The New York City Marathon Part III

As New Year starts, I needed to close the chapter on my Third New York City Marathon. As much as 2016 took a steep fall off a cliff two days of this Marathon, it was once again an illuminating experience.

On July 4, 2016, I started the process of training for my third New York City Marathon. It is an eighteen-week commitment. A commitment that required a lot of time alone. I have written quite a bit about it here on this site. I would wake up in the morning six to seven days a week and run with varying degrees of intensity and most of these mornings were spent alone. This marathon was my third New York City Marathon and fifth marathon overall, so I knew that I needed that diligence to get to the result I wanted. And the result mattered to me. I wanted that number- 3:15 printed next to my name in the New York Times.

The number shouldn’t have meant that much, but it did. The first year I hadn’t set a goal. Just finish was the story to the rest of the world. As the day grew closer, I had no idea how I would do but I thought under four hours was realistic. When I ran a 3:28, I was proud. I surprised myself, and I didn’t understand what it meant. That fed into my desire to train and do it again. I knew how hard it had been, but I wanted to recreate that feeling. About eight months later I ran in Cooperstown New York. I struggled over hills and through 80-degree heat in June to finish with 3:42. I wasn’t devastated. I would always need to train harder. I don’t know why, but somehow I found pleasure in that desire to push harder. Maybe there is some puritanical engine inside of me, that motivates me, but despite my body feeling tortured that day in Cooperstown, all I could think about was the next marathon.

So I decided that I would go through with running both the Chicago and New York Marathons in the Fall. I had been thinking about deferring Chicago but driving back from Cooperstown; I was sore, anxious and motivated. I decided to commit to a twenty-week training plan. I didn’t go on any vacations last summer and just focused on running. Going into the month of October 2015 I never told anyone what I thought I could do. I just said I wanted to run both well and that was true. I thought I could do better than 2014 but I wouldn’t add the pressure of telling anyone what I was shooting for. I ended up running both Marathons in nearly identical times- 3:20:38 and 3:20:36 respectively. There was an immense satisfaction out of this.

One thing did linger from doing this and that was whether I had played it too safe in Chicago to ensure I would be okay for New York. At a certain point in Mile 15 in Chicago, I decided to hedge. I wanted to hold back a little to make sure I didn’t push too hard and cost myself the chance to run in New York as well. I held back out of fear of failing. I was scared that the challenge would beat me. In New York, I had a little bit of juice and despite hitting the proverbial wall in the Bronx, I managed to match and even beat my time in Chicago. But I did wonder afterward what could have been in Chicago, a flatter course, had I not hedged. What would happen if I laid it all on the line and went hard?

This year I decided to do things a little different. Committing to do one marathon meant that I became focused on that one day, the one race and the one goal. And the desire to surpass my accomplishments started growing throughout the summer. I started feeling confident on how I was progressing and improving. I decided to tell everyone what I was hoping to do — 3:15. Breaking 3:15 would automatically qualify me for the Chicago Marathon. I put it out there knowing the kind of extra pressure it would put on me. I was finally happy putting it out there. I knew there was a strong possibility I would fail, but I decided I wanted the added pressure.

This year I took that familiar trip to Staten Island. Just like last year, my buddy dropped me off at the Verrazano Bridge at around 6:00 am. I marched behind a procession of runners emerging from large buses and found a spot where I would lay out for the next three hours. I was oddly calm during the long wait in Staten Island. I felt good, and I was just eager to get into the corral. I was friendly and helpful with a couple of people before the race, which in prior years I would have never done because the nerves eliminated any social graces. I made my way into the corral when they made the announcement. We patiently waited as we progressed from the fenced in area around a corner and up to the side ramp that leads on the bottom level of the Bridge.

In 2014 and 2015 I had been assigned to the top of the Bridge, so this was my first time on the lower Bridge. As I waited for the opening ceremonies and the professionals to get their start, I watched as countless people scurried to the underpass next to us to urinate (or at least I hope it was just pee). And in fact, it was both men and women operating in less than private conditions under the bridge. It was a spectacle of genitals and urine, but I guess that is Staten Island for you. The pre-race conversations started around me. The discussions are an odd combination of flirting and nerves that I always hear in a corral for a big race. I have to say as much as I love the intimacy of running, I love the community of races. I used to get queasy at these conversations, but now I can smile and enjoy them. I am the guy who has been there before and has something to contribute.

I could see the start line in the very near distance. During the past two years, I would ease into my pace on the bridge by just waiting for openings to pop open in the dense crowds. The bottom bridge was different. The key to all of these big races is finding the openings in the pack but being patient to find them. This time the gaps opened up much faster. I reached the first-mile, and I realized much watch wasn’t tracking correctly, so I was much moving much quicker than I had intended.

