NYC Marathon Recap
It's been over 72 hours since I crossed the finish line of my first New York City Marathon and I'm still completely immersed in the experience. People want to hear all about it, I want to shout from the rooftops about it (if only I could climb up there...still a bit sore) and I've spent many a moment, usually when I'm supposed to be doing something else, trying to conjure up a way to possibly capture it.
Basically, I wanna wrap my arms around all of New York and give it the biggest hug ever.
If you're walking around New York right now because you live there, or work there, or stare at it from New Jersey somewhere, stop what you're doing and ponder the following: Your city has a secret. It's incredible.
To my dear family and friends who donated toward my Team for Kids fundraising:
Thank you so very much for supporting me in a truly inspiring life event. This was something I'll never ever forget doing and having your encouragement in my back pocket made it that much more worthwhile. I had full support from the program from the time I signed up through today when I'm still getting tips about recovery. Their training plan was highly valuable and coaches were available at my fingertips. I was also part of what seemed like the best "perks" of the marathon...including a heated tent at both the start and the finish and plenty of very nice volunteers with superb organization and logistics. I would most definitely participate with this group again in the future. Your funding is going to good use.
There were 1700 Team for Kids charity runners like myself. Between the 1700 of us, we raised Five Million dollars for youth running programs across the country. This was a significantly higher amount than last year.
I got to attend a breakfast on Saturday morning and meet the directors, coaches, a few Olympian and elite runners, as well as a few kids from the program who spoke very straightforwardly about what the program meant to them. One little boy said that, "I like running because it makes me feel good about myself." Enough said.
This was my fourth full marathon. I'm not going to bore you with details about the first three, other than to say that they were all unique experiences with their own challenges and rewards. This one was different and felt different from the moment I first applied for the lottery two years ago. There's something about even considering it that feels more big deal-y than applying for the other ones. It's New York. Big deal-y things happen there. If you're like me, you immediately begin considering where and if you fit into the big deal-y picture.
I talked to a girl in the Team for Kids start tent who declared, a little tentatively - leaving room for a possible change of heart at the finish - that she didn't think she'd ever do NYC again. I laughed because it was a thought that I was familiar with and I instantly felt a little less crazy. The truth is, I had been feeling completely radical crazy for weeks. All because of dozens of daily and weekly decisions and thoughts and actions that had gotten me to that particular start tent sitting on a trash bag on the ground wearing at least two layers of clothing over my entire body, still shivering, contemplating whether I should use both my liquid band-aid and Vaseline or just the Vaseline, and had I actually gone to the trouble to ask the custodian at my school if I could have a clear trash bag to take to NY with me? Why didn't he ask me what on Earth I was up to? How advanced crazy am I that a request of that nature doesn't even raise an eyebrow?
It was then that the girl began telling me all about her own blister and toenail issues. I was relieved...See? This is where you go to talk about your feet. Not that crazy.
I had actually been exerting a lot of energy trying not to care that I cared so much about it all. That alone was exhausting. Hearing someone else who, in only a few words, sounded like she too had parted with a portion of her sanity, well, was comforting.
This was honestly the most nervous I've gotten for an event, period, since my percussion senior recital in college. The two things are polar opposites but the preparation timeline, effort scale, and mental and emotional investment are actually quite similar. Both are about 4-5 months of planning, practicing (training), and both have lots of details - some of which you can control, and some of which you cannot - that you're doing constant evaluation and consideration and can drive yourself (and your lucky family members, coworkers, and random cashiers at Target or 7-11) into a big puddle of nerves.
I trained perfectly (well, pretty darn close to perfect) for this one. That is, until about 4 weeks before the race when what I thought was a little, manageable spell of plantar fasciitis spiked into a very painful, bigger spell of plantar fasciitis. The kind where you can barely walk, have to wear your running shoes basically all of the time (even just to walk to the kitchen and back) and eventually, see an orthopedic for advice. Had it not been for Matt and a few coworkers urging, I would've never stepped foot in a doctor's office, since I was certain the nice, highly educated man would simply tell me to call it quits.
I would also most likely not be writing this...
If you ever find yourself in the situation of opting for a doctor-recommended cortisone shot in the bottom of your foot (another sign you just might be crazy), you should just bring your list of questions, concerns, fears to the appointment with you and, like I did, go over all of it together until you can convince yourself of some sort of decision. Then...say it with me... stay off the internet. Be one of those people who give up all technology, eat granola, and live in the woods somewhere. Don't read stuff about what could possibly happen if or when you possibly do something that is sorta like the guy who had something sorta similar to what you might be dealing with and throw all available reason out the window. Just don't. Focus on other stuff, like how to balance a spoon on your nose or something more pressing.
