I was better trained this year than last, though still not up to Bob Glover's schedule. I was fully hydrated, ate a good light breakfast Sunday morning, hung out with positive fellow-runners the night before, and scammed some extra sleep by taking a cab from Central Park South to the starting line (about $10 apiece for the four of us) instead of waiting in line for the bus 2 hours and then spending 4 hours at the starting area. I kept ticking off these positives as I waited to head to my corral. I had gotten an e-mail from JL telling me what color cap she'd be wearing (lime green) and where she would try to be around 9 am. I wasn't able to meet her, because I arrived at 9 am and immediately got in line for a portapot. I don't remember it at last year's NYCM but there was a WOMEN'S ONLY area, for hanging out and portapotties, and I wound up over there: shorter lines, still not moving though. I figured I would catch JL during the run if not at the start. (Wrong). I'd forgotten what it's like to be surrounded by 30,000 runners crowded onto the Verrazano. There was excitement all around, people smiling. One very nice thing that happened as I stood there alone, separated from the other 5 people I knew who were red starts, was that the very nice older man next to me asked me what time it was. He didn't speak much English, as he was from Argentina. Just before the start, he surprised me by leaning over and kissing me on the cheek, saying, ``Good luck.'' I knew I would have to hold onto that memory during tough parts of the race, and I did.
The race was so crowded
that the first mile was all shuffled. The second mile was
a light jog, punctuated by the occasional marathon-walker
who'd started too far forward. I don't mind this, as it
makes starting out too fast an impossibility. One of the
articles in the NYCM goodie bag said that most people will
know by mile 8 what kind of day they're gonna have. At
mile 5, when I thought, "I shouldn't be feeling effort
yet," I already knew. It was a worrying thought that I
didn't try hard enough to get rid of. I was on good pace,
looking ahead to known good landmarks, like the ten mile
point, because Mr. Bob on master's had said he hadn't run
in 6 months but managed to do 10 miles at MCM. So I knew I
should be able to do that. Then 13, where the Sri Chimoy,
God bless them, had PLENTY of food/candy for all runners
(bananas and bagels as well as oreos and candy). I knew
that mile 15 or 16 was the Queensborough Bridge, where last
year I had such an emotional experience. Well, it's wrong
to try to duplicate a great moment. Each moment has its
own offering, but I was constantly waiting for last year to
re-happen. The bridge turned out to be different in
construction from my memory, and the great crowds, though
screaming in the rain, were not a surprise and did not buoy
me as they had last year. I did see two great t-shirts.
One said, ``BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.'' The other said, ``I'm
Sergeant Erickson. Count on me.'' By mile 18 I was on
First Avenue, and despite the RW Quote of the Week, I
didn't feel anything but weakness and self-pity. First
Avenue was packed with crowds, but it also is straight and
goes on forever without seeming to bring you anywhere. I
descended into negativity, without even trying to fight it.
I started walking, even though I wasn't even to 20 miles
and I'd done two 20 mile runs in preparation. People on
the sides would yell, "You can do it!" And I would answer
them inside, ``But that's not the problem! Of COURSE I can
do it. The problem is I don't WANT to! I'm deeply lazy!
I can't believe I forgot that!'' And on and on. Some of
the little kids, or high-spirited grown-ups, would say
stuff that was not 100state those were the things I kept. I'd run every once in
a while, then look ahead and give up. One of a few times
that I actually cried was when I was fairly close to
Central Park. A man said to us as I walked aching by,
``Only 3 more happy miles to go!'' I buried my head in my
hands, half-hysterical. It wasn't that I couldn't bear the
thought of 3 more miles, it was that I no longer believed
people when they said things like that. A lot of people
will tell you ``You've got 20 in the bag now!'' and yet you
run for a while before you see the 20 mile mark. Some guy
next to me touched my arm and said, ``Hey, you're coming
with us. We're just going at a very easy pace, and when we
get to the uphill into the park, I've promised him we can
walk again.'' This pulled me along, although I truly did
walk up every (small!) hill in the Park. It would have
meant NOTHING to me to DNF even at mile 24. I had walked
so much since mile 18 I was disgusted. It didn't seem
worth it to finish. I'd been so moved by the MCMers,
especially the first timers, yet at that moment I could not
have cared less. Let them overcome! It meant nothing to
me. I don't know why I didn't quit, except that I kept
moving forward, and occasionally running. I'd start again
when someone with an obvious injury jogged by, even though
I don't believe in running with an injury. But it would
stir me up. I decided to run the last 1.2 miles, almost in
despair. I kept hoping for that sense of joy I got last
year when I kept plugging away even knowing it was
impossible 
but I really didn't get that. Walking down
the chute at 5:16::xx the volunteer asked me, ``Are you
okay?'' I could tell I looked like hell, and I felt like it
too. Soaked to the skin by the rain, cold in my borrowed
shorts, stinky and defeated. BUT, on the ride home,
provided by a woman from our group who hadn't run, she kept
telling me, ``It's easy to finish when you're feeling good.
It's hard to finish feeling bad.'' And smiling at other
runners who had also finished, and eating the greasiest
protein I could find an hour or two later, I started to
feel grateful. This marathon was a gift which came on its
own terms to me. I ran less of the way this year, and
finished 18 minutes slower than last year. But for a
perfectionist and a procrastinator like I am, it felt great
to have reached the finish line, and be done with it. It's
over, when's the next one