I took yesterday off to recover and write the epic account of my fantastic NYC Marathon experience. It was worth it. I apologize if it was too long but I had to get it down.
I also got a nice three mile recovery run in.
To make the day even better, I received an email from the good folks with Ft. Lauderdale's A1A Marathon. You see, at the NYCM Expo, I entered every enter-to-win race entry contest they had. I am holding out for Scotland but for the time being the A1A gang want me to come run for free on February 17. Woo Hoo!
Average low: 60; high: 77. Maybe a little toasty but they start at 6 a.m. so that may be bearable. Ocean breezes the whole length of the course, right along the water. Totally flat. Yup, I think I can do some major reconstruction to my PR down there.
Also at the Expo I picked up a copy of John Parker's book Again to Carthage which was featured with excerpts in the latest Runners' World. Good stuff. I read half the book on the plane ride home. Now I want to go finish it.
Mark November 17 down for a 5.5-mile run in memory of US elite marathoner Ryan Shay who collapsed and died last Saturday in Central Park at the Olympic Qualifying. Run that much or more but remember him, please. It was a sad day and a great loss to his family and American distance running. The amazing hip man wrote about it. Go see for yourself.
11.07.2007
11.06.2007
ING NYC Marathon - 5th Ave, Central Park to Finish
To start at the recap beginning click here.
The Bronx mile had taken us 11:25. We'd lost another 30 seconds. The next two miles were flat. I had good leg turnover working, no pains and nothing in my way except a lot of walkers and slooooow joggers.
After I took on the single mission of running as best I could for the remaining five miles, I came up upon a man running with a memorial t-shirt. It listed the birth and death dates of his mother. She had died three days before my mother. I hailed him as I passed and told him of our similar circumstances and wished him luck the rest of the way. At the time I was maybe 20 blocks from where my mother grew up as a girl.
I got back on the 4:45 pace in the 22nd mile and bettered it on the 23rd mile. The last stretch of Fifth Avenue was unbelievably tough as it ascended 100 feet over the mile up to 90th Street where it turned into Central Park. I was wearing down and made time for a half blok of margarita shots. I felt a cramp in my right foot start up and worked to relax it as I ran.
I wondered where my fan club would be next. I was putting so much focus on my pace and stamina that I blew off giving them a cell call. I just hoped for them they were having a good time. As it turns out they were near mile 24 in the Park and my sister-in-law saw me ever so briefly. Nobody else did. I was taking off.
I entered Central Park East and found congestion, tons of spectators cheering, cooler air, and more hills. My time on the 25th mile was as good as any mile back in Brooklyn: 10:32. I was running the tangents, elbowing people out of my way, drafting behind those who were running when we went up hills. I kept looking for the 40K mats. My lungs were heaving. I knew after the 40K mats I had just 1.4 miles to go.
Finally I saw them around a curve and let the beeps ring around in my head. I imagined Ryan Hall cruising this stretch the morning before with crowds screaming, an Olympic qualifying race victory minutes away and a place in the Beijing Summer Games as a marathon favorite. He had a smile on his face and was pointing to the sky.
I became Ryan Hall in my head and ran like a gazelle (by my standard of gazelle, thank you) to towards the finish line. I passed the 26th mile marker. 10:17. My fastest time of the day except for the downhill mile of the Verrazano Bridge.
Next was the 800 meters to go sign. Two laps around the Glenridge Middle School track on a Tuesday morning in August. Hot. Sweaty. Dark. With purpose.
400 meters to go. Less than a quarter mile. An uphill finish stretch to deal with. Push. Pump. Bump my way through.
100 yards. What a dash. Cheering sounds bouncing off the trees and rocks of Central Park. Bleachers on either side of the massive finish line structure. A slight leveling. The mats. The finish. A personal best time of 4:46:44. YES!
Post race. I reveled in the accomplishment for a few minutes right there at the Finish line. Others moved forward for their just rewards. I dawdled to be there and hear all the encouraging words from the incredible race volunteers and officials to everyone who finished. I kept an eye for Susan. I checked my watch and calculated. Maybe soon. Maybe soon Susan.