This was also the most hyped event I've ever been a part of, and definitely the largest. Over 50,000 runners. A few Olympians and others who will likely be Olympians soon. Meb, who won this year's Boston Marathon. Deena Kastor. Tennis star Caroline Wozniaki. Many other celebrities or wives and/or husbands of celebrities. These are all people who would be at the same race on the same day, reading the same emails, going to the same expo, getting the same tech shirt, and wearing the same medal. It seemed that every time I opened my email, Facebook, Runners World, New Yorker, YouTube, or anything media-related in the last three weeks...I'd see an article about the marathon. I was trying to load a video for the kids at school when YouTube began playing (as an ad) the "Get Your New York On" campaign video. I may or may not have gasped and pretended to have a reason not to skip it.
And the hype was nothing compared to the actual event. To say this race delivers is a major understatement. There's just nothing like it. Just the business of getting out to Staten Island was like something out of a movie. You wake up before dawn, layer up, meticulously pack what you need, try to convince your husband to go over the checklist with you one more time even though you're already saying it out loud, meet your bus or ferry (I boarded at the NY Public Library, about 5 blocks from our hotel) and enjoy a police-escorted, hundreds-deep bus caravan across Manhattan, through the Carey tunnel and eventually over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge where we'd all be starting the race soon.
On the bridge in the bus you get an idea of the view you'll enjoy at the start, but...
The start. Oh my goodness. I teared up. Completely involuntary. I figured that might happen at the end, not the beginning. I'm still tearing up thinking about it three days later. I was in the last (slowest) wave to start, so I didn't start until 10:55 (11:01 actually. About 13,000 people and I, that is, just in my corral for that particular wave.) You might think they wouldn't bother with the cannon or the huge hoopla when you're in the last wave. You'd be wrong. The cannon fires, people are shouting and cheering, high-fiving, shedding their outer layers of warm-up clothes, and as I looked around me - every single person I saw was grinning ear-to-ear. People all around me are now saying beautiful things to each other, to strangers, to volunteers, to NYPD officers, telling them how grateful they are, how what we're all about to do will stay with us forever. All this, and we're not even within 500 yards of the start line yet.
And I don't care how cheesy you think Frank Sinatra is, when you hear "New York, New York" blaring so loudly that you hear it bouncing off the Hudson from all directions and then see the amazing New York harbor, Statue of Liberty, Freedom Tower, the Empire State Building, and basically *the* American dream all laid out for you with gorgeous unobstructed views, it's letting you in on the secret. New York City is incredible.
There's also the undeniable sense of "why can't I even see Central Park yet?...how in the world are we ever gonna get there? From all the way out here?"
There was an actual wind advisory that day with gusts up to 25-30 MPH, but all I could think about on that bridge was how Bart Yasso calls it one of the most amazing starts in sports. Honestly, had the race ended at the end of the bridge, it would have been worth it for the excitement factor alone. Other groups' running coaches were shouting things, "this is what you've worked for! this is all yours!". I usually roll my eyes at stuff like this, but flashes of all those early Saturday mornings on the W&OD trail came to mind.
I had to rework most, if not all, of my previous goals and ideas about what my ideal finish time and pacing would be, due to my foot. This is really hard to do (at least for me) when you've been at it for months, are otherwise in the best shape of your life, and know you have a valid chance if you could somehow safely avoid severe pain (from injury, not just normal marathon pain which is unavoidable). I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still contemplating trying to push into my original pace goal while waiting in the corrals, despite the fact that my last successful long run was seven weeks ago (and I was only able to run three short times the entire month of October) and my right foot was this big unknown factor as to whether it would spike up again or worse, do all those things that you promised not to ever read about on the internet.
And then, once I crossed the bridge, elated with gratitude that I was granted that sole experience, this whole zen moment washed over me. One of my mantras for the early part of the race was "Run light, embrace peace." (Runners World put out a great article for how to come up with your own mantra or steal someone else's - read more here) So, as I was concentrating on that and focusing on what my foot felt like (just in case I was too excited to notice it falling off or something), I was rounding the corner and was hit with this beautiful moment of what seemed like thousands of people, screaming, waving signs that said, "Welcome to Brooklyn. We love you!" There seems to be a band on just about every street corner, blaring all kinds of different music so loud that I couldn't even hear my own playlist or split times on full volume in my earbuds. This later turned out to be a blessing because the zen carried me through enough to not care that my playlist got all kinds of messed up and would only play in shuffle mode, resulting in hearing songs intended for much later in miles 3-5 and bargaining with myself over how much energy I would spend digging out my phone to fix it in Spotify. Luckily I was a changed, post-Verrazano bridge, newly zenned out runner who didn't care.
