Hi there-
Below, I have pasted my 2007 NY Marathon story.
4:46:48.
My official time in the 2007 New York City Marathon.
Which I ran.
2 days ago.
My legs are angry. I dread moving them. As long as I don’t move, I can almost forget about how much they hurt.
The pain aside, that was a hell of a lot of fun. Maybe my mind was wandering to take away the pain, but it felt like a crazy amusement park ride. Remember “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” the FIRST time you rode it? Like that, except the whole thing lasted for about 12 hours and it tested every fiber of your being at the same time.
As our story opens, I awake at 4:50 am, unable to wait for my alarm to go off at 5:00 am. I go through my “long-run ritual” which had been tested and retested now through several long runs during training. I eat a bagel with peanut butter, drink two ice coffees, dress, listen to the Police and Foo Fighters on the iPod, do a final equipment check, take a picture, kiss the wife good-bye, and I’m off.
The subway ride to the southern tip of Manhattan to catch the Staten Island Ferry takes about 25 minutes. There are no express trains, everything running local. Lots of marathon runners with me. More and more runners board at each stop, all of us carrying our regulation clear plastic bags. By the time we reach Bowling Green, we are shoulder to shoulder, practically buzzing with anticipation.
The Staten Island Ferry Terminal is packed as well. All different languages, all different size people, all of us excited to get the journey to the start underway. When we finally board, I manage to snag a seat near the Staten Island side of the boat, hoping that I’ll be able to walk right onto a bus to take me to the start. Fat chance. More waiting in line at the Staten Island terminal for the bus to the starting area (although I do get a seat). I walk another ten minutes or so to my starting area where I lay out a poncho on the ground to stretch. It’s still two hours to the start, so I drink a little Gatorade, eat a protein bar, massage and ice my knees for the ordeal ahead.
What a great place for people watching! There are people like me; alone, stretching, sipping water or Gatorade, looking around nervously. There are groups, mostly women, chatting and laughing easily. There are mother/daughter teams, couples, and what look like entire choirs of foreigners. There is nowhere like this place right now.
Everyone’s talking about Ryan Shay, the runner who died in the Men’s Olympic Marathon Trials in Central Park the day before. We’re nervous, apprehensive. I meet a couple more marathon virgins. We lament how long the start is taking.
“Nothing we can do about it!”
Eventually, megaphone-people start telling us to line up. We start to see some runners crossing the bridge a few minutes after the gun goes off at 10:10 am. We’re still too far back to even see the start, but it means we’ve started, at least.
I reach the start line 30 minutes later, and I start my first marathon at 10:40 am.
Then something unexpected happens. I become a little sad. It occurs to me, just as I begin the race, that this is the beginning of the end. In five hours or so, nine months of training and anticipation will come to an end. It’s almost over. I’ve been thinking about it for nine months, and it’s almost over.
SHAKE IT OFF!!! The only way to enjoy this is to stay in the moment; enjoy each second of the next five hours as its own, unique experience that will never happen again. Even if I run this race again, it will never be like this.
Everyone around me is in great spirits. There are costumes, props, singing. I happen to be in a crowd heavily populated by Germans who seem to love the call-and-response type of singing. I’m already wondering how long that will last. Sheesh. Shut up already.
NO!!! I’m not going to be a jaded New Yorker today! I’m going to enjoy singing Germans and boisterous mariachi bands and ANYTHING else that happens today that would usually annoy the self-righteous crap out of me. Whoo-hooo!!!!!!
I’m feeling great at this point, running very easily at about 10 min/mile, a little faster than I thought I would, but anything slower feels like walking. It’s not too crowded and I can dictate my own pace.
Once I got onto Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn, the crowds picked up. These people were cheering like they were getting paid to do it. I was told to expect enthusiasm, but it was overwhelming! Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn was great. Here, one of my favorite moments of the day occurs. A black guy yells out, “Yeah, Rick, go ‘head, Rick!!”
I give the cursory “Thanks dude” wave and he says, to his friend, “Yeah, Rick, man, that’s my n----- right there.” I laughed out loud. Only in Brooklyn, and only today, would that happen. Thanks, black dude in Brooklyn. I AM your n-----.
I felt good going into Queens. I love the feeling of running through the city and not needing to know where I am. I could just run and follow the crowd. I remember “Larry the Lighthouse.” A guy WEARING A LIGHTHOUSE that says “Larry the Lighthouse” on it is running the NY Marathon. He elicits screams of “LAR-RY! LAR-RY! LAR-RY!” from some of the more intoxicated spectators. THAT’S friggin’ nuts!
When I got to the bridge to Manhattan, the Queensboro Bridge, I felt the first “message” from my legs. Nothing too loud or scary, but I was feeling it. The Queensboro Bridge is a mile long and void of spectators, silent except for runners’ footfalls and breathing. After two hours of crowds screaming your name, it was a nice break, but also a little eerie.
Manhattan. First Avenue. Whoop-whoop! I was told to expect a wall of cheering spectators. I was not disappointed. It was crowded all the way to Harlem, at least 3 deep with people on either side. Kristen had a peeled orange waiting for me at 74th st; fantastic.