I back-stepped my way to the first station where a man put the substantially impressive race medal around my neck. I lingered, still watching for Runner Susan. Next was the photo area with the medal. For a PR I thought I would at least like to have the option of having it.
Next was the heat sheet distribution. One person put the sheet over my shoulders. A man offered to tape it closed for me. I was a little baffled by the offer but was very grateful later.
I entered the food area. A bag with water, Gatorade, an apple and bagel. I held onto it and walked with the crowd to a spot where I had seen the Olympic qualifiers pass the 6 mile mark.
I stopped. The crowd was jamming up on the path to the UPS trucks and baggage claim. I could not sit or squat. I was not so hungry yet but did drink some water as I fiddled with my cell phone. It was time to try Susan.
She had just crossed the finish line. I went salmon on the crowd and worked my way back upstream to meet Susan. We hugged and congratulated each other; then worked our way into the stream and shared accounts of our time apart. I apologized for abandoning her. She apologized for being bitchy. I couldn't remember that being the case.
We were herded like cattle to the baggage claim and chip clip. A long walk and a few calls to family established the meet-up plans. Once we had our gear we headed out to Central Park West and met Amy, Linda and Marta. We got warmer clothes on, took pictures and declined Amy's cold hot dog offering.
We bid adieu and I headed back to Lolly's apartment a few blocks away and was ever so grateful to get in a warm room, have a beer, lots of salty chips and recap everyone's race experience. How crazy am I? When I got there I did not wait for the elevator. I hoofed it four flights up the stairs.
Bring on the next marathon. A flat one would be a good chance for a big PR. Chicago is on my mind for next fall. I need to decide what's next for the spring. One of three Florida races might work: Gasparilla, Run for Donna, The A1A. We'll see.
Time to go for a run.
The Bronx mile had taken us 11:25. We'd lost another 30 seconds. The next two miles were flat. I had good leg turnover working, no pains and nothing in my way except a lot of walkers and slooooow joggers.
After I took on the single mission of running as best I could for the remaining five miles, I came up upon a man running with a memorial t-shirt. It listed the birth and death dates of his mother. She had died three days before my mother. I hailed him as I passed and told him of our similar circumstances and wished him luck the rest of the way. At the time I was maybe 20 blocks from where my mother grew up as a girl.
I got back on the 4:45 pace in the 22nd mile and bettered it on the 23rd mile. The last stretch of Fifth Avenue was unbelievably tough as it ascended 100 feet over the mile up to 90th Street where it turned into Central Park. I was wearing down and made time for a half blok of margarita shots. I felt a cramp in my right foot start up and worked to relax it as I ran.
I wondered where my fan club would be next. I was putting so much focus on my pace and stamina that I blew off giving them a cell call. I just hoped for them they were having a good time. As it turns out they were near mile 24 in the Park and my sister-in-law saw me ever so briefly. Nobody else did. I was taking off.
I entered Central Park East and found congestion, tons of spectators cheering, cooler air, and more hills. My time on the 25th mile was as good as any mile back in Brooklyn: 10:32. I was running the tangents, elbowing people out of my way, drafting behind those who were running when we went up hills. I kept looking for the 40K mats. My lungs were heaving. I knew after the 40K mats I had just 1.4 miles to go.
Finally I saw them around a curve and let the beeps ring around in my head. I imagined Ryan Hall cruising this stretch the morning before with crowds screaming, an Olympic qualifying race victory minutes away and a place in the Beijing Summer Games as a marathon favorite. He had a smile on his face and was pointing to the sky.
I became Ryan Hall in my head and ran like a gazelle (by my standard of gazelle, thank you) to towards the finish line. I passed the 26th mile marker. 10:17. My fastest time of the day except for the downhill mile of the Verrazano Bridge.
Next was the 800 meters to go sign. Two laps around the Glenridge Middle School track on a Tuesday morning in August. Hot. Sweaty. Dark. With purpose.
400 meters to go. Less than a quarter mile. An uphill finish stretch to deal with. Push. Pump. Bump my way through.
100 yards. What a dash. Cheering sounds bouncing off the trees and rocks of Central Park. Bleachers on either side of the massive finish line structure. A slight leveling. The mats. The finish. A personal best time of 4:46:44. YES!