I know my friend George is laughing, because he knows how much I would normally care. Some people have running buddies, I have my playlist. I teach elementary music for a living; listening to music without getting interrupted or having to interrupt it myself to teach something is a luxury I have to create for myself. So the playlist is important, usually. Important enough to spend weeks tweaking it to extremely high standards. During my last marathon in 2011, my iPod Shuffle died in mile 23 (despite my charging it for approximately 42 days prior) and you would've thought it was a national crisis. But I can assure you, this time, I did not care. New York is that incredible and this is one way it lets you know.
I was also suddenly so grateful to just be running that I was able to actually calm down for the first time in weeks and just enjoy it. Every once in a while I'd hear (barely) a split time and think I should try to go a little faster, but my mantra was doing its magic and I would have the stronger pull of, "it's all going to be OK. Just pace yourself enough to be able to access the happiness of it all. You might surprise yourself later, or not, but either way - it's all OK and you're OK, and here's Brooklyn."
Brooklyn is awesome. Really really. I had this notion that it'd be ugly and sad, but it's far from either. This was the beginning of when I was so thankful I had read somewhere (and agreed) to put my name on my shirt in big letters. Again, I am not naturally a showy, "look at me!" person, so this was a stretch that paid off immensely. Because of this small effort, this was mentally the easiest long-distance race I have ever run. If ever I was beginning to get distracted by muscle pain and fatigue, I'd merge over towards the edge (you had your choice of sides since both were mobbed with spectators) and because this is the best race ever, just about everyone would shout your name and not just shout it, but say something else awesome and encouraging and loud and funny and smile huge smiles and high-five you, and fist-pump and generally give you one big lump-in-your-throat inducing warm fuzzy for miles on end.
There were hundreds of great signs that I'm so glad someone captured in this article so I can look at them and remember whenever I want.
Brooklyn was also where I luckily saw Matt. I say luckily because despite planning out just about everything else, we had only a very loose plan of where he might be as a spectator and where I might see him. Good thing he's tall. And one of the best people ever. (If you're friends with me on FB, you may have seen my post from the morning of Oct. 31 about his role in getting me to this thing you're all reading about...if you're still reading...thank you if you are!)
After Brooklyn was Queens, and it was more of the same, just for a shorter period of time (Brooklyn was basically from mile 2 - 10). Then it was time for the Queensboro Bridge for miles 15-16. This was the first time I found myself walking, and it was not even really intentional or planned but the wind gusts combined with a decently long incline sorta took over. But remember, I didn't care because I was suddenly Buddhist or something and I had a very sensible conversation with myself and enjoyed about a minute of walking. Then, I felt fine and was able to run again until a little after mile 18, although slower than before (but still not caring). This stretch had the famous entrance into Manhattan, where I had read and heard that you'll never forget what's waiting for you once you cross the bridge into the city on 1st Avenue. And, because this is the one thing in life where the hype is as real as ever, they're right. It's a wall of sound. If Chris Martin from Coldplay had been there, he'd have done one of those elaborate, slinging his body around moves to bounce around between it. It's OK, I love Coldplay, but because I didn't care about my playlist I just got to enjoy visualizing about them instead of actually listening to them, as originally planned. The only time I can remember seeing more people lining the streets of New York is for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but they're not screaming like this for the balloons like they are for the runners. Even runners like me who are going at what likely looked like snails pace. It was unreal. These people had likely been standing in the gusty winds for at least four hours and it was as if the race started with us by the barometer of their enthusiasm.
This was also the part when I had the happy realization that my foot was going to hold up and that even if it didn't and something drastically changed at that point, I'd still be able to limp it out if I had to. Ironically, because I'm an expert worry-wart, the only thing that never hurt at all during the entire thing (and still doesn't) is the bottom of my right foot. I think it's due to my new-found chi, but I'm still going to send a nice note to Dr. Lane and to whoever invented cortisone.
Next up was the Bronx. I don't remember much except that it actually did look a little ugly and sad. (Sorry, Bronx. I only saw about a mile of you.) The people were still great, and I was mostly bargaining for walk breaks at this point which was taking a lot of concentration. I believe this was also when one of the bands yelled my name over their microphone, accompanied by "hey, they wrote a song about you!..." The least-annoying time I've heard that reference.
And now, we enter the park of all parks, the only part of the race that I had any sort of prior visual connection or mental imagery to focus on in advance. The park where Matt and I went on our first ever trip together. The park where he asked me to marry him. The park where big deal-y stuff happens.
