When the idea of running a marathon first came up between my
husband, Jason, and I, my first thought was “Nope, no way, not a chance.” But somehow, it came to our attention that the New York City Marathon happened to
fall on our first anniversary and we have never been ones for letting something
epic pass us by so...long story short we found ourselves signed up with the
Miles for Miracles team, running to raise money for Boston Children’s Hospital.
Fast forward past months of training and fundraising and there
we were, standing on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge in Staten Island surrounded by thousands of
runners, listening to Frank Sinatra sing “New York, New York.” The gun went off
to loud cheers and we moved towards the starting line as the rain began to
fall. All I felt was a huge sense of disbelief that we were actually there.
The first 6 miles went by in a blur- it didn’t even feel
like we were running. The crowds in Brooklyn were awesome- tons of cheering and
lots of loud music. We had asked each of our kids to pick a mile that we would
run for them. Sammy had picked mile 6-7, so it was an easy one to dedicate. We
passed our friend Marc and his daughter right around mile 7. It was
ridiculously energizing to see familiar faces in the crowd!
By mile 8 we were soaked. The water stops were crowded and
slippery and hundreds of runners were walking by that point. We spent a lot of
energy weaving around them, trying to get some momentum, but it was really
difficult.
At mile 13 we crossed into Queens. The crowds here were just
as excited as Brooklyn. We had our names on our shirts and people cheered for
us from the sidelines. It’s impossible to feel like quitting when people are
screaming your name.
At mile 16 we hit the Queensboro Bridge. It is a full mile
uphill. It also happened to be the mile Roman picked for us to run for him.
There are no spectators on the bridge, so all you hear is the pounding of feet
on the road. The bridge felt like it went up forever. And we were tired. 10
more miles seemed a little excessive. We ate some pretzels and laughed about
how fitting it was to have a snack during Roman’s mile. Smiling at that point
was a big deal.
Finally, the bridge peaked and we started down the far side.
Soon we could hear the crowds. We made the hard turn onto 1st Avenue
and I swear, every person in New York was waiting for us. The crowds were
unbelievable, screaming and cheering, 10 deep on each side, stretching ahead of
us as far as we could see, runners completely filling the road from
side-to-side. It was a breath-taking, completely overwhelming experience- other
than the finish, it is the one moment I will always remember.
Just before mile 18 we passed our coaches and Miles for
Miracles organizers and they screamed their heads off for us. After that point,
we still had a ways to go on 1st Avenue and it was tough. All of 1st is a long
slow climb and we were feeling it by that point. Finally we crossed into the
Bronx right before mile 20.
Twenty miles was the furthest we had gone in training and it
was mentally tough knowing that everything beyond that point was completely
untested. I tried telling myself that six more miles wasn’t very much, that I
could easily last another hour. But my legs were tired. My shoes were soaked.
It took a lot to shake those thoughts and keep moving forward. After mile 20 I
had to retie my shoes. Crouching down was hard, and getting my fingers to work
properly was even harder. It seems like a small thing, but just emphasized how
much we were putting our bodies through.
At mile 21 we crossed back in to Manhattan and came up 5th
Ave. The crowds were still with us, calling our names and yelling for everyone
to keep going. We pushed on for another mile, exhausted and in pain. My quads
were burning. Both of us were having serious pain in our feet- a result of
rain-soaked sneakers and many many miles. Around mile 22, a woman handed Jason
an ice pop. A half-melted, neon green ice pop that we shared. It was cold and
syrupy and pure heaven.
We finally turned into Central Park and hit mile 24. That
was the mile we ran for my baby girl. The first thing we saw on the sidelines
was someone holding a HUGE unicorn balloon- Evelyn’s self-proclaimed spirit
animal. My eyes are filling with tears just thinking about the moment. I
thought about how much she means to me and how I would do absolutely anything
for her. I knew we could finish strong.
Mile 25-26 was for Jason and I. We thought about everything
we have gone through to find each other- every wrong turn and mistake, every
year spent living a life less than what we deserved, every hour spent on the
road that brought us together. Putting it in that perspective made one more
mile seem like nothing.
In a moment it was over. The finish line came into view and
we crossed, still surrounded by hundreds of runners and cheering spectators. We
were too exhausted to cry. We hugged and kissed and took a few shaky, wet
selfies and walked forward to get our medals. The reality of having finished
was hard to process. We got mylar warming blankets and moved with the crowd
through the park. Someone handed me an apple. It was the most delicious thing
I’ve ever tasted.
It took about a quarter of a mile of walking before we got to
where they were handing out recovery bags with food and water. Water was the
only thing I wanted. Another quarter of a mile and we made it to the bag check.
Still another quarter mile and we were able to exit the park. We walked the 5
blocks back to our Air BnB, with people congratulating us the whole way. Then, coming towards us was the man with the unicorn balloon, so we asked for a picture!
So we did it- a thing I never thought I was capable of
doing. The thing that struck me most, standing in that crowd of thousands of
runners, was that marathon runners don’t look like marathon runners. They look
like your neighbors or your aunt or the guys from your office. They are every
shape and size, every color and age. There is nothing special about them. They
don’t have a unique ability or skill that 99% of people lack. All they have is
a determination to push themselves when their bodies tell them to stop, and to
do more when their minds want to give up. They make a decision to do it, put in
some training, and get out there and try. It was both inspiring and humbling-
not the overwhelming athletic skill, but the enormous spirit. It may have
wavered at moments. It may have been tested in the later miles. But it was there,
find-able in so many people.
Everyone wants to know if I would do it again (totally unfair question 3 days out when everything hurts and I'm dying!). I spent
Sunday night repeating over and over, “I don’t want to do that again. I don’t
want to do that again.” The blisters, the chaffing, the sore feet, the
quads-of-fire, the hours and hours and hours of training, the long boring runs
on the treadmill….Who would want that? But something inside of me knows we
probably could have run faster, done a little better. The rain, the crowds of
slower runners, the huge bridges….maybe we left something on the table.
Finishing in a certain time wasn’t the point. Running the biggest race in the
world on our first anniversary – and doing it together – that was the point and
we did it. But….the Boston Marathon is only a few months away so….