Post race. I reveled in the accomplishment for a few minutes right there at the Finish line. Others moved forward for their just rewards. I dawdled to be there and hear all the encouraging words from the incredible race volunteers and officials to everyone who finished. I kept an eye for Susan. I checked my watch and calculated. Maybe soon. Maybe soon Susan.
I back-stepped my way to the first station where a man put the substantially impressive race medal around my neck. I lingered, still watching for Runner Susan. Next was the photo area with the medal. For a PR I thought I would at least like to have the option of having it.
Next was the heat sheet distribution. One person put the sheet over my shoulders. A man offered to tape it closed for me. I was a little baffled by the offer but was very grateful later.
I entered the food area. A bag with water, Gatorade, an apple and bagel. I held onto it and walked with the crowd to a spot where I had seen the Olympic qualifiers pass the 6 mile mark.
I stopped. The crowd was jamming up on the path to the UPS trucks and baggage claim. I could not sit or squat. I was not so hungry yet but did drink some water as I fiddled with my cell phone. It was time to try Susan.
She had just crossed the finish line. I went salmon on the crowd and worked my way back upstream to meet Susan. We hugged and congratulated each other; then worked our way into the stream and shared accounts of our time apart. I apologized for abandoning her. She apologized for being bitchy. I couldn't remember that being the case.
We were herded like cattle to the baggage claim and chip clip. A long walk and a few calls to family established the meet-up plans. Once we had our gear we headed out to Central Park West and met Amy, Linda and Marta. We got warmer clothes on, took pictures and declined Amy's cold hot dog offering.
We bid adieu and I headed back to Lolly's apartment a few blocks away and was ever so grateful to get in a warm room, have a beer, lots of salty chips and recap everyone's race experience. How crazy am I? When I got there I did not wait for the elevator. I hoofed it four flights up the stairs.
Bring on the next marathon. A flat one would be a good chance for a big PR. Chicago is on my mind for next fall. I need to decide what's next for the spring. One of three Florida races might work: Gasparilla, Run for Donna, The A1A. We'll see.
Time to go for a run.
ING NYC Marathon - Manhattan
To read the recap from the beginning click here.
As I lumbered down the Queensboro Bridge I dialed up Mrs. T to find out where she was located on First Avenue. I knew it would be a madhouse and there was no random chance of seeing her and my friends and family without a heads-up.
No answer. I left a message and dropped down into the cacophony of the Manhattan crowds. We were starting our 17th mile. Our pace had suffered going through Queens with 11:27 and 11:52 miles. We were 2:53.12 in. That was still 40 seconds ahead of our 4:45 pace schedule. We gave it up in the next three miles.
Once on First I made another call and connected with Mrs. T. She and my brother, his wife and son; and Mrs. T's brother (Rich) and his wife and two kids were on the southwest corner of 75th Street. It was a blessing that there was a slight downhill leading to them. That made for less excruciating photos. I spotted them. We veered to the left side of the street. I waved, posed for a picture and gave Mrs. T a smooch, all captured on video by my brother.
Runner Susan commented that she could not stop. She needed to keep moving or she would be in trouble. As you know, after any downhill there is likely an uphill to follow. We were on it. The blocks clicked by. I felt a need to offer encouragement.
I suggested we have our next gel and bloks at mile 19 instead of 20; and move up the meal at mile 25 to mile 23 to give us enough to get us through. It was way past lunch time by now. Normal folks had had their turkey cucumber spinach wraps at least 90 minutes before. Somewhere along the way, a woman was offering small cups with cold pineapple cubes. I had one for lunch. It was delicious.
At mile 18 the water station was offering Power Bar gels. I had a caramel which tasted quite good. I took it as an appetizer before the main course. We slowed and walked through the stop at Mile 19 to take fuel and Gatorade Endurance drink. We crossed another damn bridge into the Bronx.
The Bronx. The crowds had thinned as we hit the northern most portion of the course. The Bronx had small crowds of spectators but they were very enthusiastic. A band played. Reports I read said this was the best year in years for support from Bronx fans. I could feel it. Those I engaged by eye contact were very pleasant and encouraging.
