framed glasses, dart back and forth in front of the screen.

“I’ve caught two cheaters already,” he says. It’s been five minutes since he started looking at the results from the 2015 Staten Island Half Marathon.

Sunlight streaks through two large windows in the living room of his northern Bronx apartment. The space is clean with hardwood floors and granite countertops. A blue modern painting hangs from cream white walls between the windows. The building is on a hill, and from 12 stories up, you can see trees on the fringe of Van Cortlandt Park, a popular spot for runners. This is not the cliché of an Internet sleuth in a dark, cluttered basement.

Ever bib-swapped? Forged someone else's name during registration? Run a race as a bandit? Worn multiple timing chips as a bib mule? Or cut a course?

RELATED: Is It Ever Okay to Race With Someone Else’s Bib?

If so, and if you’ve run a major race in New York or several others around the country, it’s likely that 51-year-old Cane—a full time running coach, father of a 4-year-old son, diehard Yankees fan, and self-appointed road race vigilante—knows of your malfeasance.

That’s because Cane’s idea of fun, on a break from coaching or late at night when his wife and son are asleep, is to scroll through thousands of individual race results, rooting out culprits whom he says are staining the sport he loves.

Cane describes himself as a middle-of-the-pack runner, yet he coaches beginners up to age-group contenders. Derek Call

On April 21, 1980, a woman with short black hair wearing bib number 50 was the first woman to cross the Boston Marathon finish line. A remarkable result from an unknown runner, made possible because, as spectators later pointed out, she jumped on the course with about a mile to go. Her name, Rosie Ruiz, became a verb. High-profile course-cutters for the past 35-plus years have all Rosie Ruized their way to an award.

“I was always intrigued by Rosie Ruiz. Who would do something like that? I don’t quite get it,” Cane says. He clarifies himself. “Yeah, if there’s big money or notoriety in a race, I understand it. I don’t justify it, but I get their motivation. What I do find fascinating are the people who will cheat just to finish. The people in the middle of the pack who cheat to run an eight-minute-mile pace instead of a nine-minute-mile pace.”

Cane has been a running coach in New York City for more than 20 years. He describes himself as a mid-packer, with a marathon PR of “3:40-something,” and says he’s more successful on a bike. The 30 athletes he coaches range from beginners to age-group award contenders to a national champion duathlete.

He has a broad definition of cheating. It includes people who cut a course just to get a finisher’s medal, or someone who gives their bib to a faster runner, even unintentionally.

With Instagram likes and flashier finisher's medals at stake, Cane says there’s more motivation than ever before to bend the rules. There’s no need to win a race to get attention. You just need to pretend to finish it.

And an ever-growing cohort of runners hopes to nab a Boston Marathon qualifying time. For those not capable of getting the mark on their own, it’s much easier to give their bib to a faster runner, whom Cane calls a “bib-mule,” or just cut the course.

But, you may ask, aren’t bib-swapping and course-cutting victimless crimes?

No, Cane says firmly. At New York Road Runners races, finishing times help seed corrals for future events. Members who complete nine NYRR races and volunteer at one also get a guaranteed entry into the New York City Marathon. Dishonest previous results can place people in a faster corral spot, or bump others out of race registrations.

“What I love about running is the democratization of the sport,” he says. “A middle-of-the-pack runner like me is out there with world-class runners. We are all out there on the same course and we are all doing the same thing. So we should all have the same responsibility to run the full course and do what we are supposed to do.”

* * *



Cane could justify his exploits as a moral obligation. After major races, like the NYC Marathon, he can spend up to three hours combing through results.

But he says it’s just plain fun.

He calls it doing his “race police” duty. His wife, Nicole Sin Quee, calls it “throwing quarters in the crazy machine.”

She is a former elite triathlete, and fully supports the diversion, often providing him with tips of her own after hearing about suspicious results from her running friends.

“When I tell him something, I know he has to run to his computer right away,” she says.

He like puzzles and crosswords. In 2014, he won $16,750 on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

In a similar way, hunting for cheaters is a game.

