We laid out our running clothes Saturday night, woke up Sunday at 5:30am (loved the extra hour of “fall-back” sleep) to start our morning routines.
Tammy, Michele and I left the hotel at 6:30 as planned and walked north in the dark to the subway station at Lexington and 59th Street. While we waited for the train, a family of about six people came down the stairs and were stunned to find out that they needed to buy a fare card to get in; one woman said “we’ve always been able to ride free to the marathon, when did they change it?” and they got a little panicked. Michele showed them how they could duck under the turnstile, they did it and got in – crisis averted.
As we got closer to south Manhattan, more and more runners boarded the train. We finally reached the end of the line and started walking to the Staten Island ferry station at about 7:30. The sun was coming up and reflecting off the tall buildings (Elizabeth lives in one of those), while a mass of people from all over the world migrated south. There was a mass of people inside the station. Soon we were able to board the next ferry and we all managed to fit.
The ferry ride took about 20 minutes and was very smooth. We passed by the Statue of Liberty and many people took pictures – including me. My grandparents entered the United States via Ellis Island; I thought about them and their first view of Lady Liberty.
We disembarked on Staten Island, stopped at the porta-potties to unhydrate, and got in the bus line for Fort Wadsworth. There was an amazingly long line of buses waiting and we were able to board fairly quickly. The 3-mile ride to the starting area took as long as the ferry trip, thanks to the traffic, but we chatted up the other riders and tried to settle our nerves. I got a text from Mikaila, who was waiting for us in the Blue section.
We were dropped off at Fort Wadsworth (a Coast Guard station) and security got very tight. Every fifty feet or so we had to show our race bibs (buried under layers of sweatshirts) to another set of soldiers and allow our clear plastic “drop bags” to be examined. When we finally reached the actual starting area at 9:00, the nerves really kicked in. Since the gear drop-off area closed at 9:20, we decided we should do that right away and we dropped off our bags at the UPS truck with the number that corresponded to our race bibs, then went to the Blue area and found Mikaila.
We definitely overpacked. I’d read tips from former NYC runners who recommended ways to stay warm and pass the time while waiting for your wave to start. Well, we barely had any downtime and we never used Michele’s sleeping bag (to sit on) and my disposable hospital haz-mat suits or paper sheets (to wrap up in). After we dumped our throw-away sweats, all we ended up using were the mylar blankets I pulled from a trash can at Columbus.
Announcements were made in multiple languages and we were soon told to head to our starting corrals. As we entered, we found Chad and his wife Kira (the official 4:30 pacer).
We made a final trip to the potties and swarmed forward to the actual starting line. There was a loud cannon blast at 10:40 and we heard Frank Sinatra singing “New York, New York.” I got a little teary as I thought about my dad dancing to that song at my wedding reception in Las Vegas. It took five minutes for us to reach the timing mats at the starting line (right in front of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge toll booths) and we were off!
The bridge incline is 260 feet over half a mile (corresponds with the final hill after our MIT Saturday long runs) and felt effortless. Runners chatted with their buddies in different languages, jumped onto the median barrier and took pictures of the swarms. Helicopters hovered overhead. I’d heard that the tug boats below us would be spewing red, white, and blue streams from their water cannons, but we weren’t close enough to the edge to see them. We crested the bridge and entered Brooklyn, where the first of many groups of enthusiastic sign-holding spectators awaited us.
During the scrum at the start, Pacer Kira got about 50 years ahead of us; we caught up with her by the third mile and planned to stay with her as long as we could. We continued through Brooklyn and although I didn’t get close to Brooklyn Methodist Hospital where my mother went to nursing school, we saw several unique neighborhoods along Fourth Avenue.
I have studied “A Race Like No Other,” the book by New York Times author Liz Robbins about the 2007 NY Marathon and made notes about what we might see along the course. I looked for Carmine, the captain of the water stop at 23rd Street for over 25 years, but couldn’t find him. I recognized the huge Williamsburgh Savings Bank and the band at Bishop Loughlin High School (but I’m pretty sure they were playing something other than the “Rocky” theme as we went by). After we passed the gospel singers at Emmanuel Baptist Church (mile 9), the streets narrowed and the mass of runners were pressed even closer together. Somewhere around here, Mikaila fell back into her own groove.
Around mile 10, we entered the Hassidic Jewish neighborhood of Williamsburg with few spectators. Then into another business area and past the Peter Pan Donut and Pastry Shop – but I didn’t notice the employees holding out trays of donut holes in time to grab one.
At mile 13, I had the first of several GI issues, so we said goodbye to Chad and Kira and stopped at the porta-potty. The gals patiently waited for me.
Then we crossed the Pulaski Bridge into Queens and found Marathon Sherpa Dawn cheering us on! We dropped off our long-sleeved shirts (removed during the run on Fourth Avenue) and continued on. Until I had to stop again. There was a longer line at this loo, so we lost about six minutes.