I spotted a runner wearing a shirt with Red Sox markings on it. I kept my distance in case any Yankee snipers were on the rooftops. I was inclined to yell out how much the Yankees suck but felt that would be in poor taste today.
Unfortunately, this was a bad mile for time. Susan was starting to fade. I kept looking back for her behind me. She nobly kept pace. I slowed slightly to keep her on my tail. We reached the Madison Avenue bridge (21st mile) at 3:38:50. We were 90 seconds off our 4:45 pace. When I looked back, she told me to run on. I stopped and waited for her shaking my head.
Harlem and the Split. We ran into Harlem. The neighbors were loud and the band had a strong bass line playing. It was energizing. I was feeling good. Way back in Brooklyn Susan had suggested that at Mile 20, if we felt strong, we could kick it in and push for 4:40 or better. I told her we only had five miles to go. It was a short training run.
I was at a crossroads. I felt good enough to push but concerned that if I left Susan she would not get the time she wanted. I was ever mindful that I was in range of a PR.
I looked back again and Susan was 10 yards behind me. She said, "David, you go. You can make it."
I turned back forward and imagined her chasing me all the way to Central Park. I held a belief that if she could do it too, she'd be right behind. I didn't look back again.
To read the conclusion, click here.
As I lumbered down the Queensboro Bridge I dialed up Mrs. T to find out where she was located on First Avenue. I knew it would be a madhouse and there was no random chance of seeing her and my friends and family without a heads-up.
No answer. I left a message and dropped down into the cacophony of the Manhattan crowds. We were starting our 17th mile. Our pace had suffered going through Queens with 11:27 and 11:52 miles. We were 2:53.12 in. That was still 40 seconds ahead of our 4:45 pace schedule. We gave it up in the next three miles.
Once on First I made another call and connected with Mrs. T. She and my brother, his wife and son; and Mrs. T's brother (Rich) and his wife and two kids were on the southwest corner of 75th Street. It was a blessing that there was a slight downhill leading to them. That made for less excruciating photos. I spotted them. We veered to the left side of the street. I waved, posed for a picture and gave Mrs. T a smooch, all captured on video by my brother.
Runner Susan commented that she could not stop. She needed to keep moving or she would be in trouble. As you know, after any downhill there is likely an uphill to follow. We were on it. The blocks clicked by. I felt a need to offer encouragement.
I suggested we have our next gel and bloks at mile 19 instead of 20; and move up the meal at mile 25 to mile 23 to give us enough to get us through. It was way past lunch time by now. Normal folks had had their turkey cucumber spinach wraps at least 90 minutes before. Somewhere along the way, a woman was offering small cups with cold pineapple cubes. I had one for lunch. It was delicious.
At mile 18 the water station was offering Power Bar gels. I had a caramel which tasted quite good. I took it as an appetizer before the main course. We slowed and walked through the stop at Mile 19 to take fuel and Gatorade Endurance drink. We crossed another damn bridge into the Bronx.
The Bronx. The crowds had thinned as we hit the northern most portion of the course. The Bronx had small crowds of spectators but they were very enthusiastic. A band played. Reports I read said this was the best year in years for support from Bronx fans. I could feel it. Those I engaged by eye contact were very pleasant and encouraging.
I spotted a runner wearing a shirt with Red Sox markings on it. I kept my distance in case any Yankee snipers were on the rooftops. I was inclined to yell out how much the Yankees suck but felt that would be in poor taste today.
Unfortunately, this was a bad mile for time. Susan was starting to fade. I kept looking back for her behind me. She nobly kept pace. I slowed slightly to keep her on my tail. We reached the Madison Avenue bridge (21st mile) at 3:38:50. We were 90 seconds off our 4:45 pace. When I looked back, she told me to run on. I stopped and waited for her shaking my head.
Harlem and the Split. We ran into Harlem. The neighbors were loud and the band had a strong bass line playing. It was energizing. I was feeling good. Way back in Brooklyn Susan had suggested that at Mile 20, if we felt strong, we could kick it in and push for 4:40 or better. I told her we only had five miles to go. It was a short training run.
I was at a crossroads. I felt good enough to push but concerned that if I left Susan she would not get the time she wanted. I was ever mindful that I was in range of a PR.