It's mid-fall. One advantage to being in the last wave and being as slow-but-indifferent as I was, is that at this point, it's getting dusky out. It's also the day that Daylight Savings Time ended, but the beauty of that is that instead of being holed up inside on the verge of tears all day about that fact -instead, I was running the NYC Marathon. So it's not totally dusk, but a subtle hint of its transition. The sun is lower in the sky and you see shiny rays of light between half-fallen leaves and the wind is blowing things into those playful, swirly trains every now and then and you almost just can't take any more perfectly-adorable-autumn-scene-in-every-NYC-movie stuff.
Then you remember you're running a marathon. If your mind forgets, your legs remind you. That pain that somehow I forget about in between doing these things from year to year. The kind where it feels like things won't bend anymore or like they're permanently stuck in such a way that I find myself looking down at my legs to see if one of my knees is indeed facing backwards or sticking out of one side, since it would seem that way based on the feel of just about every foot-strike. And you tell yourself, "it all looks okay...I wonder why it feels like that", as if you've just mistakenly put your pants on backwards rather than what you've actually been doing for 23 miles.
The crowds from here on out were just...so so wonderful. The NYPD was out in full force and even they were rooting for you. The volunteers at every.single.water.stop. were the nicest, most thorough I've ever seen. They had to have been freezing. NYRR (New York Road Runners) gave them really nice green full-length ponchos to wear and you could just sense that they were being treated well and very professionally and it showed in the way they in turn treated us. Everyone I received water or Gatorade from made deliberate eye contact with me, smiled, and said something encouraging, even if it was just "here you go! Good luck!" One girl said, "keep on keeping on, Angie." in this slow, calm, sing-songy voice that made me laugh and then she laughed and I basically think we're BFFs now. And it was so organized and stocked that you could easily keep running and get what you needed with no traffic jams. There was never a hint that they would run out of anything.
I honestly don't remember mile markers for 24 and 25, but the whole thing was just perfect with the dusk and the crowds as far as the eye could see, and the trees. At this point, I was aware that I'd need a miracle (a small one relatively, but still a miracle) to get under 5 hours, which was my original training goal prior to the foot injury. I also didn't really know what my time was, since my GPS app crapped out somewhere around mile 17ish and wasn't entirely accurate up to that point either. Santa, if you're reading, let's change the plan from a Swatch to a Garmin. So, I somehow knew that I could PR as long as I stayed under 5:12:something and again, another zen moment of cool...that's totally possible, I think...washed over me and that was the last time I had any thoughts about time (somewhere in mile 25 or so).
The big moment suddenly began...the course was spitting us back out of the park for the brief turns around Columbus Circle (another famous spot for its spectators, as if we could rightfully ask for anything more than what we'd already gotten all day) before turning back into the park at mile 26 and for the last 0.2 finish. I saw the huge tilted silver globe at Columbus Circle and, as if the universe just knew something I didn't, Spotify froze up leaving me officially without music for the finishing stretch. Normally, this would be the kind of thing that would cause a conniption fit inside my head. I hugged the far left, sensing there were more people on that side, and I have never heard anything louder than the screaming on Central Park South. I had planned on trying to give myself a tiny break to try to leave something for the end (in my mind I thought I might be able to sprint the last 0.2...ha!) but the crowds....
I saw the huge TV cranes with the massive cameras and photographers and mile marker 26. We were now back in the park and in what always feels like slow motion at the end of a marathon. I see the grandstand seats, and the whole street on both sides is draped in the logo tape with the huge, "Get Your Victory On", "Get Your Celebration On" and "Get Your Proud On" banners and there are flags from a zillion countries flapping in the wind and it's the image I've seen on TV and videos and you just can't believe you've somehow gotten there all the way from Staten Island and you see the huge, huge clock up ahead and the colorful painted finish strip on the road, and everyone around you is smiling and everyone up ahead facing you is too and NYPD people are clapping and nodding in that way that cops do. Banners hang above you with pictures of former NYC Marathon notables, and the statue of Fred Lebow who co-founded the marathon is in sight on your left and he's checking his watch...
And before you know it, you're across the colors and New York slowly pulls back from its 26.2 mile embrace.
To read a great profile piece from the New Yorker on a few highlights, including the one millionth finisher and how running a marathon is a collaboration...click here.
To read a great story that will make you stop saying that New Yorkers are selfish and mean...click here.
For more stories about other amazing things that happened to the other 50,563 runners and some great pictures of it all...click here.
For a look into very inspirational reasons why the average Joe/Jane takes on 26.2 or why they take on this particular version of 26.2...click here.
Basically, I wanna wrap my arms around all of New York and give it the biggest hug ever.
