It's a Hill of a Town (NYC Marathon Race Report)

My secret hope before going to bed, was that I would wake up on my own, about 10 minutes before my alarm was to go off.

I got 15. So, a bit tired and even more anxious, I started getting my things together and getting ready to head out. I put on everything I wanted and left the apartment. When I got to the elevator, I decided I should put on my long shirt. Ooops, it’s still in the apartment. No problem, I’ll just open the door ever so slow-crud, it’s locked. Oh well, at least I have garbage bags.

I expected there to be people out on the streets. Not so much. However, once I started getting close to the bus stop at the library, I found some. The closer we got, the bigger the crowd. They herded us onto the bus and quickly left for Staten Island.

Speeding though the darkened NY city streets gave me a little time to relax. It was warm on the bus and most of the people around me were trying to sleep a little. When the bus finally pulled up, there was already a stream of people heading for the starting area. The feeling was a little bit like camp, volunteers lined the street, welcoming us to the marathon as we hugged our bags and shuffled through the gates.

We were quickly divided based on the colors of our bibs, although I had no idea where I really was. There was a small parking lot with coffee and water. Music was playing and I was starting to get excited. I made my way through the dark to where we were supposed to start. There were signs for each starting group. I found a nice patch of grass near mine and plunked down. I was getting a bit cold, so I put one garbage bag over my torso and put my legs in the other. I spent the next hour or so trying to keep warm, read, and keep my legs from tightening up. I did each one with little or no success.

The whole time this was going on, they were playing, on a constant loop, a recording of a voice telling us to be in the blue corral, corresponding to the blue on our bibs. It was dark and 5 in the morning mind you.

The area was starting to fill up and it was starting to get light. After fiddling with the Sunday times crossword, I gave up and went in search of some warmth. Just my luck, there was a generator powering the infernal speakers. I sat behind it and it simultaneously blasted my legs with warm and air drowned out the speakers. Nirvana!

About 2 hours to go. Time for Froot Loops, bananas, and pretzels. I eagerly downed my breakfast of champions and did a little more reading, but really I was too nervous and excited to read or sit still. By this time, the recordings had changed to one informing us it was nearly time to go to the bridge.

Having opted for lots of stuff, I needed to deposit my gear bag. Making my way through the throng I was met with an immovable object: The vast majority of the 39,000 runners trying to do the same. After waiting not so patiently and not moving anywhere near my baggage car (70, I could see 42 in the distance, giving me some idea of how long it would take me to still never get there) I turned around and decided to part ways with my cheap pens, day old paper, and extra box of cereal. What to do though, with my body glide? It’s a new stick and seemed silly to get rid of it. Fortunately, I managed to fit it inside my pocket. I’ll simply carry it until I meet up with the family and then give it to them. Problem solved.

I made my way to the street and eventually we started walking to the bridge. They walked us between a row of busses and the toll booths. I was totally turned around. I had no idea where the bridge or even NYC was. Then the cannons fired. We were off. Sort of. Quickly we moved around the busses and towards the bridge.

Seeing the Verazzano Narrows bridge ahead of me took my breath away. It was impossibly tall, almost shimmering, surrounded by an early morning haze. The first mile was a tangled mass of bodies, discarded clothing and the view from the bridge. I had no idea how fast I was going, but I was loving every minute. The first mile passed in 8 minutes and some change. Not too bad. It was opening up and I was actually able to get some running room from time to time. The second mile was pretty much all downhill and it was much faster and felt great.

We poured off of the bridge into Brooklyn and the real fun began. The crowds were out, cheering on the runners. They called out names of people who had theirs displayed on their shirts, yelled for foreign countries and gave good encouragement to everyone else.

Brooklyn was a blur of ethnicities, neighborhoods and waterstops. I was feeling good and starting to make up the time I lost in the early miles.

I knew my parents would be somewhere around mile 7. So shortly after the 10-k mark, I stopped slapping hands with every little kid on the side of the road and began scanning the crowd. A few miles later, sure enough, there they were, standing and cheering me, no wait, they didn’t see me at all. I turned around, hugged mom and handed off my body glide. Before they could even react, I was back on the road and heading for Queens.

Queens passed much like Brooklyn did, and I was loving life. I hit the halfway mark at almost exactly 1:45, perfect for a 3:30 finish. I was still running strong, but a little road weary at the thought of another 13.1 miles. Undeterred, I pressed on, telling myself the moment I passed the half, that I had less than 13.1 to go.

Unfortunately, there was a problem in Queens, towards the end. I couldn’t get the theme song from the “hit” television show the King of Queens. Driven nearly to madness, I crossed onto the Queensboro bridge. The voices in my head and the voices from the road subsided and I made my way towards Manhattan. At the end of the bridge, there were some posters psyching us up and then there was the sound. That faint, distant rumble, the unmistakable clamor of thousands of cheering fans.

It grew louder as we descended onto the island. For the next several miles, as we headed north, the crowds were several people thick on both sides, screaming, cheering, and impelling us onward in our quest to conquer the 5 boroughs.

I knew that Marc and my folks were going to be somewhere along the road. I watched the crowds for a few dozen blocks but couldn’t find them. Only after passing where they were, did I realize they were trapped on the other side of the street.

At the end of the road, we stumbled up a bridge and were quickly welcomed to the Bronx. A woman with a bullhorn shouted at us and made us feel welcome. A large television screen was waiting at the end of the street and I watched as everyone mugged for the camera. I did my best as I passed by as well.

As we headed back towards Manhattan, I was starting to feel it. The streets were not coming any faster. When I hit Marcus Garvey Park, I knew I was nearing the end. I zipped around and set my sights on 5^th avenue, which would take me into Central Park.

Much to my surprise and delight, my parents spotted me on 5^th Avenue. I really needed a boost and they gave it to me. Finally, we were entering the park. By this time, I was in all but full shuffle mode. I was slowing down, sore, and there was a strange tingling in my feet and hands. Somehow, I kept going and eventually the end of the park came into sight. I tried to avoid jumping the curb and hurting myself. No matter, my leg cramped up and went into spasm. I walked a few steps and started limping/running again. I fought off cramps for the next few hundred meters, hoping to get to Columbus Circle without further incident.

By this time they were breaking down the remaining distances in hundreds of meters. Good time to rely on the track training. Each hundred meters seemed longer than the last. That was until, 100 meters to go. I put all of my fatigue and pain aside and made a mad dash for the end. I jumped in the air at the finish line and pumped my fist. Man, I’m a dork.