I looked back again and Susan was 10 yards behind me. She said, "David, you go. You can make it."
I turned back forward and imagined her chasing me all the way to Central Park. I held a belief that if she could do it too, she'd be right behind. I didn't look back again.
To read the conclusion, click here.
ING NYC Marathon - Brooklyn & Queens
To read the recap from the beginning click here.
Coast Guard, TV network and NYPD helicopters had filled the skies an hour before we reached the starting line. Anticipation was in the air. The choppers left with the elites while those of us with dedication and purpose set out in their wake to tackle our own goals and expectations.
Runner Susan and I beeped across the starting mats. It took me five seconds after crossing to realize that we had started. There was hardly anybody there besides our fellow last-corral mates, a few Army medics and race officials. Sadly the news photographers were not waiting for the last of us.
We ramped up the Staten Island side of the Verrazano Bridge at a measured warm-up pace, looking to break out slowly and deal with the hill. It was a 150 foot ascent followed by a 200 foot descent into Brooklyn. Susan and I started our routine of checking on each other regularly and cussing the hills.
'Welcome to Brwoook-lin," were the first words I heard from a crowd of spectators on a bridge overpass in Dyker Heights. I waved a salute.
Our run was going well. We caught up to a 4:45 pace group that actually became a rolling road block to us several times. We wanted to stick to our own pace and they were such a blob running together. Over the first six miles we had banked about a minute and a half better than our pace required. We were out to do 10:53 miles or better. Our first 5K was at 10:27 and the second was 10:35.
Brooklyn was awesome. The run up Fourth Avenue was loud, with fans cheering and bands playing. Being the caboose of runners, the street was only half full of us and the sidewalks probably not as full as before, yet the neighbors and fans were still out there cheering us on.
We made a few cell calls while cruising along this stretch to see where our support teams were. First sighting was Amy and Linda at Mile 7/Webber Street. There they were. We waved. (Photo courtesy of Runner Susan and Amy) We did not stop but Susan did hand off her long-sleeved top. We were just past a quarter of the way to the finish line.
Runner Susan had her name on a decal stuck to her short sleeve top and immediately began to receive incredible recognition from the crowd. For a period of time, I counted the number of hardy cheers for "Runner Susan" compared to those for "Go West Point" (my shirt's advert) and I have to say she beat me by a 3-1 margin. Being an attractive blond has its natural attraction to men fans, I learned. Similarly, it was the ladies who gave me more measured encouragement.
We soldiered on, through a hill in Mile 8, checking our pace, slowing for water and Gatorade; and to ingest our fuels. Susan had her gels. I relied on my Margarita Clif Shot Bloks. We ate every five miles. I could feel a need the mile before and a surge the mile after eating.
We were passing people with regularity. I found we had to bob and weave quite a bit but we always managed to move together around and through the crowds so to not lose each other. I didn't mind fending a few folks off with my elbows to clear the road for Susan. At 15K we were at 1:39 and had covered the last 5K at a 10:37 pace.
The character runners were a sight to see. First, I saw the woman written up in the Times who ran dragging a tire tied to her waist, to draw attention to how much we humans consume and waste. There was Raggedy Andy, Lighthouse Man, the Waiter in leather shoes carrying a platter with a bottle of wine attached, two girls with wings and glitter, a Chilean General, Superman with fake breasts, and a guy in a gas mask and bio-chemical suit. Beyond that there were so many foreigners running, I was amazed. So many French, Germans, English, Irish, Welsh, Japanese and more. Plus there were so many cause-teams with race singlets I could never remember if I had traded leads with people.
The Jewish communities of Brooklyn were eerily quiet which did not surprise me. A few groups of young girls stood on the sidewalk and waved. Others parted curtains and peered out windows at the spectacle. Before we hit Queens, we saw some more of the rowdiness and cultural richness that made Brooklyn my favorite part of the race.
Queens. Queens was short and mostly uneventful. A few narrow neighborhood streets held crowds out to see the race remnants. Bands still playing. They were all good folks but had that reserved demeanor that one might expect of witnesses to a lashing at the stake. You see, they were the last people we saw before "the bridge."
