Rocking The Marathon, New York StyleRace Report from the 2008 New York City MarathonPart III – The “Leg” Miles

THE “LEG” MILES

Mile 11 (Mile Time – 6:53; Total Time – 1:15:02; Average Pace – 6:49)

“Don’t bring the people to the races,” (Fred) Lebow said. “Bring the race to the people.”

I continue onward on Bedford Avenue and are getting closer to the first location where a friend of mine said she’d be coming out to spectate. The crowd was somewhat sporadic in this part of Brooklyn but since I didn’t know which side of the street she’d be on, I had to look in both directions and scan the crowds quickly as I was running. The marathon course traverses through a very orthodox Jewish community at this point, a community that views our travel through their neighborhood more as public nuisance than as a activity worthy of commendation. For the most part, all the local residents I saw tried as hard as they could to ignore the public spectacle happening just a few feet from where they were standing and walking. I even saw an older mother trying to cross over Bedford Avenue with her four small toddlers right in front of us! Thank goodness a cop was there to redirect her and save her young ones from being trampled by the onslaught of runners.

I finally saw R.H. at the end of this mile together with her roommate, screaming wildly and cheering like madwoman dressed in oversized plastic glasses and puffy feathery dresses. “This must have been their leftover costumes they didn’t wear to their Halloween party!” I thought to myself as I approached them. I chuckled, gave them a hearty big wave and cruised on by.

Mile 12 (Mile Time – 6:50; Total Time – 1:21:52; Average Pace – 6:49)

One day his sister asked him. “Why do you care so much about strangers?” Lebow responded…”There is no such thing as a stranger; every human being is special.”

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Or maybe it’s the delirium that accompanies running on for so many miles. I’m convinced though that there are stretches in the tough middle miles of a marathon where the mind will play tricks on you. It’d make you perceive things that are not really happening or go through emotions that would seem out of place and irrational otherwise. It wants to make you alter your plans or stop you dead in your tracks even when everything’s physically fine and you’re having the time of your life.

I should have been so happy at this point in the race. I had stuck with the game plan and had run quick even miles while expending very little energy. In fact I was running faster than I’ve ever had in a marathon and still felt I could have sped up a bit more if I had wanted. I just saw one of my spectating friends with promises of more to come once we hit Manhattan. The weather was getting warmer and milder with each successive mile, and I had no physical complaints whatsoever. I was running freer and speedier than I ever thought I would be at this point in a marathon.

But instead, I was downright miserable. Up ahead, an Italian guy was playing helicopter with the crowd, weaving in and out of the road to slap the hands of all the youngsters cheering from the sidelines. He looked so happy swerving left and right and entertaining the spectators with his antics. Another foreign runner was posing for pictures with a mob of his Brooklyn contingents on the opposite side of the road. Something about watching these foreign runners having the time of their lives with the locals in my town really bothered me. I thought about how despite my deepest desires, they’d be no posing for pictures, no playing with the crowd, not even a thank you to those who’d come out to cheer for me today. It was the realization of that harsh reality that made me sad. I wish there was some way to run for fun AND run for time both in the same race.

In order to stop the floodgates from opening up, I made a promise to myself that one day, after I’ve hit that running plateau that so many others have warned me about, I will run this marathon course slow, perhaps with a friend, just to dance to the music, play with the crowds, eat all their free giveaways and generally see all that I’ve missed out on in all the years I ran this marathon for a BQ or a time. Yeah, that’d be nice.

Mile 13 (Mile Time – 6:52; Total Time – 1:28:44; Average Pace – 6:49)

“The thing that sets New York apart from all the other marathons is that half of the runners are foreigners.” Obelkevich said. “New York is a melting pot.” (Dave Obelkevich is one of only two runners who has run every consecutive New York City Marathon since its inception in 1976)

The crowds are more boisterous and loud in this part of Williamsburg, which is also the last section of Brooklyn we would visit that day. There is an obvious international theme here with spectators hoisting different colored flags and conversations being held in a myriad of languages. The conglomeration of different cultures and the circus-like atmosphere made it feel more like an international political rally in the U.N. than an organized marathon. As I made my way through the heavy crowd and foreign runners, I wondered what they’d say if I told them that although I’d never been to most of their countries of origin, I still have aspirations of running in their marathons one day.

One country that I did visit this year was New Zealand, where I met up with K.C. and went backpacking through the country. Although the trip was already some 9 months ago, I still remember the panoramic views over snow capped mountains as some of the most breathtaking sights I’d ever seen. In a way, it was not totally unlike what I was experiencing touring the streets of Brooklyn. The overwhelming power of both nature and civilized culture was awe-inspiring in both cases.

