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Joyce McMahon [Bib # F7005], Lutherville, MD

Nothing about my second consecutive New York City Marathon was as I expected it to be. During the course of it, I completely lost touch with the reasons I was running it. It was a long hard day, and I'll be walking funny into mid-week at least. But as I sit here now, in comfortable, dry clothes, a space heater at my feet, a juice glass close at hand, it all seems like it was worth it. So I guess in the final analysis it was.

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 $ \ldots$ 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 $ \ldots$


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Next: Jenet Levy [Bib # Up: New York City Marathon Previous: New York City Marathon
N. Sukumar