From inches above sea level we were about to cross the Queensboro Bridge to Manhattan. And that did not involve running across water. It required a god-awful climb for what felt like an eternity. It had to have been a three-quarters of a mile climb of 125 feet ... in the 16th mile. We had just eaten, thank goodness. It gave us the strength to get over but, man it was tough. There was nothing nice about it other than when we got over, we only had a ten-mile run to go.
Susan was cussing.
Click here for the next chapter.
Coast Guard, TV network and NYPD helicopters had filled the skies an hour before we reached the starting line. Anticipation was in the air. The choppers left with the elites while those of us with dedication and purpose set out in their wake to tackle our own goals and expectations.
Runner Susan and I beeped across the starting mats. It took me five seconds after crossing to realize that we had started. There was hardly anybody there besides our fellow last-corral mates, a few Army medics and race officials. Sadly the news photographers were not waiting for the last of us.
We ramped up the Staten Island side of the Verrazano Bridge at a measured warm-up pace, looking to break out slowly and deal with the hill. It was a 150 foot ascent followed by a 200 foot descent into Brooklyn. Susan and I started our routine of checking on each other regularly and cussing the hills.
'Welcome to Brwoook-lin," were the first words I heard from a crowd of spectators on a bridge overpass in Dyker Heights. I waved a salute.
Our run was going well. We caught up to a 4:45 pace group that actually became a rolling road block to us several times. We wanted to stick to our own pace and they were such a blob running together. Over the first six miles we had banked about a minute and a half better than our pace required. We were out to do 10:53 miles or better. Our first 5K was at 10:27 and the second was 10:35.
Brooklyn was awesome. The run up Fourth Avenue was loud, with fans cheering and bands playing. Being the caboose of runners, the street was only half full of us and the sidewalks probably not as full as before, yet the neighbors and fans were still out there cheering us on.
We made a few cell calls while cruising along this stretch to see where our support teams were. First sighting was Amy and Linda at Mile 7/Webber Street. There they were. We waved. (Photo courtesy of Runner Susan and Amy) We did not stop but Susan did hand off her long-sleeved top. We were just past a quarter of the way to the finish line.Runner Susan had her name on a decal stuck to her short sleeve top and immediately began to receive incredible recognition from the crowd. For a period of time, I counted the number of hardy cheers for "Runner Susan" compared to those for "Go West Point" (my shirt's advert) and I have to say she beat me by a 3-1 margin. Being an attractive blond has its natural attraction to men fans, I learned. Similarly, it was the ladies who gave me more measured encouragement.
We soldiered on, through a hill in Mile 8, checking our pace, slowing for water and Gatorade; and to ingest our fuels. Susan had her gels. I relied on my Margarita Clif Shot Bloks. We ate every five miles. I could feel a need the mile before and a surge the mile after eating.
We were passing people with regularity. I found we had to bob and weave quite a bit but we always managed to move together around and through the crowds so to not lose each other. I didn't mind fending a few folks off with my elbows to clear the road for Susan. At 15K we were at 1:39 and had covered the last 5K at a 10:37 pace.
The character runners were a sight to see. First, I saw the woman written up in the Times who ran dragging a tire tied to her waist, to draw attention to how much we humans consume and waste. There was Raggedy Andy, Lighthouse Man, the Waiter in leather shoes carrying a platter with a bottle of wine attached, two girls with wings and glitter, a Chilean General, Superman with fake breasts, and a guy in a gas mask and bio-chemical suit. Beyond that there were so many foreigners running, I was amazed. So many French, Germans, English, Irish, Welsh, Japanese and more. Plus there were so many cause-teams with race singlets I could never remember if I had traded leads with people.
The Jewish communities of Brooklyn were eerily quiet which did not surprise me. A few groups of young girls stood on the sidewalk and waved. Others parted curtains and peered out windows at the spectacle. Before we hit Queens, we saw some more of the rowdiness and cultural richness that made Brooklyn my favorite part of the race.
Queens. Queens was short and mostly uneventful. A few narrow neighborhood streets held crowds out to see the race remnants. Bands still playing. They were all good folks but had that reserved demeanor that one might expect of witnesses to a lashing at the stake. You see, they were the last people we saw before "the bridge."
