Boston may lay claim to hosting the oldest and most prestigious marathon, but in my experience, the only city in the world that really knows how to throw a party around running is the one in which I currently live. I was delighted to gain entry to last year’s NYC marathon through the three-strikes-and-you’re-in policy. That is, any applicant who fails to gain a spot through the lottery for three consecutive years obtains guaranteed entry in the fourth year. 2008 was my year. During the summer of 2008, however, I had already committed to training for a September half-marathon and biking as much as much as my cross-training would permit. Once the 13.1 mile race was under my belt at the end of September, I had exactly five weeks to prepare myself for a race twice the distance.
NYC would number as my sixth marathon. The five that came before it were completed following 16 to 18 weeks of regimented training, during which I always ran at least three long runs of 20+ miles (and, often, 23 or 24 miles only three weeks before race day). Leading up to the NYC marathon, however, my longest run over the past four months had been a pitiful 15 miles -- plenty for a half-marathon; a warm-up for the marathon. My coach and I devised the “crash training plan” to get me in condition for 26.2 over five weekends:
- Week one: 13 miles
- Week two: a slow 18 miles
- Week three: a slow 21 miles
- Week four: taper
- Week five: 26.2 in NYC!
While it was a bit of stretch for me to imagine how I could possibly complete the marathon on such poor preparation, for the first time in my running “career,” my goal for a specific time was replaced by a goal to enjoy the race. My coach urged me to stick to a pace that would clock me in around four hours. I bought a disposable camera to carry on the course so that I could force myself to look around, take it all in, and snap a few photos. I was determined to just enjoy the experience of running and racing in the Big Apple.
As I learned, the trouble with the NYC marathon is this: when almost 40,000 runners from almost every corner of the planet migrate at the crack of dawn to gather on Staten Island; when those runners line up at the Verrazzano Bridge with helicopters hovering overhead and Sinatra’s “New York, New York” blasting through the mass of shivering, excited bodies; when those runners then make the two mile journey over the bridge to turn a corner and find themselves greeted in Brooklyn by cheering fans holding “Welcome” signs; when those runners wind their way through the diverse neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens; when those runners cross the 59th Street Bridge, on which all that can be heard is the sound of feet hitting pavement until, gradually, the sounds of cheering fans in Manhattan drowns everything else out; when those runners make the turn off the bridge and onto 1st Avenue, greeted by a wall of screaming spectators five or ten deep; when those runners race up through Manhattan, across into the Bronx, and wind their way back through Harlem; when those runners continue down Fifth Avenue where, by mile 21 and 22, the ever-so-gradual incline is amplified to painful proportions; when those runners enter into the greatest playground in the world, Central Park, in all her autumn glory; when those runners make the final turn onto Central Park South, past Columbus Circle, and back into Central Park for the final few hundred meters; and when you are one of those runners, it is impossible to “stick to your pace!”
New York City was not my fastest race, but nor was it my slowest. It was, however, my most memorable. During the race, I spotted my friends and family around East 76th Street, and I made my way over to the barricade to give and receive hugs. I exclaimed at the time, “I will never run any other race except this one from now on!” Though that proved to be not quite true -- I’ve since run a marathon elsewhere -- I doubt I’ll run another one like New York. I’ve enjoyed a rewarding summer of cycling and running this year and, indeed, that was point of not planning for a fall marathon. And while I’ll be out there cheering in full force for the runners at the 40th edition of the NYC marathon this Sunday, I am, and will be, more than a bit jealous that I’m not one of them. New York may have crowds, bed bugs, and insanely high rent, but it also has the best 26.2 miles any city could offer. And for one day each November, nothing else matters.