Once I was out of Brooklyn, running towards the end of this mile, I took my first G.U. and prepared myself mentally for what awaits me in the next borough.

Mile 14 (Mile Time – 6:57; Total Time – 1:35:41; Average Pace – 6:50)

A marathoner is obsessed with details. Miles, minutes, split times, weather, calories, aches, pains, blisters, black toenails, heart rate, lactate threshold, sleep hours, ice baths, training partners, races, courses, shoes, energy gel, Gatorade flavor, feelings—it is all log material. Past performance must instruct the future.

In many ways, running through the ethnic neighborhoods of Brooklyn felt more like an episode of the Amazing Race with 37,000 contestants than the first half of a marathon. Upon reaching the Pulaski Bridge however, I knew it was time to get serious. Half of the marathon was already complete, which meant that half of the work towards a spanking new PR was already done. I just had to make sure to keep the same effort and avoid major catastrophes in the second half.

Coming upon the 13.1 marker, I was almost giddy with anticipation to see what my time for the half would be. Before the race, I had made a nominal goal at the start to cross the halfway point under 1:30. This time would not only be the fastest half in a marathon for me, but also provide a good barometer to gauge the second half effort. With short strides and a relaxed posture, I crossed the timing mat at 1:29:30. I felt a slight exhilaration upon seeing the yellow digits flash up on the timing screen. Not only was this more than a minute faster than what I ran last year, I was actually on pace for a sub 3 hour marathon – if my body wanted it.

The significant of this moment was not lost on me. I remembered a time not so long ago when breaking the 1:30 benchmark for a half-marathon was both a physical and psychological barrier for me. Although I’d get close on multiple previous occasions, it took me more than 2 years, over 7 different tries for me to finally conquer that time. During those days when I would habitually break down in the final two or three miles and finish a minute or two over the 1:30 mark, I seriously thought that I’ve ever be taken seriously as a runner because I was neither fast enough or strong enough to make my time. And now that I’ve done it multiple times, and for the first time in the first half of a full marathon no less, I felt grateful for all those who’ve stuck with me and wouldn’t allow me to give up on myself.

As I crested and fell over the bridge and took my first steps into hometown Queens, I thought a bit about my friend M.A. Four years ago, he introduced me to this crazy sport and motivated me to run my first marathon when I had no business even filling out the entry form much less winning the lottery and earning an entry way back when. He was there through all the doubts, the insecurities, the injuries and the triumphs at a time when I really had no idea what I was doing. I’m totally indebted to him for guiding me toward this new running life of mine. Coincidentally, he is here, running in this same marathon with me, somewhere in the back. This was a momentous occasion for both of us because it was the first NYC Marathon we were participating in jointly. I’m not sure what times we’ll end up with today. Whatever it is, I’ll thank him afterwards for finally running this one with me. And although family and work obligations have taken a significant toll on his running and training, I’m hoping to encourage him to run in future marathons in the same manner he encouraged me (even though he couldn’t run) in that first one not so long ago.

Mile 15 (Mile Time – 7:00; Total Time – 1:42:41; Average Pace – 6:50)

“I don’t have a coach, I don’t have a manager, so I have these arguments with myself,” Ramaala said. “I tell myself when it’s time to go.”

Like a pack of migrating pigeons, we landed ourselves in my hometown of Queens. This borough is considered the most ethnically diverse in all of New York, although it’d be hard for the foreigners to tell from all the abandoned warehouses and desolate parks we were running next to. I’m somewhat disappointed that the marathon trail cuts through Long Island City, and makes no mention of all the delectable neighborhoods and scenic vistas lying just maybe a few miles away. The crowd is sparse, and in some stretches unenthusiastic, as they watch us runners negotiate the twists and turns of the meandering marathon course on our way through their narrow streets.

Given the lackluster scenery and uninspiring nature of the crowds, I for one have checked out of this place barely a mile into it. Mentally, I’m already preparing for the challenge of the Queensborough Bridge lying straight ahead and eagerly anticipating the thunderous reception I’d be receiving on the opposite side.

Mile 16 (Mile Time – 7:08; Total Time – 1:49:49; Average Pace – 6:51)

“It’s like coming home,” Radcliffe will explain (referring to the Queensborough Bridge). “It’s like when you’ve been away for a while and you come back to your favorite mug and your favorite chair.”

