New York Marathon

If you were only going to run one marathon in your life, this would be the one to run. And indeed, many of the runners at the New York Marathon are running their first, and perhaps only marathon of their life. But even with 40% of the runners being first-timers, the dropout rate is tiny. That's testimony to the fact that the course is beautiful, and the fan support is second to none.

The race morning started with the chartered bus we were on getting pulled out of a traffic jam where the road closure starts and escorted by a police car through the closed roads to the start. Nice. As I got off the bus I asked the bus driver how he pulled it off and he said casually, "Oh, I know the cops". Yeah, we were getting the VIP treatment on this stay, first at Vin's sister's, and now on the way to the race!

We checked our sweats and headed for the corrals. After a couple of volunteers sent us the wrong way we finally found our corral and were ready for the foot tour of New York to begin. We had the "orange" start which was definitely the best. Orange is situated on the top level of the bridge and a start that is maybe 300 meters ahead of the "blue" start which held the elite men. This meant if we got far enough over to the right, Vin and I would see the elites blow by shortly after the start. As the race began I saw the trucks with their cameras rolling along in the lanes across from us and I jumped up onto a concrete divider for a better view. It was over in a matter of seconds as the world-class runners disappeared into Brooklyn.

After coming off the bridge and out of the wind, I peeled off the sweatshirt I was wearing and one of the fans along the side yelled, "Over here, please!" and thanked me as I tossed it at her. The temperature was in the low 40's which isn't bad for running a marathon, but a bit chilly for watching.

Somewhere around mile 4 I see a kid with a banana on the other side of the road and make a beeline for it. I'd brought a clif bar to eat before the race, but it was checked with my sweats. My last marathon had me bonking badly and this time around I would run with a motto of "no snack left behind" (well, except for that clif bar). I learned a little bit about eating and running: I learned half a banana at mile 4 is actually pretty good and won't hurt you at all. Break off the piece with your hand instead of taking a bite, and one of the runners nearby will gladly take the rest. I also learned about 8 miles later that those chewy granola breakfast bars are a really, really bad idea. Not only do they take forever to chew, making breathing difficult, but they dry your mouth out.

After stopping at mile 12 to use the porta-potty, I came through the halfway point at just under 1:29. I was feeling pretty good. I'd gone out hard enough that breaking three hours wasn't out of the question, but it was going to take a pretty decent second half. I decided to really focus hard on running well up to mile 20 and then reassess. Mile 16 is the Queensboro bridge and although some said the bridge would be tough, I really got into the view and the fact that the only sound I heard was the pounding of shoes and breathing of the runners around me. Toward the end of the bridge a race official told us that Paula had just finished.

As I got off the bridge into Manhattan and headed up First Avenue I was still focusing hard and maintaining pace. The crowds along this section were the greatest; supportive and entertaining at the same time.

For me, running a marathon hard basically involves spending a few hours waiting for the other shoe to drop. You just never know when or if it will happen. Things can go literally from 'great' to 'complete debacle' in minutes. There are a lot of cliches about marathoning, but the one about the halfway point coming at mile 20 seems to nail it. At mile 20 things started to get hard, but they always do somewhere around there and my pace slowed a bit. Thankfully, it wasn't the drop of the proverbial shoe...yet.

Mile 23 is that long gradual uphill that everyone had warned me about and it was pretty tough. As the rollers in the park commenced I wondered if I could make up some time on the downhills, but as I hit the first one my wait for that shoe was finally over. My hamstring started cramping and I had to shorten up my stride. I now found myself hoping for uphills to get some relief. Still, it was a joy to be in central park and on the home stretch of one of the best runs I've had the pleasure to do.

Up until now, I'd only cramped in a marathon twice before. Both were in Boston, both brought on by the Newton Hills. I'd learned a technique that worked pretty well there by accident. The first time I ran Boston, a friend gave me a squeeze bottle and I drank the whole thing. I noticed when I started running again that my hamstrings loosened up. I realized it was probably the sodium in the drink and the second time it happened I walked through the aid stations gulping gatorade. So faced with a similar situation here in New York, I repeated the process I'd come up with, stopping that the aid station at mile 24 long enough to drink an entire cup of gatorade and then heading on. The benefit of the gatorade is short-lived, lasting almost to the next aid station where I then repeat the process.

At mile 25 when I stopped to drink, the volunteer started yelling at me, "Come on! You've got it in you!" (visions of that gatorade commercial came to mind where the guy is face down in front of the finish line: Is it in you?). He seemed very excited when I started running again. Like he really did care if I ran again rather than gave up. No wonder almost nobody DNF's here.

Somewhere around mile 26 the effect wore off again but there's no aid station at mile 26 since only an idiot would stop with just 0.2 miles left! Say hello to the idiot. The cramping got bad enough that I had to stop and stretch...with the finish so close I could see the seconds ticking off the clock.

At the finish, they believe in making you walk to help your recovery, but I think they take it a bit too far. Having a bib with the number 5249, and seeing the first sweat truck that indicates bibs 55000-56000 is a bit demoralizing, but 50 trucks and a mile later (literally!) I finally reached my sweats and sat down to put them on. It was sunny and pleasant in the park and I, like many of the folks around me, found it hard to get back up. An agitated volunteer came by yelling at us, "Come on, you act like you just went ten miles or something. Keep moving! Get out of the park!". Well any authority that might have come with that 'official' jacket he was wearing was quickly lost with a statement like that. Finally, he gave up and left and we were able to bask in that post-marathon endorphin glow. We sat around in sun, enjoying a great day in Central Park, eating our snacks and chatting about running with statements like,"Ten miles? Was he serious?"

If you're interested: photos on brightroom