I'm not the spontaneous, walk up and hug you type. I save most of my hugs for the closest of the close so they can really count. So this is kinda a big deal.
If you're walking around New York right now because you live there, or work there, or stare at it from New Jersey somewhere, stop what you're doing and ponder the following: Your city has a secret. It's incredible.
To my dear family and friends who donated toward my Team for Kids fundraising:
Thank you so very much for supporting me in a truly inspiring life event. This was something I'll never ever forget doing and having your encouragement in my back pocket made it that much more worthwhile. I had full support from the program from the time I signed up through today when I'm still getting tips about recovery. Their training plan was highly valuable and coaches were available at my fingertips. I was also part of what seemed like the best "perks" of the marathon...including a heated tent at both the start and the finish and plenty of very nice volunteers with superb organization and logistics. I would most definitely participate with this group again in the future. Your funding is going to good use.
There were 1700 Team for Kids charity runners like myself. Between the 1700 of us, we raised Five Million dollars for youth running programs across the country. This was a significantly higher amount than last year.
I got to attend a breakfast on Saturday morning and meet the directors, coaches, a few Olympian and elite runners, as well as a few kids from the program who spoke very straightforwardly about what the program meant to them. One little boy said that, "I like running because it makes me feel good about myself." Enough said.
This was my fourth full marathon. I'm not going to bore you with details about the first three, other than to say that they were all unique experiences with their own challenges and rewards. This one was different and felt different from the moment I first applied for the lottery two years ago. There's something about even considering it that feels more big deal-y than applying for the other ones. It's New York. Big deal-y things happen there. If you're like me, you immediately begin considering where and if you fit into the big deal-y picture.
I talked to a girl in the Team for Kids start tent who declared, a little tentatively - leaving room for a possible change of heart at the finish - that she didn't think she'd ever do NYC again. I laughed because it was a thought that I was familiar with and I instantly felt a little less crazy. The truth is, I had been feeling completely radical crazy for weeks. All because of dozens of daily and weekly decisions and thoughts and actions that had gotten me to that particular start tent sitting on a trash bag on the ground wearing at least two layers of clothing over my entire body, still shivering, contemplating whether I should use both my liquid band-aid and Vaseline or just the Vaseline, and had I actually gone to the trouble to ask the custodian at my school if I could have a clear trash bag to take to NY with me? Why didn't he ask me what on Earth I was up to? How advanced crazy am I that a request of that nature doesn't even raise an eyebrow?
It was then that the girl began telling me all about her own blister and toenail issues. I was relieved...See? This is where you go to talk about your feet. Not that crazy.
I had actually been exerting a lot of energy trying not to care that I cared so much about it all. That alone was exhausting. Hearing someone else who, in only a few words, sounded like she too had parted with a portion of her sanity, well, was comforting.
This was honestly the most nervous I've gotten for an event, period, since my percussion senior recital in college. The two things are polar opposites but the preparation timeline, effort scale, and mental and emotional investment are actually quite similar. Both are about 4-5 months of planning, practicing (training), and both have lots of details - some of which you can control, and some of which you cannot - that you're doing constant evaluation and consideration and can drive yourself (and your lucky family members, coworkers, and random cashiers at Target or 7-11) into a big puddle of nerves.
I trained perfectly (well, pretty darn close to perfect) for this one. That is, until about 4 weeks before the race when what I thought was a little, manageable spell of plantar fasciitis spiked into a very painful, bigger spell of plantar fasciitis. The kind where you can barely walk, have to wear your running shoes basically all of the time (even just to walk to the kitchen and back) and eventually, see an orthopedic for advice. Had it not been for Matt and a few coworkers urging, I would've never stepped foot in a doctor's office, since I was certain the nice, highly educated man would simply tell me to call it quits.
I would also most likely not be writing this...
If you ever find yourself in the situation of opting for a doctor-recommended cortisone shot in the bottom of your foot (another sign you just might be crazy), you should just bring your list of questions, concerns, fears to the appointment with you and, like I did, go over all of it together until you can convince yourself of some sort of decision. Then...say it with me... stay off the internet. Be one of those people who give up all technology, eat granola, and live in the woods somewhere. Don't read stuff about what could possibly happen if or when you possibly do something that is sorta like the guy who had something sorta similar to what you might be dealing with and throw all available reason out the window. Just don't. Focus on other stuff, like how to balance a spoon on your nose or something more pressing.