By the time I came off the bridge into Brooklyn and passed mile marker 2, my muscles had warmed up, and my legs were feeling good. I also had no idea where I was since this was my the first time coming off that bottom bridge off ramp. I tell everyone that Brooklyn is the most underrated part of the race because it is so much more intimate and the neighborhoods change but somehow the passion of the crowds stays the same. Being on the bottom bridge meant I had this different course, so I ran up Bay Ridge Parkway and then merged onto Fourth Avenue. The streets of Brooklyn during the New York City Marathon are genuine in a way that is hard to describe. The only way to explain it is feeling like a kid again. And not in that temporary way you might get when you’ve been drinking or something catches you off guard by pinging a memory. The race is like a time machine for my brain. Maybe it’s the nature of what I am doing and the exertion required to do it well, but at that moment I am not thinking about the magnitude of the 26 miles. I stop thinking about work, politics, failed relationships and all the shitty things that come with being an adult. I am a kid running in the middle of a street set against a backdrop of neighborhoods that still maintain a resemblance to the City I grew up in. For a couple of miles the world feels lighter.

At some point in Brooklyn, I acknowledged I was going too fast. I was pacing myself for a 3:12 finish or even 3:11. I started thinking I should slow myself down but I felt good. I felt loose. I would keep pushing. I could stay at this 7:00 per mile pace for a while and still have enough at the end. At that point, I saw the Blue Lady. The Blue Lady is someone I previously wrote about, and now she seems to be someone I see at almost every race I run. I imagine she has been there for the past four years at all these races. Most of the time the faces blur together, but now she had become familiar. I doubt she is aware of me at all but this summer she stopped being one of the non-descript faces and a part of the background.

The Blue Lady should have reminded me to pace myself better. Back in September, she ran the 18-mile run with a perfect pacing plan, getting faster as the run progressed. I on the other hand, like any impetuous man, had started out too hard and slowed down too much at the end. After that race, I swore to myself that I would be more disciplined and maybe let a beautiful girl pace me next I had the opportunity. When I saw her during the Marathon weighed whether I should stay with her for a while. Would she think I was creepy? I doubt she would even notice me. I also felt good and felt like I could go faster. The safe approach was to move away from her but still stay with her. This way I would check both the discipline box and the insecurity box. But I didn’t want to hedge this race or this situation. I had two very clear choices. I wasn’t going to hedge, get the girl or get the time. I could say something to her or move past her. I took the second option, partially because I trained for the 3:15 and I had a much better chance at that than the girl. I wouldn’t hedge my way through this race and overthink it. I would push and see what I had in me since this was my only marathon of 2016. I had been here before and I would be here again so why not leave everything on these streets.

I came over the Pulaski Bridge into Queens, expecting the crowds to disperse a little but they didn’t. Queens was unlike it had been during my first two marathons. It was loud and raucous and felt like I was going to jump out of my shoes. I looked down at the arm sleeves I was wearing and notice the white salty sweat marks that were forming on the black fabric. I realized that I had made it more than halfway and had not drunk any water. At the next water station, I grabbed the water, formed my spout and gulped down some water.

I was thinking about First Avenue when I made the turn towards the Queensborough Bridge. Things were shaping up for a good day. My legs felt good, so with a burst down up First Avenue, I could use the lull of the Bronx to regain some energy for the final leg on Fifth Avenue and in Central Park. The only glitch was this reoccurring pain in my left foot. By the time I reached the 90’s, I knew I would have an issue. I needed to slow my pace in the Bronx and even took a few walking steps to help alleviate the pain. My feet had been torn up, so I needed to readjust, and those few steps helped ease some of the pain momentarily. I could tolerate the remaining 7 miles but the 3:15 was gone.

As I ran down Fifth Avenue, first my parents and my uncle and aunt from Greece appeared on my right. A little further down the road as we entered Central Park, I saw my sister and her kids. Unlike in past years, where I was focused on time and finish lines, I made my way over, wiped my snot and sweat on the side of my pants and high-fived my nieces, hearing everyone squealing my name. I crossed the finish line well behind the 3:15 and even slower than last year at 3:21:53. I glanced around trying to be disappointed in the result…but I couldn’t be. I saw the Blue Lady stretching right next to me, so I smiled to myself. I saw people in tears as the medals were draped over their heads and around their necks. The actual finish line is nothing but noise and colors and exhilaration. But the steps after are quiet and reflective. But my post finish line walk out of the park is the complete opposite. It is a quiet and surreal experience that is chock full of reflection. Hundreds of people around me are taking those delicate steps and we the smiles that slowly break across our faces.

In prior years I have felt like the finish line is a cleansing experience. This year the catharsis seemed even bigger because I had pushed, I had failed, but somehow all the same emotions were there. The satisfaction, the jubilation, the pride and happiness that crept through me weren’t missing. It took me two months to finish writing this, but I have been struggling with the joy of that marathon in light of all the things that have been happening in this country and the world. As quickly as November 6th brought me joy, November 8th brought me a much greater sadness. But what I have absorbed since then from reflecting on it is a clearer path going forward. Being a cynic and hedging on things is easy. I can hedge on my career, my relationships, on my expectations of the world and everything in between. But in the end, the word hedging is just another way of saying I am scared. And it’s time now to stop being scared of failing or being out there. The first thing I learned from running is that doing something will always be better than avoiding it. I think this year I can attribute one more thing to running and that is the experience will always beat the insecurities and the fear of failure, and ultimately the failure itself. The number next to my name doesn’t define the experience because in reality I am the only one that gets to value it. And of course, the best part is that there are an infinite amount of things to experience, whether it’s the first time, the third or the next thity times.