Spooky. It was Halloween and we were in Greenwich Village with thousands watching the parade, and I was getting grumpy, worried that I had been on the pavement too long with the race start 12 hours away. Or make that 13, as lucky for us, daylight savings time started the next morning as well.
Logistics for 50,000
Committing to public transit, Ceci and I boarded the R train in Chelsea at 5:50 AM southbound to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, 4 hours before the start of the race. Boarding the 6:45 ferry was surprisingly calm and orderly as was the connecting bus to the Blue Wave starters village (1700 porta-johns and all). Also included: coffee by Dunkin’, bagels and Power Gel. At 9:00 the gate closed on the B corral of the Blue Wave, more potties inside. A critical fact, as while waiting for a last go, most of the blue wave seemed to surge past us, to get closer to the line. By the time we joined the masses we were back with the 3:30 pace crowd, requiring a shouldering up stream to the “3 hr” banner where we would reside for 20 minutes before our 9:50 start. Along with water and gel we brought a sharpie and monogrammed Ceci’s bare mid-drift with “C C” and my singlet with “jeff”, and passed the pen back to a serious looking guy who underlined “Relax!!” already marked on his forearm.
It was Nearly Perfect (Until the Start)
Spike Lee sent us off and up the Verranzo Narrows Bridge, and the trouble began. Despite being in the “NYC Elite” wave we were somehow stuck behind hundreds of NYPD(?) charity runners. Helpless to go faster and moving up the incline with as much horizontal as forward movement, we logged 8:00 for mile 1, then overcompensating, 6:15 for mile 2 on the down stroke into Brooklyn. Not exactly the script for the 2h55m pace we wanted to run. Runners seemed to be merging from every direction and mixing with the crowds already cheering three rows deep, and we started the first of our 13 miles in the 2nd Borough. We also starting hearing the first of the “Go CC” cheers. The guy in the yellow singlet beside her seemed to be invisible! We were clicking 6:40 miles, marveling at the crowds and grooving to the bands that urged us on.
Elation in Brooklyn, Squabbles, and the Split
By mile 8 in downtown Brooklyn, where we missed Kelly, who was swallowed by loudest and most massive crowd yet, the pace was slipping to 6:45-47, and Ceci was looking anxiously over her shoulder and urging me to “get up here” with her eyes. Apparently the 2 of us had not sufficiently worked out the nuances of our race plan, and friction was developing. The slow start, and differences in Garmin tracking and attitude, added to the situation. I was pretty sure a slow first half could be overcome, whereas Ceci wanted the even splits. A father/ daughter argument played out mid-race, with chants of “CC”, now building more fervently. The support was truly unreal – even a 4 year old or someone from Venezuela can read and then yell “Go CC!”, and they all were doing it. Being a 5-11 female with a bare tummy did not hurt her cause. She was flying, and I was having doubts – 10,11,12 miles, we are mostly on pace but it was clear to me that we were better off doing our own race. At 13.1, we had one last debate about the meaning of 1:29:xx and I told her she could still do it if she killed the last 3 miles in the Park and then I watched her disappear in front of me.
From Ceci: In retrospect, I have my dad to thank for my finishing time, because I ended up running perfectly even splits, which I’ve heard is the best way to run a marathon. If it hadn’t been for this nagging old man, I probably would have gone out in 1:27, and while I may have been able to hang on for 2:55, more likely, I would have crashed hard, logging a few 8 or 9min miles in the final stretch, and over-shooting goal time. In fact, of the countless splits I have looked at from friends and competitors, only the women’s winner, Mary Keitany of Kenya, posted a negative split (running the first half slower than the second). Everyone else tanked. So thanks dad, glad that wasn’t me.
Cramping in Queens
I was alone, cold and windblown on the Queensboro Bridge! It was slow and awful. I got behind some big guys at times and then finally got pointed downhill as we rolled onto First Avenue. The crowds were back, but I was mostly thinking of my aching legs and the 10 miles to go. Thus began a delicate balance to avoid cramping. I vowed to make it to mile 20 and to not be “the guy on 5th Ave grabbing his hammies”. The course actually has a 1000’ of elevation gain and loss, and surprisingly, I was happy for the dippy little stretch at miles 16, 17, and then some real down downhill at 18, as my legs felt better there than on the flats. By mile 20 the course makes turns to negotiate the Willis Ave Bridge into the Bronx and then quickly onto the 138th Bridge back into Manhattan. I remembered throwing in a little backwards running (I’m not kidding) and some B skips and grapevine moves just to shake up the big muscles a bit more. I made silly faces at the guys behind me but they were trapped in their own pain cage, and just glared back.