I reach the bridge and the first thing I notice is how quiet and dark it is here. There is no talk, there is no light. There’s not even a water stop or a poster ad to break up the monotony of this uphill mile. Other than the opening mile at the entrance to the Verrazano, this is the steepest incline on the entire marathon course. For me, this serves as the unofficial half-way point for the marathon. Although there is no banner or marker signifying it as such, I have come to realize that my efforts after this point will have as much to do if not more than anything I did up to this point in determining my final time. In essence, the key to the city serves as the key to my race.

I, like the rest of my fellow compatriots, are forced to focus on our thoughts as we migrate like nomads over this bridge. At the midpoint of this brutal climb, I start to feel some pain in my right knee. I have slowed down considerably since crossing the halfway point, but refuse to succumb to the temptation of slowing to a crawl. In my mind, I have confidence that the pain is only temporary and is accentuated only by his steep mountainous journey. Instead of fixating on the fatigue and pain, I chose instead to hold my form, stay relaxed and recollect and reflect on all my positive running accomplishments since I was last at this point one year ago.

Mile 17 (Mile Time – 6:51; Total Time – 1:56:40; Average Pace – 6:51)

“You really feel like everybody’s there cheering for you,” Harrie (Bakst) will say. “You’re running this race with 38,000 people, but it’s almost like the spotlight is on you.”

Having crested the bridge, I can hear the thunderous cheers of the Manhattan faithful reaching a new crescendo with each footfall. Posted on a banister along the exit ramp to the bridge is an ING sign that reads “If you made it here—you can make it anywhere.” Although I couldn’t disagree with the sentiment, I still would rather have seen last year’s sign here which said “If easier means 10 miles to go…welcome to easier!” In my mind, that’s what I was imagining I’d see, so I kept repeating “Get to easier, get to easier…” as I ran through the toughest portions of the bridge.

I was still recovering from the tortuous climb when I ran down the off-ramp and exited onto the streets of Manhattan. As such, I didn’t have time to adequately prepare myself for the onslaught of noise from the crowds numbering ten deep lining the side street off the bridge. For those who’ve never experienced it, the sensation is similar to the one you get after you’ve just gotten to the top of a roller-coaster and now just free-falling towards the earth. And even though this is already the third time I’ve gone through the experience, the sheer power of the decibel level and enormity of the situation never fails to overwhelm me with pure joy and passion.

I gathered myself quickly though after reaching First Avenue. My first designated cheering spot in the big city was coming up and I didn’t want to look worse the part. My friend M.T. was keeping an eye out for me on the east side of 1^st and 63^rd. As I ran past her and some friends standing outside her favorite tavern, I gave her a quick thumbs up and continued fervently on my way.

Mile 18 (Mile Time – 7:01; Total Time – 2:03:41; Average Pace – 6:52)

The New York City Marathon—Pam realizes—makes you feel like a superstar. (She is a recovering alcoholic and a mother of three from Virginia who ran the 2007 race)

I progress northward on First Avenue and find myself back on very familiar ground. If my little side journey into Queens this morning could be considered a short hometown visit, well then this foray into the Upper East Side should be my homecoming for it passes within steps of my current residence. Indeed, this little marathon mile was not only exciting but somewhat emotional for me this year. Within a radius of about ten city blocks, I’d not only pass by bars, neighbors, and shops I’d come to know like the back of my hand, but also an entourage of Flyer teammates, who will be handing out Powergels at the PowerStation, as well as my best friend EW, who will be stationed there with his parents cheering me on heartily while waiting for his sister and her husband who will arriving in the wave after me.

As I prepared to run pass each of these checkpoints, I told myself to avoid the temptation to linger but keep a good pace moving through. The object was to leave everyone with a good impression, even if internally, I was doubting my ability to maintain my focus and my pace. I was slowing down now with each successive mile, and even the promise of free beer on the house by my favorite bartender wasn’t able to motivate my legs to drop the pace again.

Given all that was going on, I’d say I completed my run through this emotional mile very admirably. I didn’t drop off the pace too much and found and greeted everyone I was supposed to at all the designated place. The only person I missed was my friend SS who brought a kickass sign for me that I somehow missed. She’d tell me afterwards that she spotted me flying by her looking faster than what she’d imagined at this late stage of the marathon. I’m hoping she’d bring her sign out next year so I can get to see it first hand in a race.