We were feelin’ groovy as we ran onto the Queensboro Bridge at mile 16, aka the 59th Street Bridge of the Simon & Garfunkle song. Although the elevation is not as steep as the Verrazano, this is the bridge that seems to get the most press for difficulty. We cruised along at a steady pace, passing some people, woohooing, listening to the multi-lingual chatter, offering encouragement. Off the bridge, we made two sharp left turn, then onto First Avenue in Manhattan and smack into the Wall of Noise!
Legend has it that the bars open early here for Marathon Sunday, to cater to the brunch and spectating crowd. This stretch lived up to the hype – spectators were three and four deep and screaming incessantly. When those of us in the third starting wave reached this part of Manhattan, it had been nearly four hours since the elite women flew by. They say that the entire city comes out to support this race and it really felt that way to us.
The First Avenue leg went gently down, then up. From the south, we could see three miles of runners ahead of us. As we reached the Willis Avenue bridge into the Bronx, we caught up with Chad. He said Kira and the rest of the 4:30’s were about ten minutes ahead of us. I started getting pretty tired around this point. I remember seeing myself on a Jumbotron at one of the turns and gave a weak wave at the camera.
Approaching mile 21 and the Madison Avenue bridge, my gut protested a third time. I apologized profusely to my running buddies as I ran to the potty. Michele waited for me, but Tammy had to keep walking. After we crossed the bridge, the wheels started falling off the bus. I felt my quads beginning to tighten, so I sent the others on ahead. Somewhere in Harlem, my quads seized up and I stopped at the side of the road. (It should be noted that my calves were the offending muscles in two previous marathons – but they were behaving this time, probably thanks to compression socks). A couple of spectator-angels asked if I was ok and if they could help me get to the med tent across the street. At the tent, I dropped onto a chair and asked for a massage. Two lovely guys pulled their chairs in front of me, scooped up handfuls of white goo, and rubbed the knots out of my quads. I was soon back on my way.
I rounded Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem at mile 22 and was thrilled to find *both* of my Marathon Sherpas, Lisa and Dawn. They ran with me for a block or so, told me I was doing great even though I felt like sh*t, and sent me off renewed.
At mile 23, Central Park was at our right and the rolling hills began. Here is where I passed Edison Pena, the inspirational Chilean miner who ran every day during his two months underground. Two men ran with him, holding the Chile flag. Afterwards, we learned that he ran the first half in a strong 2:07, but that he had to finish the race with bags of ice wrapped around his swollen knees. In an NYT interview, he said: “I struggled with myself, I struggled with my own pain, but I made it to the finish line. I want to motivate other people to also find the courage and strength to transcend their own pain.”
We entered beautiful Central Park. About this time, I would have passed the Loeb Boathouse (although I didn’t notice it), near the spot where runner Ryan Shay collapsed and died in 2007 during the Olympic marathon trials.
We made a right turn out of Central Park at mile 25.5, onto Central Park South. I was so tired, yet so uplifted by the crowds and their shouts of encouragement. Somewhere here, I saw flags announcing “800 yards to go.” I told myself that was only two loops around the track at Thomas Worthington High School. Another right turn at Columbus Circle back into Central Park and there were the “400 yard” flags – wow, I ran that loop faster than I’d thought. A rise, a dip, and then….the finish line! I remembered to assume the correct finish-line posture (standing tall, arms upright, huge smile) then looked at my watch: 4:58:57. Not my best time, not my worst, but definitely one of the best experiences. Since I lost a good twenty minutes at the potties and the med tent, I was pretty happy with the sub-five finish.
I got my medal, posed for a picture (smiling, I hope), wrapped a mylar blanket around my shivery shoulders, grabbed a bag of food/fluids and started migrating north with the masses.
Spotters with walkie-talkies were stationed every thirty yards or so in “deer stands,” ready to summon medical assistance for runners in need. My hands were too cold to open the Gatorade bottle and I was getting a little dizzy, so I moved to the side of the corral and sat on a sand bag. A woman and her husband stopped just downhill from me – she vomited, several times, apologizing to me each time. I smiled and assured her that it was just fine. They moved on, I still sat. Then a race official bent over to check on me. Feeling better, I accepted her offer of a boost up and I continued on to the UPS van with my drop bag. Here I found Michele (4:49:46) and Tammy (4:54:32) – and boy was I happy! I put on my warm clothes and we continued on to the park’s 77th Street exit, where we found Dawn and Lisa (who quickly finished their beers).
As we walked the mile and a half back to the hotel, we relived the day. We walked by an Asics store, and the employees called us in to sign their marathon poster.
Three quick showers later and it was time to eat. Tammy and I were beat, while the others wanted to party. So they went to a nearby pub for dinner and brought back burgers and fries. We drank a beer, updated our FaceBook accounts, took pictures of our medals, and fell deeply to sleep.
(Lora Kotsaris, me, Aimee Bross, Kirsten Leymaster)