By this point, I was getting used to people cheering for me by name…”Go Rick! You’re doing great!” If you ever run a marathon, I highly recommend putting your name on the front of your shirt. Then I heard, “GO CLAW!!!” What?!?! Only a Blue Man would call me that. There was Eric Rubbe on the west side of First Avenue, running alongside me on the sidewalk. How did he find me? That may have been the best surprise of the whole race.
The first of two scheduled family pit stops was at 102nd st and First Avenue. I fuel up with coconut water (great source of potassium) and liquid amino acids (muscle recovery) here and mineral ice for the knees. 18 miles down. Still cruising. Still smiling.
Then to the Bronx. The Boogie Down Bronx. I’ve only ever come to the Bronx for Yankees games. Knowing that the finish line is five miles from the point I leave the Bronx, I’m looking for a bridge the whole time. I remember a lot of music in the Bronx, and there was one guy holding a sign that read, “All the training miles.” I almost cried right there. Good one. I pointed at him and he pointed back. He knew.
Back into Manhattan for the “ride” home. Now, I KNEW that these upcoming miles would be the hardest. Duh. After the twenty mile mark, I was officially running farther than I had ever run in my life. I took a picture of myself crossing this, the LAST bridge of the race.
Once I reach Manhattan again, I’m running a route I’ve run a few times already. I’m now only blocks from my apartment, so the rest of the race is in my backyard. I stopped at about mile 21 to stretch and slap my legs a little. They felt like two-by-fours barely attached to my hips. Inflexible and heavy. I have another family pit stop at 100th st and Fifth Avenue, mile 23, but I don’t remember much. My stomach is sloshy from Gatorade and PowerGels. All I could think about was getting to the park. Then it would be almost over. I’d be home, in my backyard.
As I enter the park I can’t stop grinning. I quash the impulse to yell, deciding I might need the energy. Everything hurts, but the crowd is amazing, and I’m almost there. I’m running the end of the marathon just a few blocks from my apartment! There’s a huge banner stretched across the road, “Mile 24.” There’s almost no running left!
Here is where your hero is shown his own mortality by that most cruel god, Marathon. I’ve run this stretch of road countless times in training, but someone seems to have come in to the park and steepened all the hills! Brutal. Merciless. I had to stop on the last incline of the park because my hips were screaming. As much as I had wanted to get to the park all day, now I want out.
I exit the bottom of the park for the east-to-west run on 59th street. Kit is there….high-five….”You’re a rock star, dude!” I turn west on 59th and…holy crap…it’s uphill! Not steep, but long, and up all the way. I put my head down and grind it out.
I’ve now completed 26 miles. Right before the re-entrance to the park at Columbus Circle, there’s a uniformed police officer (probably not an officer, actually… he was older with the white dress shirt, like a captain or whatever) with a megaphone. Calling out every runner he sees, he’s yelling the whole time…
“This is for all those training runs when you had to go to bed at 9 or 10 instead of going out with your friends!!…this is for the people who rolled their eyes at you when you said you were going to run a marathon!!…this is for getting up before dawn today!!!...This is it!!...What do you have left?!!!...What do you have left!!!!”
I had a little bit left. I emptied the tank.
Coming back into the park, I literally had to push a guy out of my way to get around the corner at Columbus Circle. I remember signs like “400 meters to go” which meant nothing to me at that point. I had no idea how far that was. I was just looking for the lights of the finish line. I snapped a couple more pictures and then put the camera away for the final stretch. Enjoy it, look at the people, listen to the guy on the mic reading people’s shirts…”Hey, here comes Rick…Great job Rick!” I run/sprint/fly/coast/glide through the finish with my arms up, feeling great. I don’t know how, but I feel great.
Then I stopped running. I can’t believe I just did that! My legs were audibly buzzing. I can’t believe I just did that! A girl gives me a medal, I take her picture. I can’t believe I just did that!! Another guy offers to take my picture right there as well…sure! I get a baggie with a bagel, water, Gatorade, apple. THEN, the Heat Sheet, that foil blanket you see runners wearing after the race. Cool. I can’t believe I just did that! All the runners are herded towards the baggage claim area, whether you had checked a bag or not. Now, I had intentionally NOT checked a bag so I wouldn’t have to be in this line, but I was trapped by fencing and park rangers. Eventually, a guy in front of me broke through the fence and a bunch of us followed. I had a three mile walk back to the apartment in front of me, so no danger of an inadequate cool-down. I picked up another Heat Sheet for my legs and found my way across the park back home, still unable to believe that I just did that.
I was the only marathon finisher, at the time, walking across Central Park. There were lots of “Congratulations” from other runners as I walked home. One lady actually stopped me to take my picture. Funny.
Home, finally.
My fan base is waiting for me at the apartment…mom takes a few more pictures.
I had recorded the TV broadcast of the race, of course. We watch the beginning just to hear the Alec Baldwin voiceover intro. Very stirring.
Shower, stretch, ice packs, beer, pizza, beer, change ice packs, pasta, beer, cupcakes, beer.
I fall asleep with football on TV and ibuprofen in my bloodstream.
I ran the New York City Marathon.
Wow.
Posts