Mile 19 (Mile Time – 6:59; Total Time – 2:10:40; Average Pace – 6:52)

“His (Fred Lebow) whole thing was to make people happy,” Sarah added. “He got people volunteering for nothing, for maybe a T-shirt.”

I left the last of my designated cheering squad at the beginning of this mile and now am on my own for the rest of the journey, at least until Central Park. The rows of spectators piled three, four person deep in the previous mile have also quietly disappeared. Over on the other side, a few runners are pulled over to the metal barricades kicking their legs and stretching their calves, doing what they can to overcome the effects of the long distance. I take their cue and make a quick analysis of my own running condition.

Physically, I was a bit beat up now, but not suffering any excruciating pains in any one area. My legs were sore, as I would assume they would be at this point, while the pains in both my feet never crept up beyond a mild soreness and tingling. Pacing wise, I had settled into the 7:00 min/mile zone for the past three or four miles, which meant that sub-3:00 was now out of the question. Still, I was excited that my pace has remained only in the 7 minute range, which meant that my sub-3:05 as well as my sub-3:03 goals were still within reach.

I allowed my legs to carry the pace so my head can be focused for the challenge staring right at me…the Willis Avenue Bridge and the torture chamber otherwise known as the Bronx.

Mile 20 (Mile Time – 7:10; Total Time – 2:17:50; Average Pace – 6:53)

"I recall the Willis Avenue Bridge being a no-man’s-land,” said Duffy, 46, a runner himself. “Now, as runners go by, the reception you get is amazing. You see the pumping of the fists and a smile on their face, which is important especially at that place, which is The Wall.”

There are certain miles in a marathon where conquering the distance is more of a mental struggle than it is a physical one. Mile 20, for all intents and purposes, was that mile for me. It wasn’t so much that there was any tangible reason for this mile at this point to be so tough. It was more the vivid memories of past performances during this stretch that haunts my race today. It was here in my first marathon that I first physically broke down and had to walk and eventually crawl my way in to the finish. It was here in my second marathon that my pace completely dropped off and it took all of my energy and strength just to keep it together for the final 10K. Now, as I prepared for battle a third time around, I hoped that these past experience will prove more of an ally than an adversary.

I gulped down a GU and tossed the empty packet aside as I cautiously take my first steps across the Willis Avenue Bridge. My calves are throbbing in pain from the incline but unlike in years past, I chose to ignore the pain. I half-expected to see Flyer PD and his bagpipe out at his usual location on the bridge, but he must have been late this day because I couldn’t find him (unless I’d been looking at the wrong place) I crested the bridge at a gentle pace and descend gradually toward the other side.

I arrived in the Bronx with a different attitude today than I did in years past. This quick little detour—no longer than a mile—used to be just an unnecessary pitstop in a forgotten borough for me. Now, I’m seeing it as the closest I’ll get to visiting the workplace before I’d be turning back. For a little while, I scan the faces of the children and teens who came out to cheer today and can imagine some of my patients who are mostly drawn from this heterogeneous neighborhood. I send a small prayer out to my patients and their families hoping they’d be out here, being inspired by all the runners to make a healthy change in their own lives.

Rocking The Marathon, New York StyleRace Report from the 2008 New York City MarathonPart II – The Start and The “Head” Miles

It’s been said that in order for the human mind to conceptualize a gargantuan task as long and arduous as running a marathon, it is best to psychologically deconstruct the task into a collection of smaller tasks that are individually less daunting. As I began the monumental feat of running 26.2 miles from the depths of Fort Wadsworth in Staten Island to Tavern on the Green in Central Park, I employed this tactic to divide my journey into three sections – the first ten miles, which I planned to run with my head, the next ten miles, which I planned to run with my legs, and the last 10K or 6.2 miles, which I planned to run with my heart. What follows is the story of the 2008 New York City Marathon as experienced by me, The Laminator.

(The quotes at the beginning of each mile/section are taken directly from Liz Robbin’s A Race Like No Other, the story of the 2007 New York City Marathon as told by the people who witnessed it first hand)

THE START

This is a day that ends with a celebration of individual achievement; the start recognizes those individuals with the courage to be here in the first place.

“What Does It Take?” My long sleeve technical shirt ponders as it stares back at me from within the confines of the clear marathon bag I had packed the night before. This was the official logo of the New York Marathon this year and all through the week I had been asking myself the same question each time I saw the marathon ad on the side of a city bus or on a public phone booth. I know what it takes to finish a marathon; I even know what it takes to B.Q. in one of these things, but to run it even faster, possibility sub-3:05, sub-3:03, or gasp, sub-3:00, with a body that’s less than 100% no less, I seriously haven’t got a clue. Still, as I grabbed my bag and headed over to the U.P.S. trucks that will deliver the shirt, my clothes and the rest of my things over to Central Park, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d done all I could in preparatory training for this marathon and will just run the race to the best of my ability or what my health will allow.