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| Here's me doubting the entire thing and feeling like a big phony who would probably soon be on crutches or something equally horrible because she's stubborn. |
This was also the most hyped event I've ever been a part of, and definitely the largest. Over 50,000 runners. A few Olympians and others who will likely be Olympians soon. Meb, who won this year's Boston Marathon. Deena Kastor. Tennis star Caroline Wozniaki. Many other celebrities or wives and/or husbands of celebrities. These are all people who would be at the same race on the same day, reading the same emails, going to the same expo, getting the same tech shirt, and wearing the same medal. It seemed that every time I opened my email, Facebook, Runners World, New Yorker, YouTube, or anything media-related in the last three weeks...I'd see an article about the marathon. I was trying to load a video for the kids at school when YouTube began playing (as an ad) the "Get Your New York On" campaign video. I may or may not have gasped and pretended to have a reason not to skip it.
And the hype was nothing compared to the actual event. To say this race delivers is a major understatement. There's just nothing like it. Just the business of getting out to Staten Island was like something out of a movie. You wake up before dawn, layer up, meticulously pack what you need, try to convince your husband to go over the checklist with you one more time even though you're already saying it out loud, meet your bus or ferry (I boarded at the NY Public Library, about 5 blocks from our hotel) and enjoy a police-escorted, hundreds-deep bus caravan across Manhattan, through the Carey tunnel and eventually over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge where we'd all be starting the race soon.
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| I'm in that line somewhere. |
On the bridge in the bus you get an idea of the view you'll enjoy at the start, but...
The start. Oh my goodness. I teared up. Completely involuntary. I figured that might happen at the end, not the beginning. I'm still tearing up thinking about it three days later. I was in the last (slowest) wave to start, so I didn't start until 10:55 (11:01 actually. About 13,000 people and I, that is, just in my corral for that particular wave.) You might think they wouldn't bother with the cannon or the huge hoopla when you're in the last wave. You'd be wrong. The cannon fires, people are shouting and cheering, high-fiving, shedding their outer layers of warm-up clothes, and as I looked around me - every single person I saw was grinning ear-to-ear. People all around me are now saying beautiful things to each other, to strangers, to volunteers, to NYPD officers, telling them how grateful they are, how what we're all about to do will stay with us forever. All this, and we're not even within 500 yards of the start line yet.
And I don't care how cheesy you think Frank Sinatra is, when you hear "New York, New York" blaring so loudly that you hear it bouncing off the Hudson from all directions and then see the amazing New York harbor, Statue of Liberty, Freedom Tower, the Empire State Building, and basically *the* American dream all laid out for you with gorgeous unobstructed views, it's letting you in on the secret. New York City is incredible.
There's also the undeniable sense of "why can't I even see Central Park yet?...how in the world are we ever gonna get there? From all the way out here?"
There was an actual wind advisory that day with gusts up to 25-30 MPH, but all I could think about on that bridge was how Bart Yasso calls it one of the most amazing starts in sports. Honestly, had the race ended at the end of the bridge, it would have been worth it for the excitement factor alone. Other groups' running coaches were shouting things, "this is what you've worked for! this is all yours!". I usually roll my eyes at stuff like this, but flashes of all those early Saturday mornings on the W&OD trail came to mind.
I had to rework most, if not all, of my previous goals and ideas about what my ideal finish time and pacing would be, due to my foot. This is really hard to do (at least for me) when you've been at it for months, are otherwise in the best shape of your life, and know you have a valid chance if you could somehow safely avoid severe pain (from injury, not just normal marathon pain which is unavoidable). I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still contemplating trying to push into my original pace goal while waiting in the corrals, despite the fact that my last successful long run was seven weeks ago (and I was only able to run three short times the entire month of October) and my right foot was this big unknown factor as to whether it would spike up again or worse, do all those things that you promised not to ever read about on the internet.
And then, once I crossed the bridge, elated with gratitude that I was granted that sole experience, this whole zen moment washed over me. One of my mantras for the early part of the race was "Run light, embrace peace." (Runners World put out a great article for how to come up with your own mantra or steal someone else's - read more here) So, as I was concentrating on that and focusing on what my foot felt like (just in case I was too excited to notice it falling off or something), I was rounding the corner and was hit with this beautiful moment of what seemed like thousands of people, screaming, waving signs that said, "Welcome to Brooklyn. We love you!" There seems to be a band on just about every street corner, blaring all kinds of different music so loud that I couldn't even hear my own playlist or split times on full volume in my earbuds. This later turned out to be a blessing because the zen carried me through enough to not care that my playlist got all kinds of messed up and would only play in shuffle mode, resulting in hearing songs intended for much later in miles 3-5 and bargaining with myself over how much energy I would spend digging out my phone to fix it in Spotify. Luckily I was a changed, post-Verrazano bridge, newly zenned out runner who didn't care.
