In the days leading up to the race, I learned a lot about (rather, obsessed over) the differences between relative humidity and dew point. At first, I told myself that even if it were a little uncomfortable outside, it would still be a great day. But that level of sanity quickly devolved to the point where for the first time in my life, I seriously considered the merits of running naked.
Why? Because the forecast looked something like this:
- High of 61
- 85% humidity
- LOL YOU ARE RUNNING A MARATHON
Sarah, Joe, Jemilawon and I had a group text going almost nonstop for two weeks. Joe repeatedly encouraged us to stop worrying about the humidity and to enjoy ourselves on November 5th. But instead of taking his advice, I ran at least five dozen Google searches for “most accurate weather app, “extended 14 day forecast,” and “does high humidity make runners cry?”
All of us minus Jemilawon opted for the 6:00 bus from the Public Library. Jemilawon gave us a hard time for leaving without him, but I think that he got a little more sleep than we did, so the joke was probably on us. Plus, we got stuck in a good amount of traffic on the BQE on an Academy charter bus without a toilet, which is where we unfortunately discovered that each of us had done an outstanding job of hydrating.
Two hours later, we got off the bus and took this photo before Joe got into his fast af Wave 1 corral. I showed Sarah the picture on my phone and she said, “Oh man, we look so frumpy!” I’ll let you be the judge.
Sarah and I quickly agreed our plan of attack to get ourselves ready would be simple: Queue, porta potty, repeat until it was time to run. For someone with a bladder like mine, this seemed like the smartest plan and I figured that I’d be all set until Queens. But just as the cannons were about to go off, I looked at Sarah and said, “Oh God, I have to pee again.” Then, the rain started coming and a dull headache set in.
I'm probably the millionth person to write that I was afraid of going over the Verrazano too fast. Based on the six dollar pacing spreadsheet that I bought on the Internet, I figured that I could avoid wrecking my race by running anything between a 9:15 and a 9:45 first mile. I also knew that my watch would basically be useless until we got into Brooklyn and that I should mostly ignore it. Still, when Sarah took off ahead of me and I saw that my current pace was 10:40, I started worrying that I was going too slow.
Then, a runner next to me hopped up on the median to take pictures. I didn't think this would be a big deal, but then he started running on the median alongside me.
My life started flashing before my eyes.
I wanted to be optimistic. After all, I understood that it was a big day for a lot of people. Who was I to steal anyone’s joy? But still, it was hard for me to imagine any scenario that didn't involve this idiot falling onto me and breaking both of my legs.
Fortunately, I wasn't the only one seeing this.
"Hey asshole, you're going to take someone out and ruin their day," a voice from behind me screamed.
I turned around and shared an eye roll with him just as we reached the first mile marker. My watch read 9:41. Still on track with all my bones intact. The second mile was considerably faster, as I expected, but not too fast at 8:32. Based on how my training had gone, those were ideal splits for my first two miles, so I pumped my fist as we got off the bridge.
The miles through Brooklyn were as fun as advertised. Because of my headache, I didn't get quite as caught up in it as I imagined, but it was still every bit as exciting as everyone told me it would be. The sign game was about what you’d expect. The oldie, but goodie race signs were out in numbers. I’m sure you’ve seen them, too. “Why do all the cute ones run away?” “There’s beer at the end.” “My pace or yours?” This year, "Run like Robert Mueller has a case against you" was a very popular addition, especially as we got into Park Slope.
I knew that my parents were watching somewhere around miles 8-9, but the crowds were worse than I expected and I ended up missing them. I started worrying about missing Jess and her family at mile 14. After months of encouraging me, helping me fuel up for long runs, and constantly reminding me that I did not have a stress fracture, I owed her at least a thumbs up along the course.
My anxiety briefly went away on the Pulaski when they announced that Shalane Flanagan had won the women's race. This turned out to be one of my favorite moments of the entire race. News quickly spread amongst the few hundred around me and we cheered all the way into Long Island City. It was also around that point when I realized I was slightly ahead of the 3:55 pace group, which seemed about right, given how my training had gone.
After we made the turn off of Vernon, I started looking for Jess and her parents. I decided that if I accidentally ran by them, I'd go back and say hello anyway. Even though I was pacing for a sub-4 marathon, I was starting to feel pretty terrible and figured I'd probably end up with a 4:15ish marathon, so there was no use in missing the moment.
Luckily, I caught them in stride, just before the Queensboro Bridge:
This gave me a second wind as we climbed the Queensboro. I also started feeling the benefits of including the bridge on about 80% of my long runs, and I could tell that the incline wasn't nearly as much of a surprise to me as it was to a lot of runners around me. I was tempted to scream, "YOU'RE ALL ON MY TURF NOW. WELCOME TO QUEENS. MUAHAHAHA." But I also knew that wouldn't be very nice, so I kept my mouth shut.
The ramp down to 1st Avenue wasn't nearly as loud as I thought it'd be, which I blame the rain for. The energy of the crowd over next few miles was still pretty incredible, though, even though by mile 18 I was firmly in the You're About to Hit the Wall, Sucker territory. This was also where I caught Lauren and Dan, who were holding a sign that said "RICH MOY," which helped propel me into the Bronx.
I hung with the 3:55 pace over the bridge. But after I saw Stacey, they started pulling away from me and I was convinced that the gap would only get bigger. Someone in the crowd was eating a breakfast sandwich, which annoyed the crap out of me because it made me crave real food. So I took a banana at a water station and stopped for a few seconds to roll my quads. I could almost hear Joe screaming, "Nothing new on race day, Moy!" But by the time I made it to the Whippets cheering section at mile 21, I had thrown out all but a few goals:
- Get to the finish line
- Take a selfie with your medal
- Eat something covered in cheese
Just before the climb up 5th Ave, I decided that whenever I took water, I’d stop and walk for a few seconds. This ended up being a smarter decision than I realized. By the time we got to the hill, I felt good enough to pick up the pace a bit. When we got to the park, I did some quick math and realized that I might be able to sneak in just under 4:00 if I could run the last two miles in just under 19 minutes. So I picked it up a little more.
I have to admit that I got really annoyed with all the people in the park screaming, "You’re almost there! Less than two miles!" I knew they meant well, but for a brief minute, I just wished they’d all shut up and go find somewhere for brunch until I finished running.
As I got to Columbus Circle, I looked down at my watch and apparently had settled into a 7:55 pace. I shut off my watch with about 100m to go because I knew I'd never hear the end of it if my finish line photos were of me staring at my Garmin (a mistake I’ve made before). Pumped my fist at the finish line and when I looked up, I saw I had snuck in at 3:58. Except my official time was closer to 3:56. Had I blacked out at the finish line for a full two minutes? Considering how terrible I felt, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.
The walk out of the park was as miserable and inspiring as everyone said it would be. Met my entire family at Lincoln Center and was greeted by my sister with a bouquet of chicken fingers. As Jess and I posed for the photo below, an old woman whined that we were in her way and "needed to stop this."
"Hey lady, I just ran a marathon," I snapped back. "Could you cut me a little slack here?"
If you’re curious, here’s the Strava data, which is probably as iffy as I used to be in high school pre-calculus.