It was a cool and breezy 40 degrees when I arrived at my race corral in the Blue start of Wave 1. Because I had ridden a later ferry and had taken some time changing out of my fleece sweater and long johns at the baggage area, I had forgotten to take out the rest of my breakfast (a yogurt and orange) before I handed my bags to the U.P.S. man. What’s worse was that because I was hustling and bustling to make it into my starting corral before it closed, I underestimated how cold and breezy it was going to be standing around for the next 20 minutes or so, waiting for the race to start. Although the sun was bright and was ever so slowly starting to exert its radiance over the island, I was still subtly shivering, dressed in my thin throwaway cotton long sleeve over my sleeveless singlet and racing shorts. I look over the field of mostly foreign runners around me and couldn’t help but feel jealous of those that were better dressed for the weather than I was, at least for the beginning.

All of a sudden, I see the corral barriers get lifted and we’re running. No, it wasn’t the start of the race yet, mind you, but the obligatory jog to the starting line a few feet from the entrance to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. As I’m jogging, I overhear a conversation a fellow runner next to me was having with his friend. “Are you planning to run sub-3:00 today?” “That’s the plan.” “What is the plan?” “I’m going to run 6:45 miles for the first half and then see if I’ve got enough for 5^th Avenue this time around. Last year I was on my way ‘til I bonked going through the Bronx.” “Well, if you want to follow me, I’m running 6:30 or 6:35s in Brooklyn and then maybe 6:45s going through the 59^th Street Bridge…” “Maybe…” I didn’t catch the rest of that conversation because I was swept up by the crowd. Yet from what I did catch, I got a sense of the pace I’d have to set if I wanted to be close for sub-3:00.

From where I finally stood when the pack around me came to a rest, I was still able to make out the starting line in front of me, so I knew I wasn’t so far back. As I waited, shivered, and took the last of my Gatorade, I wondered where all my friends who traveled over to the start with me that day were situated right at that moment in time. I also wondered whether all those who were coming out to cheer me on were in position yet. As the Star Bangled Banner played in the background, I suddenly realized that because I was leading so many friends into their first or second marathon today, and waiting to meet and greet so many others who’d come out to spectate, this marathon really wasn’t about me at all. It was about running and inspiring all those who have taken or will take up the sport because of my participation in this race and who themselves in their own respective way will convince and motivate others to likewise do the same. In essence, this was my campaign to “Pay It Forward”, and no matter how it turns out today, I would have succeeded because I started.

After listening attentively for final race instructions and customary send-off from David Bloomberg and Mary Wittenberg, I took off my long-sleeve cotton tee, toss it over to the side of the road, and started my race.

THE “HEAD” MILES

Mile 1 (Mile Time – 7:30; Total Time – 7:30; Average Pace – 7:30)

“If you do one marathon on earth, you do this one,” Peggy Sailler, of Saint-Malo, France.

The first mile of the New York City Marathon is a spectacle onto itself. There is the grand specter of the Verrazano, the longest suspension bridge in the country, bouncing like bed springs underneath the weight of 37,000 runners, professionals and amateurs alike, as they begin their multi-hour city tour across the five boroughs. In the background, Frank Sinatra is playing his best rendition of “New York, New York” while in the harbor down below, fountains of water in shades of red, white, and blue are being sprayed into the air for the sheer enjoyment of the runners as they make across the expanse of the bridge.

It would all make for a picture perfect postcard tale if it weren’t for the fact that not long after crossing the start, maybe a quarter-mile in, you’d usually see more than a few runners…specifically men runners…scoot off to the side of the bridge and send their liquid excrements into the jet stream below. I, being the sophisticated local that I am, have always frowned upon such practices. “Why, oh, why, do you have to contaminate our waters with your filthy remains?” I ask myself every year as I traverse this bridge. “Is this really the best way for you to leave your mark upon this great city of mine?”