I know my friend George is laughing, because he knows how much I would normally care. Some people have running buddies, I have my playlist. I teach elementary music for a living; listening to music without getting interrupted or having to interrupt it myself to teach something is a luxury I have to create for myself. So the playlist is important, usually. Important enough to spend weeks tweaking it to extremely high standards. During my last marathon in 2011, my iPod Shuffle died in mile 23 (despite my charging it for approximately 42 days prior) and you would've thought it was a national crisis. But I can assure you, this time, I did not care. New York is that incredible and this is one way it lets you know.
I was also suddenly so grateful to just be running that I was able to actually calm down for the first time in weeks and just enjoy it. Every once in a while I'd hear (barely) a split time and think I should try to go a little faster, but my mantra was doing its magic and I would have the stronger pull of, "it's all going to be OK. Just pace yourself enough to be able to access the happiness of it all. You might surprise yourself later, or not, but either way - it's all OK and you're OK, and here's Brooklyn."
Brooklyn is awesome. Really really. I had this notion that it'd be ugly and sad, but it's far from either. This was the beginning of when I was so thankful I had read somewhere (and agreed) to put my name on my shirt in big letters. Again, I am not naturally a showy, "look at me!" person, so this was a stretch that paid off immensely. Because of this small effort, this was mentally the easiest long-distance race I have ever run. If ever I was beginning to get distracted by muscle pain and fatigue, I'd merge over towards the edge (you had your choice of sides since both were mobbed with spectators) and because this is the best race ever, just about everyone would shout your name and not just shout it, but say something else awesome and encouraging and loud and funny and smile huge smiles and high-five you, and fist-pump and generally give you one big lump-in-your-throat inducing warm fuzzy for miles on end.
There were hundreds of great signs that I'm so glad someone captured in this article so I can look at them and remember whenever I want.
Brooklyn was also where I luckily saw Matt. I say luckily because despite planning out just about everything else, we had only a very loose plan of where he might be as a spectator and where I might see him. Good thing he's tall. And one of the best people ever. (If you're friends with me on FB, you may have seen my post from the morning of Oct. 31 about his role in getting me to this thing you're all reading about...if you're still reading...thank you if you are!)
After Brooklyn was Queens, and it was more of the same, just for a shorter period of time (Brooklyn was basically from mile 2 - 10). Then it was time for the Queensboro Bridge for miles 15-16. This was the first time I found myself walking, and it was not even really intentional or planned but the wind gusts combined with a decently long incline sorta took over. But remember, I didn't care because I was suddenly Buddhist or something and I had a very sensible conversation with myself and enjoyed about a minute of walking. Then, I felt fine and was able to run again until a little after mile 18, although slower than before (but still not caring). This stretch had the famous entrance into Manhattan, where I had read and heard that you'll never forget what's waiting for you once you cross the bridge into the city on 1st Avenue. And, because this is the one thing in life where the hype is as real as ever, they're right. It's a wall of sound. If Chris Martin from Coldplay had been there, he'd have done one of those elaborate, slinging his body around moves to bounce around between it. It's OK, I love Coldplay, but because I didn't care about my playlist I just got to enjoy visualizing about them instead of actually listening to them, as originally planned. The only time I can remember seeing more people lining the streets of New York is for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but they're not screaming like this for the balloons like they are for the runners. Even runners like me who are going at what likely looked like snails pace. It was unreal. These people had likely been standing in the gusty winds for at least four hours and it was as if the race started with us by the barometer of their enthusiasm.
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| Did I mention there was a whole team of blind runners with guides who ran next to them the whole time??? |
This was also the part when I had the happy realization that my foot was going to hold up and that even if it didn't and something drastically changed at that point, I'd still be able to limp it out if I had to. Ironically, because I'm an expert worry-wart, the only thing that never hurt at all during the entire thing (and still doesn't) is the bottom of my right foot. I think it's due to my new-found chi, but I'm still going to send a nice note to Dr. Lane and to whoever invented cortisone.
Next up was the Bronx. I don't remember much except that it actually did look a little ugly and sad. (Sorry, Bronx. I only saw about a mile of you.) The people were still great, and I was mostly bargaining for walk breaks at this point which was taking a lot of concentration. I believe this was also when one of the bands yelled my name over their microphone, accompanied by "hey, they wrote a song about you!..." The least-annoying time I've heard that reference.
And now, we enter the park of all parks, the only part of the race that I had any sort of prior visual connection or mental imagery to focus on in advance. The park where Matt and I went on our first ever trip together. The park where he asked me to marry him. The park where big deal-y stuff happens.
