Runners, Take Your Marks!

The beginning of the New York City Marathon on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge.

You wouldn't think it would be difficult to get a seat on a subway car in New York City at five a.m. on a Sunday morning in November.  But every car on the train was packed.  On a Sunday morning.  At five a.m.  The conclusion of one annual ritual in New York had converged with the beginning of another.  If I told you this occurred early in the morning on Sunday, November 1st, you could probably tell me that the event that had just concluded was Halloween.  And you would be correct.

Halloween is a huge event in New York.  And dozens of the costumed revelers from the prior evening's celebrations were scattered throughout the subway car, in various states of consciousness, returning from an evening of trick or treating.  Most of them reeked of alcohol and tobacco.

Now, you would probably have to be a die-hard New Yorker to know the second event that was ready to commence, so early in the morning after Halloween, was also a huge happening in the Big Apple:  the New York City Marathon.

The runners among the group were in much better spirits.  Stretching, jumping, running in place and trying to warm up and stay focused.  Putting on the "game" face.  6-12 months of training for this one event where we were going to fail or succeed before lunch.  This group reeked of Bengay™.

I was in this latter group, minus the Bengay.  How did I wind up here, 2,500 miles from my own comfortable bed in Los Angeles, and why did I feel the need to get up at 4:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning so I could run 26 miles and 385 yards?  Phidippides.  I would have to blame it on Phidippides.  Every runner that morning sitting or standing in that subway car would blame Phidippides.

You see, in the Fifth Century B.C.,  Phidippides was the young Greek runner who was selected to run as a courier before and after the Greeks, badly outnumbered, defeated the attacking Persians in a bloody battle at Marathon.  In three hours, he ran from the battlefield at Marathon to Athens, a distance of 26 miles, to give news of the Greek defeat and the warning that Persian ships were preparing an attack on Athens.  The Greeks defeated the Persians, a turning point in the history of Europe.

The extra 385 yards were added for the 1908 Olympics in London.  The marathon course of 26 miles had been measured and set when it was decided to add the extra 385 yards so the race would end in front of King Edward VII's royal box.  This final distance was made official in 1924, leading to the modern marathon as we know it today.

So I blame Phidippides.

The New York City Marathon starts out on Staten Island, crosses over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge - longer than the Golden Gate Bridge - at 7 a.m. in the morning, and then continues into Brooklyn and all the other boroughs of New York - Queens, the Bronx and Manhattan.

As a runner, you have to show up in front of the New York City Public Library, on 42nd street in midtown Manhattan, early in the morning to head over to the staging area on the far side of the bridge in Staten Island.  The last bus leaves Manhattan at 5:30 a.m.

You get over to the base of the bridge and have time to wait.  Most of the runners wear old sweatshirts and pants, or plastic bags, to keep themselves warm while standing around in the morning chill, but that they could immediately discard as soon it comes time to start the race.

Everyone does a little jog and stretching as the clock ticks closer to the 7 a.m. start.  By 6:45, the runners are lined up like cattle, hopefully clustered around runners carrying signs with mile pace times, 6:15 mile pace towards the front down to 9:30 mile towards the back, etc.

Excitement starts to build as the sun rises over Staten Island.  The first weekend in November is chosen because it usually provides the best running weather.  60 degrees and overcast would be perfect Marathon weather.  The day's forecast was a high of 65 and sunny.

You could see some clocks around the staging area counting down the minutes until the start of the race.  It gets quieter and focused as the start nears.  The assembled throng of 20,000 runners grew completely silent and a gun shot was heard precisely at 7 a.m.  And the runners were off.

One of the things I had been warned about was not to get too caught up in the excitement at the start of the race.  You're body will be pumping with adrenaline, you've been standing around for over an hour ready to run, so you have to show some discipline and stick to your pace - don't go out at a quick sprint.

I started running away from Staten Island and over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge at 240 feet over the water and felt my legs and body warm up.  Other than a couple of 20-30 minute runs I'd done in Central Park on Thursday and Friday leading up to the race, it felt as if I hadn't had a long run in a while.  This is called "tapering off" in running terms.  You cut back on your training in the final week before your race, saving your energy and letting all your leg muscles heal up, and your body will be anxious to run came race day.

Coming down off the bridge and into the streets of Brooklyn, I was already past the two mile mark of the race.  Even though it was early on a Sunday morning, Brooklynites were out in force along the race route, cheering on all the runners.  Except for when I ran through the heavily Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods of Brooklyn, where spectators - mostly men - just stood on the sidewalk in their black slacks, suits and hats, silent and stone-faced, while we ran by.

Thousands of Orthodox Jews watch the runners in Brooklyn.

The race route continued north up through Brooklyn into Queens and up onto the Queensboro Bridge - which most New Yorkers call the 59th Street Bridge - made famous in the Paul Simon song, "59th Street Bridge Song/Feelin' Groovy," for our crossing of the East River and first entry into Manhattan.

As I made the climb off the surface streets of Queens and up onto the bridge,  I realized you don't think of a couple of hundred feet of elevation being a tough climb, but when you are halfway through a 26 mile run, it's something you definitely feel.  As the noise of the crowds in Brooklyn faded behind me, I took in the silence on the bridge.  The only sounds I heard were the footsteps and heavy breathing of the dozens of runners around me.