I began my ascension up the bridge with these similar thoughts. However this year, as soon as I started to watch the annual pilgrimage of runners toward the side of the bridge, I started to get a burning sensation in the bladder region. At first, this was interesting to me, as I had never learned the urinary urge to be a contagious phenomenon, in contrast to other body functions like the urge to yawn or to smile. But as I continued the long climb up to the bridge, the urge grew stronger and stronger. Given that I was on the first mile of a three hour journey, it became clear that I needed to make a quick decision or risk jeopardizing the rest of my race. I finally rescinded and cursed myself as I raced over the side of the bridge to do my business. Luckily, there was a small gutter running underneath where I was standing so I was spared the moral humiliation of having directly defiled the waters down below.

As soon as I was done, I scooted back into the middle of the pack. I tried hard to forget what had just happened and refocus myself back into the race. But as I slowly eased back into a running pace, my right foot, which had been achy and sore the last two weeks due to a flare-up of plantar fasciitis, became somewhat uncomfortable to run on. I wasn’t sure whether I was sore from the inflammation or whether there was discomfort because my insoles were positioned incorrectly. I didn’t want to incur any additional damage to my foot this early on in this race so I hopped onto the curbed and stopped for a few seconds to re-examine my shoes. After I’d sufficiently realigned the parts, repositioned the tongue and adjusted the laces, I was finally back on track. I quickened the pace just a tad to finishing my mile at the exact time I did last year, despite the detours.

Mile 2 (Mile Time – 6:22; Total Time – 13:52; Average Pace – 6:55)

"I am still afraid of the marathon,” South Africa’s Hendrick Ramaala admitted a few months before the race. “I think all the guys deep down, they know. They are scared of the marathon.”

Coming off the bridge, this mile is the biggest downhill portion of the race. As such it is also known for being a very fast mile. In both of my previous NYCMs, this stretch was by far and away the speediest for me. But hidden within the depths of this downturning straightaway is an eclectic message decipherable to only those who’ve frequented this road more than once before. The writing is clear: Do not lust after the velocity gained on this road that you expend valuable energy that will prove more useful later on in the course.

Today, I see many people ignoring this principle as I see streams and streams of people huffing and puffing their way past me as I glide effortlessly down the bridge. In the past, I might have been enticed to follow their pace, or as I’ve done in some recent races, purposefully slow down. Luckily for me though, I had just finished reading a Times article addressing this exact strategic question a few days ago. In it, Alberto Salazar, an elite marathoner in his own right and coach to one Kara Goucher, stated that the most energy-efficient way of traveling down hills is to allow gravity to do as much of the work as possible. By running faster or slower than the decline of the road is to utilize additional energy expenditure that may become critical at the later portions of the race.

I repeat his mantra several times and thank him under my breath as I make my way down the exit ramp and onto the streets of downtown Brooklyn.

Mile 3 (Mile Time – 6:38; Total Time – 20:30; Average Pace – 6:49)

God is everywhere on Fourth Avenue…Churches and synagogues, and mosques line both sides of the broad island-divide street, from Pentecostal storefronts to Roman Catholic towers, their names written in Spanish, English and Arabic. This four-mile stretch becomes a stirring advertisement for the unity of faith.

Once I reach Fourth Avenue, I’m aware that my race has officially begun. I slow down to scoop a cup of Gatorade from a smiling volunteer at the first water station and I’m well on my way. Although it is still quite early for a Sunday morning (Wave 1 started at 9:40AM this year…and it was the first day post clock switchback), large crowds were already starting to form on both sides of the street. Cowbells, cheers, and noisemakers filled the air as we make our way up through the ethnic neighborhood. I see house bands and choirs of different churches and denominations set up shop right next to each other and had to wonder if they’d each take turns or just drown out each other’s music.

Although the spectators were all bundled up, most of us runners were still in the thawing stages. Most of the foreigners were running in tech sweaters and tights and some even had on wool hats and mittens. I was running only in a sleeveless singlet and shorts, with only a bandana and cheap gloves to protect me against the elements. And even though I was running comfortably in my attire, I couldn’t agree more with the first funny sign I saw that morning held up by a small child and his dad that read “If you want your clothes back, hurry up and run!”

Mile 4 (Mile Time – 6:49; Total Time – 27:19; Average Pace – 6:49)

“The fans, they don’t just come out and cheer the leader, they just hang out. They’re there all day, cheering everybody,” (Lance) Armstrong says, shaking his head in amazement. “Somebody who’s not from here, you never know these boroughs, these neighborhoods exist.”

I settle in to my race pace and become completely comfortable in my surroundings. I was running well, running warm, and more importantly, running without pain. My right foot, which started to tingle and twitch over the bridge, has settled into a dull, numbing soreness that probably would not be perceptible if I wasn’t paying it so much attention. I focused my attention on guessing the names and countries of the runners around me in order to distract myself.