Meanwhile, a few minutes up the road, I charged up the unending mountain that was the 59th Street Bridge. While I kept the pace under control, I probably passed 100 runners on the way up, which became a theme. In fact, I think I was only passed by one runner (at mile 26) for the entire race. While NYRR did an awesome job organizing, something is wrong with this picture. Anyhow, we were swept down onto First Ave, where I found my groove, preferring the completely empty right side of the road, where I didn’t have to compete for elbow room. Of course, this made my “CC” tum more visible; I converted the cheers into energy. At mile 18, I was in for a treat, as I spotted one of my best friends, Helen, fellow Eph and cycling teammate, who was wearing our distinctive “Stan’s No Tubes” jacket, along with two identically clad side kicks. She had time to do whoops and dancing twirls before giving me the best high 5 ever. Though my toes were on fire (I am blister-prone), I was confident I could keep this pace as long as my calves behaved themselves!. 21- Finish
By mile 21 and Fifth Ave it appeared that I’d won the cramping battle and began to move again. I started paying attention to my splits and liked that they were starting with a 6:! At Mile 22, in a rare moment of clarity, I look and see 2:30 and figure there is an outside chance still at sub 3:00. I am also thinking – I really hope I don’t come up on Ceci, this would be horrible and a dilemma – but no sign of her, whew! Mile 23 – not bad, passing lots of people - carnage on 5th Ave as “those guys” are everywhere, off to the side hobbling and clutching. Mile 24, a cruel uphill that you can see forever, but also where you get to FINALLY enter Central Park! Then a roller coaster ride as you plunge mercifully down along tree lined lanes, past the zoo, and towards Central Park South for a right turn with about 2 miles to go. Everything is burning, and you are thinking “how am I going to do this” but also knowing inside that you’ve got it! I am finishing strong but a few others are too and I feed on their energy as we veer out towards Columbus Circle and then back north. Were is the #$^% banner?! Finally, I can see the clock, and the line, cross it, and hit stop at 3:01:12
The other half of the duo entered the final 6 miles, thinking of the parting quote from her father, “The marathon is a 20mile warm up followed by a 10k race.” Forcing down a last gel, as I entered Manhattan, I didn’t feel ready to race at mile 20, but I was prepared for the fight to hold on. I was thrilled to spot my coach, Mikael, who hopped on to the street to run with me down 5th Ave. The distracting chat was a blessing, and he left with advise for the remaining miles. I decided my next motivation would be catching girls. I knew top 50 was possible, so I tackled the 5th Ave hill reeling in a girl in a official looking singlet. Soon I’d caught her and then my sights were set on the next. An unexpected girl—my mom!—appeared at 96th Street to add even more encouragement. Central Park is only a blur of a memory, most notable for searing hamstrings and buckling calves. I tried to use all my knowledge of anatomy to recruit any new muscle I could to shift the stress somewhere else. With half a mile to go, a man ran up behind my shoulder, and said “come on, girl, let’s go!” I spotted two more women, and I knew this man was my ticket, so I dug just a bit deeper catching the second one at the line and staggered into the arms of a guy in a red medical jacket. Time: 2:58:35!
Beyond the Line
I’m elated, rubber legged, high-fiving the volunteers, and a little delirious. With my medal around my neck I’m prompted forward by dozens of impossibly cheery volunteers (there were 10,000 of them!). Then in a burst, there is hobbling Ceci! She is moving way slower than I am (when it doesn’t count of course), and we hug and scream or something, I really don’t remember. I am so proud, and we are quickly spewing our respective versions of miles 13-26. We literally walk 2 more miles (cruel) to the very end of the 25 UPS trucks for our gear. After delicate maneuvering to put dry clothes on cramping limbs we get our phones. We have only been finished for 20 minutes and Mitch Baker, Ceci’s coach at Williams has texted, and Jennifer, missed calls from Kelly (2), an email from Chris…..they probably all knew our splits better than we did.
New York Loves You.
Weird scenes of hobbling runners draped in blue NYCM ponchos drifting down Central Park West; cops on scooters, cops with dogs, cops on horses; volunteers EVERYWHERE in yellow and blue jackets; a guy in full Inca Warrior garb with a massive Mohawk (and finishers’ medal) - and this was before most folks were out of Brooklyn. Where was Kelly? “No way, we said Broadway and 62nd not 52nd!” We squeeze through a dump truck barricade at Columbus Circle and Ceci climbs atop a pedestal at the foot of the the Trump International Hotel, while I trade smart remarks with a cop about poor meet up plans. We see the CVS canopy way down on Broadway where Kelly is, but there are like half of the 1 million spectators between us, so once again, I am tracking Ceci through crowds and minutes later we are reunited with big hugs.
Yelp directs us to Times Square and a hole in the wall with one of the “Best Slices in Manhattan” for pizza. We slip into the lobby of a posh boutique hotel next door for the rest rooms just as a runner is helped through the door, not able to support himself. We emerge cleaned up and the slices live up to their 5 star rating. The sun is shining and it seems like everyone is a marathon fan – and all are asking us about how it went, and praising our efforts like we are celebrities. When I tell them “she was the 16th American woman”, then they really had something to be impressed about! A bit later, the One World Trade Center Observatory the staff gifted us an iPad interactive tour guide. And finally, a random stranger treated to a shared Uber Cab ride back to our hotel! There was a dinner invite as well, but our sticky, achy bodies needed a bath.
The complex agony of the marathon, and the hassles of mega races, were why I left this behind for the trees, rocks and trails; but If you can get to NYC for the marathon - as a participant, volunteer or spectator, do not pass it up!
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