Running on Empty

One week before the New York Marathon I was in a cab on my way to La Guardia Airport. The cabbie, trying to make conversation, said, "You see all those cars going the other way? Those are the runners coming in for the marathon."

"But the marathon's not 'til next week," I told him.

"Yeah, but all these guys are coming in from other countries and have to get used to the time and the climate and everything. It's a big thing, you know."

A week and 26 miles, 385 yards later, I realized just how big the New York Marathon is, and--despite waiting in long lines, anticipating the start of the race, and dealing with my tired body--it is one of the great events in sports.

A Fine Line

The prevalent theme of the New York Marathon is the line. First one must wait in line in Central Park to receive an entry form. Next is the six week wait to find out whether you've been accepted through the lottery (the race is limited to 19,000 entrants, although 41,000 apply to get in).

Once accepted, the big lines come. There's the 90-minute line stretching three blocks around the Sheraton Centre in which you have to wait to get into the hotel. Then you wait in another line to get your number, another one to get your t-shirt, and still another to get to the "store" where the New York Road Runners Club peddles everything from marathon posters to marathon shoelaces to marathon plaques imprinted with your finish time (provided you make it to the starting line).

There's the blue line that is painted from the start to the finish, and of course the line of 19,000 runners that stretches over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

Ready

The night before the race, my brother prepared me the requisite carbohydrate-packed pasta meal. Having stuffed myself with fettucine, I watched a little TV and went to sleep, ready for what the next day would bring.

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. Sunday, put on my lucky shirt (a bright yellow t-shirt with OREGON emblazened in green across the front), shorts, and shoes, got some money for a cab, and went outside to hail a car to take me to the Public Library from where the buses would take the runners to the starting line on Staten Island.

"The Public Library," I told the driver.

"Where's that?" he asked.

"I think it's on 5th," I said.

"No, I think it's on 7th," was the reply.

It was then that I began to think whether I'd ever make it to the starting line. Luckily, I saw another marathon-type haililng a cab.

"Why don't you pick this guy up?" I said as the driver swerved across two lanes to pick up the runner.

"I hope you know where the library is," I said to our new passenger.

"Sure, it's on 42nd and 5th."

Speeding along to our destination, the driver asked, "So why're you guys up so early? You work at the library or something?"

"No, we're running in the marathon."

"What marathon?"

"The New York Marathon."

"How long is that?"

"It starts on Staten Island and goes 26 miles to Central Park."

"Wow, that's a long way. You want me to take you to Staten Island?"

"No thanks. We'll take the bus."

I knew we were near the library when I saw buses lined up for five or six blocks. "You can let us out here," I said as the driver pulled over.

I boarded a bus outside the library and 20 minutes later I was at Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island. The Verazanno Narrows Bridge and the New York skyline loomed in the distance.

It was 6:45 and I had for hours to kill before the race. What do you do when you have nothing to do for four hours?

I went into one of the many huge tents provided for the runners to keep warm and I slept. I woke up and read the newspaper. I slept again. I went to the bathroom so I wouldn't have to go during the race. I tried to sleep again. By then it was 7:30.

Bruce Springsteen music was blaring over the public address system and a man kept interrupting the tunes to make announcements in English, French, and Spanish.

"The weather will be warm, so be sure to drink enough water. Bebe mucho agua. Buvez beaucoup d'eau. There will be a service for Jewish runners at 8:30. If you're not used to having doughnuts before a race, don't eat the ones we've provided because your stomach might not accept them very well. In five minutes there will be an aerobics warm-up session."

At 9:30, I used the "World's Longest Urinal." As I was doing my thing along with 200 other people (mostly men), a bathtub toy floated by in front of me. Someone reached down to grab it but then had second thoughts and retracted his arm.

Finally, at 10:30 a.m., 19,000 peole and I were at the starting line. Having heard that if you're not near the front it takes 10 minutes to cross the starting line, I pushed my way as close to the front as possible. The only problem was that everyone else did the same thing.

It was 10:35 and 10 minutes to the gun. People were getting anxious. Two people in front of me were speaking a language I had never heard before. Some people began to clap their hands. I looked in the air and counted nine helicopters and two blimps. The excitement was building.

At 10:45, Mayor Edward I. Koch boomed a cannon that was loud enough to wake up a family in New Jersey. The race was on, 19,000 people sprinted, jogged, walked, and gallopped over the bridge in search of Central Park. Some said they could feel the bridge bouncing.

Before the Park, we'd have to go through the rest of the city--from Brooklyn to Queens to Manhattan to the Bronx, and back to Manhattan.

2 Down, 24.2 to Go

I was shooting for a time of two hours, fifty minutes (about 6:30 per mile), which would qualify me for the Boston Marathon. At two miles, which I passed in 11:40, a man running next to me said with a foreign accent, "I think this is too fast."

He was right, but by then we were in Brooklyn and thousands of people had lined the streets to cheer us on. I can't slow down here, I thought. Not in front of all these people.

Going through Brooklyn made me glad I wore my Oregon shirt because it was easily readable. "Way to go Oregon!" someone would yell every 100 feet or so, only they'd pronounce it Orygone instead of Oregon.

In Williamsburg, Hasidic Jews lined the steets with their families. I hoped they were praying for me. One woman with a long skirt and a scarf over her head was passing out candy to the runners. "Have some candy for energy," she said.

By the halfway point I was on pace for a 2:42 finish, way ahead of where I wanted to be. I wished the people would stop cheering so I could slow down a bit.

At 15 miles came the ascent over the Queensboro Bridge, taking us out of Queens and into Manhattan. Going uphill and facing a stiff headwind, I slowed my pace.

We came off the bridge and onto 1st Avenue where wildly cheering fans lined both sides of the street six or seven deep.

At 76th Street I saw my brother and sister in-law and raised my hands to pose for a picture.

Another brick in the wall

After about 18 miles the blocks seemed to get longer and I could feel pace getting slower. I walked some and took water more often. The crowd was yelling for me to push on.

Was this the wall? Would I finish the race? I knew I'd finish. I just had to keep moving. The crowd urged me on.

After passing through the Bronx, we went into Harlem where the spectators were going wild. Music blasted from a huge stereo system and everyone was clapping to the beat. I picked up the pace and headed down 5th Avenue toward Central Park.

My pace was down to the point that I knew my 2:50 goal was out of reach. Finishing would be a breeze though.

The crowds got bigger as we approached the park. I saw my brother again and he was leading the people around him in chanting my name. What a life, I thought.

It's all over now

We went into the park, out to Central Park South and back in. I saw the finish line ahead and increased my speed.

A minute later I crossed the line with the overhead clock reading 3:11:00. Someone put a medal over my head while someone else wrapped a mylar blanket around me. It was over. I had finished.

One more time

I thought about the cab driver the week before. "It's a big thing," he had said.

He was right. I had run 26 miles in front of two million of the most diverse people in the world. The waiting, the lines, the anticipation, and the finish were all behind me.

In a few days the soreness in my calves will pass and my body will return to normal. I'll probably begain to think about running another marathon. I don't know when that will be, but I hope my cab driver knows how to get to the starting line.