At about the half way point of this mile, I began searching the crowd for a familiar face. My friend who I had coached to run this race had his family stationed here so I was eager to see if I can spot the entourage out in full force. As I scanned for faces left and right along this block, I reflect a bit on my own family, wondering aloud how I’d react if I’d ever saw one of them cheering me on from the sidelines…

I never could find my friend’s entourage in this mile. What I did find was a few old workmates of mine who had come out to support the race. From the looks of surprise on their faces, I could tell they hadn’t been following any of my exploits of late.

Mile 5 (Mile Time – 6:49; Total Time – 34:08; Average Pace – 6:49)

As much as the New York City Marathon is about the physical experience, it also provides for many a spiritual component. Runners conduct private conversations during the race with themselves, their bodies and their God. In turn, the runners inspire the worshippers who spill onto the streets.

I am submerged further into the culture of Fourth Avenue. All around me, Hispanics and blacks, Asians and whites huddle closely together to support their runners. Off in the distance, I hear the energetic voices of a gospel choir singing a glorious song. Some people, children mostly, are watching and swaying rhythmically to the beat. Almost in sync with the music, my mind wanders to my mantra of the day—the famous quote from George Sheehan, which says “I have met my hero and he is me.” I start to the think about the ramifications of the statement and question myself as if I truly deserve to be my own hero. In what sense of the word am I a hero? I run marathons, and am an average runner at best. I try real hard to be good at what I do and try equally hard to inspire those around me to be good runners, but is that enough to be called a hero? I thought about Flyer BS and my patients who suffer from a myriad of cancers and other debilitating diseases, and yet despite all that, do all they can to be good people and live healthy lives. I think they are ten times the real-life heroes than I’ll ever be….

I force myself to stop the conversation in my head. I’m getting emotional and can feel my heart rate jump ever so slightly. “It’s too early…too soon.” I tell myself. I relax and find my good running pace all over again.

Mile 6 (Mile Time – 6:53; Total Time – 41:01; Average Pace – 6:50)

Said Haye (the pastor of music and arts at Emmanuel Baptist Church. “Life is a process, with ups and downs, trials and tribulations, and you cannot give up.”

I’m almost at the midpoint of Fourth Avenue now, as I can slowly make out the borders of the tall edifice more commonly known as the Williamsburg Savings Bank Tower a few miles down the road. The sun is higher and it’s starting to get warmer. More hats and gloves are being left on street corners awaiting pickup by race volunteers. Although I had wanted to hold onto my gloves for as long as possible, I knew they’d find new owners by races’ end. After wiping the first beads of perspiration off my brow, I reliniquished my ownership of said gloves and tossed them over to the side.

Towards the end of this mile, I saw a sign that read “Of course your feet hurt when you’re kicking so much ass!” and started to laugh.

Mile 7 (Mile Time – 6:43; Total Time – 47:44; Average Pace – 6:49)

If you are ready, you have to grab that opportunity. Don’t wait. Because the next year may not be your time. When it’s the marathon, I have to try everything to be first. Because it might be my last. – Henrik Ramaala.

I was slightly annoyed that I lost concentration for a bit in the last mile and allowed my pace to creep up a bit pass the 6:50 mark. Since I was still feeling strong, and breathing as comfortably as I usually am on a long training run, I sped up a bit in order to regain the form and speed that I had lost in the preceding mile. As I did, I passed by Flyer J.D. who waved at me as I was foraging by. Honestly, I was somewhat surprised and perplexed to see him there. Here was someone who I’ve raced with on several occasions and each time would leave me breathing his dust by the end of the first mile. Suddenly, I’m leading him almost a third of the way into a marathon. What’s going on here? Am I running well, or just well enough to completely bonk in the end? I didn’t dare answer my own question as I used a slight downhill to speed up every so slightly even more.

As I did, I thought about some of my other Flyers friends who weren’t running this race for one reason or another. There was BH who is sitting this one out to rest his injuries; BS who is diligently running his miles and getting for Philly in a few weeks. Then they was SH who is recovering after B.Q.-ing at Berlin a month or so back and N.L. who will probably be running her first one next year. I’m so grateful for this running contingent who in a few short months have been the greatest running companions I’d ever known. I felt myself almost get emotional again, but choked back from tears just before it was able to escape through to the surface. “Be smart, L” I told myself. “Extra feelings means extra energy expenditure that we really can’t afford with so many miles still left to go. Besides, it’d be somewhat embarrassing if some other Flyer happens to sneak up on you and find you more than a little teary-eyed this early in the race. Better save your energy and run a little faster instead”

Mile 8 (Mile Time – 6:49; Total Time – 54:33; Average Pace – 6:49)

“The essence of real athletes is that you’re always competing against yourself,” (Mike) Richter said. “With running, it’s just a different arena. That feeling I had when playing hockey, it’s still there. You play with as much excellence as you can.”