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It's mid-fall. One advantage to being in the last wave and being as slow-but-indifferent as I was, is that at this point, it's getting dusky out. It's also the day that Daylight Savings Time ended, but the beauty of that is that instead of being holed up inside on the verge of tears all day about that fact -instead, I was running the NYC Marathon. So it's not totally dusk, but a subtle hint of its transition. The sun is lower in the sky and you see shiny rays of light between half-fallen leaves and the wind is blowing things into those playful, swirly trains every now and then and you almost just can't take any more perfectly-adorable-autumn-scene-in-every-NYC-movie stuff.
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| stuff like this. |
Then you remember you're running a marathon. If your mind forgets, your legs remind you. That pain that somehow I forget about in between doing these things from year to year. The kind where it feels like things won't bend anymore or like they're permanently stuck in such a way that I find myself looking down at my legs to see if one of my knees is indeed facing backwards or sticking out of one side, since it would seem that way based on the feel of just about every foot-strike. And you tell yourself, "it all looks okay...I wonder why it feels like that", as if you've just mistakenly put your pants on backwards rather than what you've actually been doing for 23 miles.
The crowds from here on out were just...so so wonderful. The NYPD was out in full force and even they were rooting for you. The volunteers at every.single.water.stop. were the nicest, most thorough I've ever seen. They had to have been freezing. NYRR (New York Road Runners) gave them really nice green full-length ponchos to wear and you could just sense that they were being treated well and very professionally and it showed in the way they in turn treated us. Everyone I received water or Gatorade from made deliberate eye contact with me, smiled, and said something encouraging, even if it was just "here you go! Good luck!" One girl said, "keep on keeping on, Angie." in this slow, calm, sing-songy voice that made me laugh and then she laughed and I basically think we're BFFs now. And it was so organized and stocked that you could easily keep running and get what you needed with no traffic jams. There was never a hint that they would run out of anything.
I honestly don't remember mile markers for 24 and 25, but the whole thing was just perfect with the dusk and the crowds as far as the eye could see, and the trees. At this point, I was aware that I'd need a miracle (a small one relatively, but still a miracle) to get under 5 hours, which was my original training goal prior to the foot injury. I also didn't really know what my time was, since my GPS app crapped out somewhere around mile 17ish and wasn't entirely accurate up to that point either. Santa, if you're reading, let's change the plan from a Swatch to a Garmin. So, I somehow knew that I could PR as long as I stayed under 5:12:something and again, another zen moment of cool...that's totally possible, I think...washed over me and that was the last time I had any thoughts about time (somewhere in mile 25 or so).
The big moment suddenly began...the course was spitting us back out of the park for the brief turns around Columbus Circle (another famous spot for its spectators, as if we could rightfully ask for anything more than what we'd already gotten all day) before turning back into the park at mile 26 and for the last 0.2 finish. I saw the huge tilted silver globe at Columbus Circle and, as if the universe just knew something I didn't, Spotify froze up leaving me officially without music for the finishing stretch. Normally, this would be the kind of thing that would cause a conniption fit inside my head. I hugged the far left, sensing there were more people on that side, and I have never heard anything louder than the screaming on Central Park South. I had planned on trying to give myself a tiny break to try to leave something for the end (in my mind I thought I might be able to sprint the last 0.2...ha!) but the crowds....
I saw the huge TV cranes with the massive cameras and photographers and mile marker 26. We were now back in the park and in what always feels like slow motion at the end of a marathon. I see the grandstand seats, and the whole street on both sides is draped in the logo tape with the huge, "Get Your Victory On", "Get Your Celebration On" and "Get Your Proud On" banners and there are flags from a zillion countries flapping in the wind and it's the image I've seen on TV and videos and you just can't believe you've somehow gotten there all the way from Staten Island and you see the huge, huge clock up ahead and the colorful painted finish strip on the road, and everyone around you is smiling and everyone up ahead facing you is too and NYPD people are clapping and nodding in that way that cops do. Banners hang above you with pictures of former NYC Marathon notables, and the statue of Fred Lebow who co-founded the marathon is in sight on your left and he's checking his watch...
And before you know it, you're across the colors and New York slowly pulls back from its 26.2 mile embrace.
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| This poncho is so nice that I might wear it out in public. |
To read a great profile piece from the New Yorker on a few highlights, including the one millionth finisher and how running a marathon is a collaboration...click here.
To read a great story that will make you stop saying that New Yorkers are selfish and mean...click here.
For more stories about other amazing things that happened to the other 50,563 runners and some great pictures of it all...click here.
For a look into very inspirational reasons why the average Joe/Jane takes on 26.2 or why they take on this particular version of 26.2...click here.
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