From inches above sea level we were about to cross the Queensboro Bridge to Manhattan. And that did not involve running across water. It required a god-awful climb for what felt like an eternity. It had to have been a three-quarters of a mile climb of 125 feet ... in the 16th mile. We had just eaten, thank goodness. It gave us the strength to get over but, man it was tough. There was nothing nice about it other than when we got over, we only had a ten-mile run to go.
Susan was cussing.
Click here for the next chapter.
ING NYC Marathon - Pre-Race
It was the largest marathon field in history. It was an historic weekend of running in the city that never sleeps. I enjoyed it all.
The Night Before. I saved my brother (or anyone else) the trouble of having to drive me to a bus at O-Dark-Hundred race morning.
His wife drove me into Manhattan Saturday night to stay with my childhood pal Lolly, her hubby David, and daughter E. who live half a block west of Central Park. Their sweet daughter offered up her extra perfect bed (an excellent mattress) for me while she took to an air mattress camp out in the living room. I slept great and quietly. I expect Mrs. T did too back in Jersey.
Race morning. I woke at 400 but laid in bed until 530, dozing and meditating on all that I had done the weeks before in training and the night before to prepare. My clothes were on the chair. My other belongings were repacked in my backpack. I listened to the early Sunday morning sounds of the West side. I was relaxed.
I got up and took my time dressing. Body Glide is my friend. David was up reading the Times in the kitchen. I fixed a bagel with peanut butter, had some orange juice and ZipFizz. At 600 I was ready to go. The phone rang.
"Where are you??" asked Runner Susan with a nervous laugh. She was already at the Start area.
"I'm in Manhattan. I am leaving now. I'll be there soon," I said.
"Okay. It's quiet here. Very few people," was the report. Susan then gave me a rough idea of where she and Marta were hanging out.
David had offered to see me to the subway for which I was extremely grateful. He went way beyond that by escorting me all the way to the Staten Island ferry terminal. On the way from the terminal subway stop we walked right down Wall Street past the stock exchange. Such a cavernous and ominous street. Susan called for the second time wondering where I was.
The Ferry Ride. At the terminal it was a runners' world. Half the field must have been trying to catch the 7:30 ferry. We queued up at one door only to have it close in front of us with a full boat. The big sign said to go to door 2 across the lobby for the next boat. That was a comical quick step migration by the remaining mass.
The doors opened and we were herded onto the next ferry. I made myself comfortable on the lower deck, put my feet up and chatted with a couple from Vancouver who had come east to run. Oh; and Runner Susan called again. I told her I was waiting for the ferry to pull out. She had a seven course runner's breakfast waiting for me if I would JUST GET THERE!
We pulled away at 745, passed the Statue of Liberty and made our way to the island. She called again as we landed. I was just a bus shuttle away. Well actually it was about eight buses away. There was another queue and wait.
The packing house. Once at Fort Wadsworth, it took another two phone calls to find each other. It was now 900 and we had another two hours to kill before we actually crossed the starting mats. Susan's pal Marta had gone off to her fast girl orange corral to hang out with Katie Smith a/k/a Holmes (little did she know).
I partook of several items on Susan's menu: PBJ, banana and raisins. Even though she'd been there three hours Susan had not yet located the UPS trucks for checking bags. With that in mind, we headed north. The sun was shining. It was a little breezy depending on which side of the buildings you were on. In the area of the UPS trucks, it felt like a day for the beach. Susan checked her bag then we went to my #66 truck.
I decided I had overdressed. I checked the sweatshirt, gloves and hat I anticipated wearing and kept my tearaway pants. We sat down on a grassy embankment right next to our corral area and, for the first time, relaxed. We had an hour or more to sit, visit and review our race strategy. A calm came over me and I felt very comfortable and confident that running with someone I had met just yesterday was going to be a very pleasant experience.
We called Mrs. T, Sister Amy, Susie and Jeanne. To the first two we coordinated our locations and meet-ups. To the latter, we left messages.