I reached the end of Fourth Avenue and start making my way up Lafayette Street. I was glad for this change of venue as the journey up Fourth was getting to be a little monotonous. Even after making the turn, the crowd continued to be loud and boisterous during this section. On the side of the street, kids were serving up lemonade for spectators at a make shift stand while the adults continued to hoop and holler, dance and sway to the rhythms of a sassy saxophone band playing next to them.

I thought a bit about my brother during this mile. Before the race, I had promised I’d dedicate a mile to him during the course and for some reason, watching kids and their parents on windows and doorsteps clapping and cheering us on, made me especially think of him during this stretch. Although he’s thirteen years my younger and up to now has only mustered enough strength and stamina to last him for a 5K run, it hasn’t stopped me from imagining the possibility that one day he and I could be out there together, running these streets. I wonder if my knees will hold up ‘til that day.

Mile 9 (Mile Time – 6:52; Total Time – 1:01:25; Average Pace – 6:49)

The Marathon is my passion, my love and my excitement. - Victor Nazarro, (a retired firefighter who developed cancer as a result of working in ground zero for three straight months. He would pass away on December 30, 2007, at the age of 55)

I make the turn onto Bedford Avenue and in an instant feel as if I’ve been teleported somewhere else. The crowds are much thinner here and there is less support. I start to do some quick math and am startled by the revelations. My NYC marathon is almost a third over? Could it be? I was ecstatic that my foot hasn’t yet bothered me so far so that even as this was supposed to be an uphill mile, I really did not notice the topographic difference as I was running this mile.

More important than just the difference in distance per se, the fact that my marathon was almost one-third over signals a chance in racing philosophy as well. As per my pre-race strategy, after the next mile, my “head miles” will turn into the “leg miles”, which means that my legs will soon take over the pacing responsibilities for next ten miles of the race.

I, for one, couldn’t wait.

Mile 10 (Mile Time – 6:44; Total Time – 1:08:09; Average Pace – 6:48)

“To be happy,” Jelena (Prokopcuka) concludes with a knowing smile, “is when you have enough.”

After battling through the last uphill mile, most of this stretch was downhill. This allowed me the luxury of recapturing a speedy pace. But even though I ran this stretch as comfortably as I had without surging or slowing down, the arch of my left foot started to sting and burn at the completion of this section. This, to me, was odd since it was my right foot and not my left who had given me trouble in the recent past. I thought about my fellow injury pal, runner26, and wondered if she was having as much fun tempering the naughty pain signals as I am. I quickly decided not to think too specifically about the pain. Since there was nothing I could do about it anyways, I felt it was best to ignore the sensory signals for now and continue running as strong a pace as my body will allow.

I end my head miles feeling as strong as I did when I started this race. This in itself was no small feet. I turn over the monumental task of leading the next ten miles to my less-than-perfect legs as I reach and cross over the Mile 10 marker.

Race Report…In Progress

Hey all! Yes, the race report to end all race reports is being generated. I’m trying to incorporate some info and quotes from Liz Robbin’s book into it so it’s taking me some additional time to put everything together. I was about to sit down this afternoon to start when I got called in for this office meeting where some big case that came in over the weekend was being discussed. Apparently, patients got sick and actual hospital work was being done while I was running the best NYC Marathon of my life. Who knew? My only question for all my coworkers during the hour long meeting was “Hmmm...out of all of you who DIDN’T work on Sunday…how come you weren’t at First Avenue, Fifth Avenue or Central Park cheering me on? Hello..Didn’t you know I was going to run an amazing race and PR like crazy?” After some discussion and parading of my medal, I was told that I should have predicted my PR and sent out a memo to everyone in the department a week in advance.

Yeah, sure…like you can ever predict greatness that way.

Anyway, thanks so much for all the congratulations. I’m still somewhat in shock over my weekend performance even if my legs and calves have started forgiving me already. I’m looking forward to sharing all the fun details with everyone. Race report will be out later on the weekend.