Unfortunately, I don’t have many photos to share, but I do have this one:
A chilly day at the Start Village. It had been raining all night and the ground was unreasonably sodden. The moment I arrived at the MMRF Team tent, I managed to step directly into a quagmire, squirting viscous brown mud all over my shoes. Score one for Mother Nature.
Despite the damp conditions, the mood was jovial. Jovial and steeped in adrenaline. Depending upon where you stood, the Start Village resembled a refugee camp, a country fair or an out-door health and fitness expo sponsored by the UN. At times, it appeared to be all three; the Dunkin Donuts coffee cart parked next to the Porta-Johns surrounded by a group of 40-plus Italian adventure tourists comparing the features on their Garmin GPS devices. I never realized what an international event this race was! There were loudspeakers set up around the staging ground which broadcast instructions in six languages: Japanese, German, Italian, French, Spanish and English. It was like having our own audio-Rosetta Stone. I can now say “The corrals for wave-start two are now open...” in Japanese. How about that?
As with other mass-bonding events, normal rules of social decorum don’t apply at the starting line of the NYC Marathon. You can talk freely to whomever you want! Before we loaded into our start “corral,” I was chatting with a very nice Dutchman named Hans. Apparently the NYC Marathon is huge in the Netherlands. Who knew?
The first two miles of the race lead across the Varazanno Narrows bridge. (Apparently, the longest suspension bridge in the US. Sorry, Golden Gate!) From the moment we cleared the bridge, we were cheered every step of the way by well-wishers. This is not an exaggeration. There were enthusiastic crowds in every neighborhood from Bay Ridge to the South Bronx. Literally, the only times we were not buoyed by cheering crowds were the moments when we were crossing bridges. (Those would be the Verrazano-Narrows, Queensboro, Willis Avenue and Madison Avenue Bridges.)
And can I just say...? New York City, you are beautiful! I’m proud that this event is such an international draw, because in so many ways this race shows us New Yorkers at our very best. In fact, if I were trying to explain the magic of New York to someone who had never visited this city, I could hardly do better than simply saying: “Run in the marathon, then you’ll understand what makes us tick.”
When you run this course you also get such an intimate sense of how the neighborhoods of this city fit together. In some cases the transition from one neighborhood to another is subtle, in other cases it’s abrupt; crossing under a bridge or turning a sharp corner to suddenly find yourself in a new terrain. So many communities with so much history... and remarkably few potholes, actually.
But no matter how inspiring the show of public support or how dazzling the scenery, there’s no getting around the fact that 26.2 miles is a damned long way. It’s true what they say, that the first 13 miles are just a warm up. In the case of this race, mile 13 took the runners through northern Green Point. At this point in the race, I was feeling pretty good. I’d just seen two groups of friends cheering in the neighborhood of Williamsburg, so I was cruising along. The first time that fatigue showed up as my running companion was around mile 16.
An interesting thing happens at mile 16 of the NYC marathon: you pass from Long Island City into Manhattan via the Queensboro Bridge. As I mentioned earlier, this is one of the few stretches of road where there are no crowds. As you enter the span, suddenly everything gets very quiet. All you can hear is the sound of thousands of foot-falls on the deck of the bridge; foot-falls and labored breathing. This was the first point where I noticed significant numbers of runners slowing down to a walk for a brief recovery period. It felt like a collective moment of truth; a drawing-in as the runners contemplated the 10 miles ahead. Then the bridge descends to the Manhattan side of the East River and you begin to hear a remarkable sound. You can hear it from at least a quarter mile away. The roadway suddenly drops away into a tight left-hand turn that almost feels like you’re dropping into a tunnel... and suddenly, there they are! As one of my teammates quipped before the race, this section of the run feels like you’re entering the Olympic Stadium. Thousands of supporters gathered at this hairpin turn and suddenly you’ve joined the Land of the Living once again.
During the long run up First Avenue you begin to see real determination on the faces of the runners. Through miles 17, 18, 19.... At this point, almost nobody is dodging to the side of the road to give high-fives to the kids at the front of the crowd. Poor little guys. I hope they understand: at this stage of the race, it’s a matter of survival - conservation and efficiency.
At the top of Manhattan, we passed into the Bronx. I won’t lie... this is where things got really tough for me. At mile 20 we had just crossed the Willis Ave Bridge and were entering the Bronx. I could actually feel my body shifting into a different mode. I’ve heard that there is a wall at mile 20, but having never experienced it, I really had no frame of reference. On this particular day, there was no “wall” for me at mile 20. A better description would be that my legs began, very quickly, to fill up with cold, aching sand. They became unspeakably heavy and didn’t seem to respond as quickly as they should. Maybe that’s what “the wall” feels like. Feels more like quicksand to me. Here’s a summary of the conversation going on in my head between miles 20 and 21:
Body: This hurts. Let’s stop.
Brain: Nope.
Body: Really. OK. Joke’s over. Let’s stop.
Brain: Sorry, no can do, Amigo.
Body: But this isn’t fun anymore.
Brain: True. Keep going.
Body: Oh look, you’re shoelace is coming undone!
Brain: [looks] No it’s not.
Body: Yes, yes, it is. You’d better stop and tie it!
Brain: I know what you’re doing and it won’t work.
...etc....
We ran on southward through Harlem. At this point, I saw another group of friends, which got my spirits back on track, even though my body was lagging! (Thanks, gang!) Making a broad right-hand turn around Marcus Garvey Park, we continued south. At one point, it must have been around mile 22.5, I couldn’t sustain my pace and slowed to a brisk walk. “How am I going to do this?,” I was asking myself. “This part of the run is supposed to be a celebration! But I don’t want to celebrate. I feel like crap!” At this moment, an older gentleman came out of the crowd, took me by the shoulder and said in an indescribably generous voice, “You’ve got it. The park’s just up ahead.” That encouragement helped get me through the final leg of the race.
Entering Central Park was a blur. Down through the trees and crowds to Central Park South, struggling along to Columbus Circle and then northward again at mile 26. Finally, fatigue disappears for the last quarter mile. Smiles return to the exhausted faces around me. And there it is: the finish line. It’s an emotional moment as you step over the final timing mat at the finish. There’s a physical rush of relief as body and brain, after long argument, finally agree that, yes, at last it’s time to stop.
4:10
Not a very fast time; certainly not as fast as I had hoped. But I finished. And it gives me something to work on for the next race. I’m afraid I might be hooked.
To everybody who has been reading this blog through the long months of training:
Thank you!
To everybody who has supported me in this quixotic endeavor:
Thank you!
To everybody who contributed to the MMRF in memory and celebration:
Thank you!
My intention is to continue this blog, but I’m not exactly sure what form it will take. At the moment, I’m thinking that I’ll continue to use this space as a running journal. I’m planning to experiment with different training techniques in the coming months, so I’ll be sure to share my experiences.
Forward!
