I know it’s cliché, but I love New York. Now I love it even more.
I began my journey to the starting line a full 4 hours
before my start time. At the time, it
seemed like I would have a lot of time to kill before I actually began
running. Standing on the platform,
waiting for the subway, I encountered a local couple who were beginning to be
anxious about how long the next train was taking. I looked at my watch. It was 6:36.
I told them the MTA app I used the night before had told me there would
be a train at 6:38. They looked
relieved. I was kind of proud of myself
for doing the research…and the train did show up at 6:38. But, then, I started wondering why they were
anxious—maybe they had an earlier start time. Nope. Same time as me. But, we still had 3.5 hours to the start, I
reasoned. The subway ride was uneventful—8
stops. We walked to the ferry
terminal. And then, to my horror, I
understood their anxiety. Thousands of
runners trying to get on the same ferry.
These ferries hold 4,000, so I still thought I was OK. Until the 1st ferry filled in about
2 minutes. They announced the next one
would depart in 15 minutes—from a door on the exact opposite side of the
terminal where we were standing. It was
like a mosh pit in there. I stuck with this local couple like glue and hoped we’d
make it onto the next ferry. I imagined
we could go back and forth between these doors for hours, if we weren’t
careful. We made it through the doors
seconds before they closed them and announced the ferry was full. Whew. It
took me the 25 minute ride to remember to breathe again.
Footlocker Welcomes You to Staten Island. Once we arrived on Staten Island, we had a
short walk to the buses. I was impressed
with how many buses there were and how quickly they loaded and pulled
away. I thought, “easy, peasy, we will
be at the runner’s village in a few minutes.”
Nope. Traffic was so tied up it
took nearly an hour to get there. It was
after 9 by the time we got off the bus. It’s
a pretty long walk to the village to which I was assigned. I had to be in my corral by 9:40 when they would
close the doors (aka giant Goodwill bins)—if you don’t make it into the corral,
you have to wait until the next wave.
So, no milling around the runner’s village for me. I got into the corral in plenty of time and
had about 20 minutes to get myself together for the start.
At 10, we began to slowly walk up the hill to the start on
the Verrazano Bridge. Helicopters were
flying overhead, the crowd was getting excited.
The enormity of this race started to sink in. The cannon fired, and we were off. I had decided long before I even made it to
the starting line that I wasn’t going to push for a PR in New York. I wanted to soak in every moment and stay
comfortable for as long as possible. Don’t’
get me wrong, there is nothing easy about a marathon. As the signs say “If running a marathon was
easy, everyone would do it.” But, it is possible to hold back your pace and not
make it a miserable experience. The Verrazano Bridge was not as bad as I had anticipated.
The views, even from the bottom deck were spectacular.
Footlocker Welcomes You to Brooklyn. I spent the next 13
miles “sightseeing” through Brooklyn, enjoying every moment. The crowds were huge and loud. Two hours passed relatively quickly. I slowed down a bit at a party zone to try
and catch a glimpse of Meb Keflezighi running with the elites (it was being
broadcast on a huge screen). I also
tried to wrap my head around the fact that the elites were finishing the whole
course in the time it had taken me to cover nearly half.
Footlocker Welcomes You to Queens. I headed into Queens. The crowds were just as
big. We were only in Queens for a couple of miles. When I saw the Queensboro Bridge (aka Simon
and Garfunkel’s 59th Street Bridge) I was still “feelin’ groovy.” The Queensboro Bridge is where a lot of
runners “hit the wall,” and I was determined that wasn’t happening to me. I slowed down my pace to make the climb. There are no spectators on the bridges, so it
was silent, except for the sound of hundreds of feet slapping the road, heavy
breathing and the occasional gust of wind. As I reached the peak of the climb,
I thought, “huh, not as bad as I was anticipating.” Then I saw a runner
collapsed at my left. Medics were
already there giving him oxygen and an ambulance was making its way up the
other side of the bridge. I said a
quick prayer for him and started the silent descent to the bottom of the
bridge. And then I heard it: a
ROAR. A crowd so big and so loud at the
foot of the bridge on First Avenue, it was exhilarating and disorienting at the
same time.