The thing I noticed next was when I looked down and realized I was not running on pavement, but just a metal grate that let you see clearly down 130 feet to the East River below.  I felt like I was floating across the river.

The throng of runners along First Avenue in Manhattan.

As you come off the 59th Street Bridge and into Manhattan for the first time, you experience probably the coolest part of the course, and something people who had run the race before had told me about.  You come off the bridge and down a ramp and into a dark tunnel - where at first you can just see a glimmer of light at the other side - and as you come out a few seconds later you are greeted by New Yorkers lined 5 - 6 people deep on both sides of First Avenue.  In a matter of moments, you go from complete silence to a raucous Manhattan welcome.  It was incredible, as advertised, and gave me a big mental boost.

I continued to run north up First Avenue towards the Bronx.  It was straight and flat for over three miles - the most difficult conditions to run in from a mental perspective.  There wasn't anything to vary the routine and give you a mental distraction.  When I looked up ahead, I couldn't see anything but a sea of runners stretching out for miles.

Just past the nineteen mile mark, the course briefly went up into the Bronx, around Yankee Stadium and then back into Manhattan at mile twenty-one - now heading south along Fifth Avenue through Harlem and down towards the Upper East Side - where the race turns into Central Park for the finish.

If you are training for your first marathon, the one thing you hear about over and over again is "The Wall."  "Hitting the wall" is when your body just starts to break down - usually around the twenty mile mark - and you can't run any longer.  It can happen to any runner from a novice to well-trained Olympic runners.  There's just no way to know if you will hit the "wall" or not until you get to this point of the race.  I felt good, but I was now in uncharted territory: past any distance I had ever run leading up to the race.  And everyone will tell you that the last six miles of the marathon are the toughest.

Yours truly, in the gray shorts and white hat, a mile from the finish in Central Park.

Soon the course moved into the final two miles in Central Park.  The spectators lining the course grew more sparse as I moved off the streets of the Upper West Side and into the Park.  But people kept yelling out encouragement along the way.

When you are strolling through Central Park on a Sunday morning, you don't necessarily think of it as particularly hilly, but if you are in mile 23 of a marathon, I can assure you that it is.  Rolling hills that constantly go up 20 feet and then down 20 feet.  Up 30 feet and then down 30 feet in elevation.  Runners around me were hitting the wall, forced to stop running and just walk, and several runners around me were stopping to vomit on the side of the road.  I felt good and pressed ahead.

The finish line in Central Park.

I passed the 25 mile mark feeling strong and taking in all the sights and sounds of the Park and Central Park South on this beautiful morning.  With my fear of hitting the wall in the past, I picked up my pace for the final mile to the finish.  The crowds grew deeper and more vocal as I neared the finish.

Suddenly, I looked up and saw the sign a hundred yards in front of me overhead that said "Finish," sprinted as fast as I could over the line, raised my hands and it was over.  Months and months of training, apprehension about hitting the wall running a distance I had never run before, and now it was all over.  I was a marathoner.

Hands raised, I crossed the finish line right at my projected 8 minute mile pace.

My uncle, who lived in New York and had run the race a couple of times himself - and had strongly encouraged me to try it - met me briefly just past the finish line and handed me a candy bar.  He said he had craved a candy bar when he finished the race, and had a little treat ready for me.  I was glad to have him there to see me finish.

When you run a big race like that, there are literally thousands of volunteers that make the race possible - hundreds of them at the finish line - and they keep you moving into a series of chutes and lines and checkpoints at the finish.  They hand you a finisher's badge, water, orange slices, bananas, a blanket and assess your condition. 

My uncle had told me there was a tent at the finish where they have massage therapists who will rub your feet and legs for free, and I was sure to go into that tent and get a free post-race massage.

I felt pretty good.  Like anyone doing something for the first time, I didn't know what to expect and finished right at my projected pace.  Looking back, I probably could have pushed a little harder early on and shaved 5 - 10 minutes off my time, but that's probably true of most first timers. 

The race was a great way to see New York City.  It was fun to be a participant in one of the few annual events that unites the city of New York.  All week long leading up to the race, New Yorkers I encountered were constantly asking me if I was in town for the race and wishing me good luck.

I made it through all the post-race checkpoints and reunited with my uncle.  As I recall, I think we actually walked back to his place where I was staying on the Upper East Side.  I had wanted to weigh myself after the race and I hopped on the scale and weighed 125 pounds - and I haven't been anywhere near that weight since!

That night, we went out to dinner with a couple of friends at an Italian restaurant over on the Upper West Side.  I feasted on bread and pasta and reloaded all those carbs my muscles had burned off during the run.  One of our friends kept saying over and over again that I looked great and she wouldn't know by looking at me that I had run the race that morning.  I thought it was funny each time she said it.

I flew home to California the next morning, and sitting for six hours on an airplane definitely stiffened up my entire body.  I went back to work on Tuesday and did some light jogging on Wednesday.  By the end of the week, I felt like my body had recovered .

This Sunday will be the 41st running of the New York City Marathon.  Next year will be twenty-five years since I ran the race.  Once in a while I think about trying to do it again - it would require 6 - 9 months of training - just to see if I could finish it 25 years later.  On second thought, I think my wife would kill me.