“I get a certain kick out of finding folks who think they got away with it,” he says. “Okay, you think you are getting away with it. Well, I am going to figure out how you did it. It’s a hobby, a challenge.”

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He started his practice eight years ago after the Mardi Gras Marathon. One of the athletes he had trained for the race placed third in her age group. While checking her results, Cane noticed a suspicious time from the second-place finisher.

“I saw the woman had run something like a 2:10 first half marathon and 55-minute second half,” he says. “That particular course has an out-and-back section that is easy to cut.”

He contacted the race director, who disqualified the course cutter and awarded Cane’s runner second place. Since then, he claims he’s caught more than 500 cheaters. His reputation as a vigilante grew in New York City running circles. He frequently receives tips about suspicious results.

The image below is an example of a tip Cane might receive. The results, from a 2015 race, show two missed mats and an unrealistic improvement in the runner's pace-per-mile.

An example of a half marathon result that Cane would flag. The participant ran the first 5K at 20:14 minutes-per-mile. They missed the next two splits, and finished the race with a pace of 7:19 minutes-per-mile, indicating that they cut the course. Derek Call

Cane rarely calls the perpetrators out publicly. He blogs about cheating but usually does not identify the runners he catches. “My policy right now: Basically if it doesn’t affect one of my runners, I keep my mouth shut.”

If it does, he will contact a race directly. If not, he’ll tip off race directors that their results are dubious. He won’t give specifics—usually just a bit of snark.

After the Rock ’n’ Roll Las Vegas Marathon in November, Cane tweeted, “I'm sorting through @RunRocknRoll Las Vegas results. Let's just say stepping out on one's spouse isn't the only cheating going on in Vegas.”

The race asked Cane to give them information about the suspected cheaters. He responded, “That's your job. I found 3 obvious ones in 5 minutes. Sure you can do the same.”

Tracy Sundlun, the cofounder of the Rock ’n’ Roll race series, says results for each race that the company organizes are put through a computer algorithm to catch course-cutters and unusually fast splits. Though Rock ’n’ Roll results are posted the same day of the race, they do not become official until three weeks later. This allows time for race officials and fellow runners to report suspicious times.

Sundlun also says organizers rely on race photos to see if people who won an age-group award have swapped bibs. But he says they do not scrutinize every single result.

“Our priority is not finding every Tom, Dick, and Lilabelle out there. Would I like to catch all those folks that are running with someone else’s bib? The answer is yes,” Sundlun says. “Should we be analyzing 400,000 finishers pictures a year? The answer to that is, for our priorities it would be overkill.”

Sundlun has never heard of Cane, but when asked if Rock ’n’ Roll appreciates someone investigating results, Sundlun says, “Abso-damn-lutely.”

Cane had similar interactions with New York Road Runners, though he gives them credit for catching most suspicious results before they become public.

The evening after the New York City Marathon, Cane dissects all 49,000-plus results line by line. He is able to see up to 100 runners per page on his computer.

Here’s how he does it: NYRR posts each runner within their age group in finishing order, with bib numbers and splits in a grid. In each column showing a split, a blank space indicates that a runner missed a mat during the race. These mats are placed on strategic spots along the course to record a runner’s pace and make sure they are still following the route. One missed mat is common—typically this indicates a tech malfunction on the course. Two missed mats in a row, however, is unusual. It proves that at two different locations on the course, sensors missed reading the chip in a runner’s bib.

Cane whizzes through pages of results, looking for two blank spaces where a runner’s splits should be.

This, combined with a noticeable increase in speed, indicates to Cane that a runner cut the course. In the NYC Marathon, the most common place this occurs is right after the 59th Street Queensboro Bridge at mile 15, where participants can walk just over a mile to the finish line to get their medal rather than running the remaining 10.

He usually catches more than 20 course-cutters in three hours.

The results Cane looks at the night of the marathon are unofficial. And Cane has started noticing fewer and fewer offenders among the data in recent years.

“Road Runners has become more diligent at finding them and removing them,” Cane says.