Footlocker Welcomes You to Manhattan. First Avenue—it’s long. 59th Street, all the way up to 125th
street to the Willis Avenue Bridge. I
was still feeling pretty good, though.
And just trying to get to The Bronx.
One foot in front of the other.
Another bridge—the bridges were starting to get old.
Footlocker Welcomes You to The Bronx. Finally.
Mile 20. I was still plodding along but going fast enough that it was difficult
to stop when a group of us encountered two women trying to cross the course
with strollers. One runner tripped over a
stroller. I stopped far too abruptly and
sent that force up into my IT band.
Uh-oh. Some of the runners used
some unkind words. The women apologized
to me—I offered them grace, regrouped and headed toward “The Last Damn Bridge.” There was a woman on that bridge holding a
sign that said that. It made me laugh.
Footlocker Welcomes You to Manhattan!! Finally.
Headed toward the finish-- 5th Avenue through East Harlem and
the Upper East Side and then Central Park.
People screaming my name. I was
getting tired. I thought I would be excited when I finally reached Central
Park. I wasn’t. So many hills. So close to the finish, but it felt so
far. My IT band started talking to
me. I really don’t remember much about
Central Park, except that I was digging really deep. The pictures of me in the park are pretty
intense. I remember running around Columbus Circle and heading up a long hill
to the finish. The FINISH. I saw it and picked up my pace. And just like that, I was finished. Wait.
I’m done?!?! It went too
quickly!! Granted, I'm not quick,
but, it sure went by more quickly than it ever has before. Then, I heard the clanking and swishing sound
of the medals being pulled off their stands and onto runners—if you’ve ever
been at a finish line, you know that glorious sound I’m talking about. And then the crinkling and rustling of the Mylar
blankets being placed around runners’ shoulders.
The race ended with the same crush of people with which it began. We had to wind our way another half mile, or
so, to get out of the park. There were
Red Cross spotters (truly, that’s what their badges said) everywhere, looking
for people who showed signs of distress.
I pulled out my phone to let Scott know I was finished and was making my
way to the family meetup area. I was
shocked to see 15 text messages and another 10 Facebook notifications of people
congratulating me. Everyone already knew
I had finished! I had no idea so many
people were tracking me. I learned my
neighbors had been group texting about my progress all day. And then I lost it. Sobbing there in a sea of runners and Red Cross spotters. So
grateful for all of my cheerleaders. You
were all there at that finish with me.
What an amazing, amazing day. Not my fastest race, but, by
far, the most enjoyable. I left my Garmin running—by the time we reached the
hotel, I had logged over 30 miles. 30 miles! Each neighborhood had its own diverse vibe. I saw gospel choirs, Hasidic Jews headed to
work and school, children giving high fives, partiers, congregations stepping
out from worship to cheer on runners, a Presbyterian church founded by an
abolitionist, an LGBT marching band, drumming circles, choirs and bands of schoolchildren, all
races and nationalities—a snapshot of all that is wonderful about NYC. So many stories. And runners of all abilities—fast, slow, celebrities,
visually impaired with guides, wheelchairs, people using walkers—all inspiring. All of us trying to get to Central Park. Some of
those marathoners crossed the finish in the dark, long after I had showered,
eaten and iced my legs down. That takes
strength.
The next day at Penn Station, someone asked me if I’d do it
again. The course and spectators? In a heartbeat. It is a tough course. All of those bridges mean it’s a hilly
course. But, I loved nearly every minute
of it. The logistics of getting to the
start and getting out at the finish? I didn’t
love that so much. That’s part of the
experience, though. Given the logistics, would I run it again? Probably not (probably). Maybe not (maybe).