At 1008 back-lit bodies streamed across the Verrazano Bridge above us. The race was on. The cattle drive of runners started to move. Being in the very last corral was an intriguing situation. On the one hand I felt slighted by the notion that we were seeded there. I knew we would be faster than thousands of other runners. On the other, it was quite a novelty because it was not crowded when we got off. Nobody was chasing us down and blowing by us in the first mile. It was quiet; almost like a training run.
click here for the next chapter.
The Night Before. I saved my brother (or anyone else) the trouble of having to drive me to a bus at O-Dark-Hundred race morning.
His wife drove me into Manhattan Saturday night to stay with my childhood pal Lolly, her hubby David, and daughter E. who live half a block west of Central Park. Their sweet daughter offered up her extra perfect bed (an excellent mattress) for me while she took to an air mattress camp out in the living room. I slept great and quietly. I expect Mrs. T did too back in Jersey.
Race morning. I woke at 400 but laid in bed until 530, dozing and meditating on all that I had done the weeks before in training and the night before to prepare. My clothes were on the chair. My other belongings were repacked in my backpack. I listened to the early Sunday morning sounds of the West side. I was relaxed.
I got up and took my time dressing. Body Glide is my friend. David was up reading the Times in the kitchen. I fixed a bagel with peanut butter, had some orange juice and ZipFizz. At 600 I was ready to go. The phone rang.
"Where are you??" asked Runner Susan with a nervous laugh. She was already at the Start area.
"I'm in Manhattan. I am leaving now. I'll be there soon," I said.
"Okay. It's quiet here. Very few people," was the report. Susan then gave me a rough idea of where she and Marta were hanging out.
David had offered to see me to the subway for which I was extremely grateful. He went way beyond that by escorting me all the way to the Staten Island ferry terminal. On the way from the terminal subway stop we walked right down Wall Street past the stock exchange. Such a cavernous and ominous street. Susan called for the second time wondering where I was.
The Ferry Ride. At the terminal it was a runners' world. Half the field must have been trying to catch the 7:30 ferry. We queued up at one door only to have it close in front of us with a full boat. The big sign said to go to door 2 across the lobby for the next boat. That was a comical quick step migration by the remaining mass.
The doors opened and we were herded onto the next ferry. I made myself comfortable on the lower deck, put my feet up and chatted with a couple from Vancouver who had come east to run. Oh; and Runner Susan called again. I told her I was waiting for the ferry to pull out. She had a seven course runner's breakfast waiting for me if I would JUST GET THERE!
We pulled away at 745, passed the Statue of Liberty and made our way to the island. She called again as we landed. I was just a bus shuttle away. Well actually it was about eight buses away. There was another queue and wait.
The packing house. Once at Fort Wadsworth, it took another two phone calls to find each other. It was now 900 and we had another two hours to kill before we actually crossed the starting mats. Susan's pal Marta had gone off to her fast girl orange corral to hang out with Katie Smith a/k/a Holmes (little did she know).
I partook of several items on Susan's menu: PBJ, banana and raisins. Even though she'd been there three hours Susan had not yet located the UPS trucks for checking bags. With that in mind, we headed north. The sun was shining. It was a little breezy depending on which side of the buildings you were on. In the area of the UPS trucks, it felt like a day for the beach. Susan checked her bag then we went to my #66 truck.
I decided I had overdressed. I checked the sweatshirt, gloves and hat I anticipated wearing and kept my tearaway pants. We sat down on a grassy embankment right next to our corral area and, for the first time, relaxed. We had an hour or more to sit, visit and review our race strategy. A calm came over me and I felt very comfortable and confident that running with someone I had met just yesterday was going to be a very pleasant experience.
We called Mrs. T, Sister Amy, Susie and Jeanne. To the first two we coordinated our locations and meet-ups. To the latter, we left messages.
At 1008 back-lit bodies streamed across the Verrazano Bridge above us. The race was on. The cattle drive of runners started to move. Being in the very last corral was an intriguing situation. On the one hand I felt slighted by the notion that we were seeded there. I knew we would be faster than thousands of other runners. On the other, it was quite a novelty because it was not crowded when we got off. Nobody was chasing us down and blowing by us in the first mile. It was quiet; almost like a training run.
click here for the next chapter.
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