Chris Weiller, NYRR’s vice president of media and public relations, says the organization’s scoring team also goes through each result and removes obvious course-cutters before they become official. Still, he says, some make it through the scrubbing process. “The overwhelming majority are caught before results are posted,” he says. Those that aren’t are removed later after a more in-depth investigation.

Since November 1, when the initial list was posted, Weiller says NYRR has removed 22 additional runners.

He adds that although he has never heard of Cane, the organization appreciates any tips that are sent its way.

“I would never question anyone’s motives or what they do with their time,” Weiller says. “But know that we are doing the same thing here. Maybe our process is a little different, but we are doing the same.”

Cane still claims he catches cheaters that NYRR misses. Most recently, he found several runners wearing multiple bibs at the Staten Island Half Marathon. Their results showed no photos on the course, and nearly identical splits with another runner, indicating that the other runner carried the bib.

NYRR tweeted at Cane asking for more info, to which Cane responded, “With all due respect, that's what you're paid to do. Plus you’ve ignored previous cases brought to your attention.”

When Cane reviewed the Staten Island Half Marathon results two months after the race, he found a bib-swapper in less than two minutes.

* * *

It’s actually quite simple to catch a course-cutter or bib-swapper, particularly in the New York City Marathon.

For some of its large races, like the marathon, New York Road Runners seeds bib numbers based on previous NYRR races and an entrant’s self-predicted finish time. Lower bib numbers indicate faster runners.

When Cane pulls up the results for the 2015 Staten Island Half Marathon his eyes stay trained on the bib number column as he quickly scrolls down the page. Two-digit and three-digit numbers escape his attention, but once he sees a number in the four- or five-digit range, he stops, checks the runner’s gender and age, and pulls up the photos. More and more race organizations, like NYRR, include race photos on the same page as a runner’s results, making it even easier to spot bib-swappers.

More often than not, the photo will show a male runner with a woman’s bib. Within minutes after the Staten Island results were posted, Cane noticed the fourth-place overall female finisher was actually a man. The result was later removed by NYRR.

“Now I don’t want to judge, maybe that woman signed up, got hurt or went out of town, and gave the bib to a friend,” he says. “But her switching the bib does have implications.”

If he is unsure about a result, he looks at surrounding paces to see if anyone else carried the bib. Or he turns to the race-result-aggregation site Athlinks, which shows a runner’s history and lets Cane know if a participant is capable of a certain time.

After three minutes, Cane finds another bib-swapper. This time, a woman who finished fifth in her age group. The photos show a man.

“And this guy has a Baltimore Orioles shirt on,” Cane says. It’s a particular point of ire for a guy who has an original Yankee stadium seat next to his dresser. “But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The runner’s results are still live, and likely will continue to be. Cane will not contact NYRR because it does not affect one of his runners or any of the age-group awards. For him, diving into the results is more about the pleasure of the hunt. And to make race organizers aware that course-cutting and swapping bibs are still an issue.

“I mean, if you are going to take the time to take photos and put out timing mats but then not do anything about it, what’s the point?” he says. “Either just call it a free-for-all and we will all go on the honor system, or when people run implausible splits, disqualify them.”

* * *

“Yes, I think I am a little crazy. I spend way too much time looking into these things and get way too much satisfaction out of it.”

A small grin appears on Cane’s face.

He stresses that it’s a pastime for him, something to do in between training for his next triathlon, taking his son, Simon, to the park with their dog, Lola, or completing his crosswords. He quickly admits that he’d rather be known as a running coach than New York’s road race vigilante. “But if this is how people hear about me, I am okay with that.”

Though he’s built a reputation on catching cheaters, he says he has never come face to face with anyone he’s caught. “I do see one guy running in Central Park every now and then, and I am sure he knows who I am,” Cane says. They’ve never spoken.

There’s one big exception.

Cane first encountered his wife, Nicole, a former elite tri- and duathlete, during a half marathon. They had a brief conversation in the middle of the race but he never got her name. He never found her in the results, either.

That’s because she was a bandit. It took her a few years to admit it.

Kit Fox Special Projects Editor Kit has been a health, fitness, and running journalist for the past five years.

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