It was a perfect day for the New York City Marathon: just chilly enough, just overcast enough.
I slept in as long as I liked, then took a look at a course map, tied my shoes and jogged over a few blocks east to check out the race. I thought I’d be too late to see the elite runners, but it turned out my timing was perfect. I’d just arrived at the southwest corner of Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem, Mile 22, when the trucks drove by heralding the first women. I hadn’t thought about the unique race tactics of NYC streets, like edging your competitor into the disgusting curb puddles when you’re going around corners.
I started migrating south on Fifth Avenue toward Central Park while waiting for the leading men.
I have never seen so many cops and white people in Harlem before.
Once the men came by, I ran through Central Park a ways to get some different scenery for the rest of the elite runners.
The park attracted some interesting crowds, and somehow nearly all the spectators had these horrible blue cowbells. Jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang. Jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang-jang.
I ran to the south end of the reservoir, where the runners turn west into the park.
Just 2.2 miles left to go! I thought about running to see the finish, but the short route through the park was blocked off, and I felt kind of sluggish after giving blood yesterday. I wanted to give blood because I couldn’t run the marathon, which makes complete sense if you understand the strange redemptive logic of runners and erstwhile runners. When you’re training seriously you’re working way too hard for those efficient blood cells to just give a bunch away. But it seems only fair to share some blood if you’re not really doing anything that great with it anyway.
It’s hard for me to watch marathons. It used to be harder to watch cross-country meets and track events, but that’s no longer quite so hard. I did that, and did it well, even if I didn’t do it as long as I would have liked. But I’ve never run a marathon, and lots of other people have. In some ways it’s more fun to watch the ordinary people than the elite runners, but its harder to feel okay watching from the side. Even with the elite runners I have competing feelings of awe and hubris: “Wow, I don’t know how they do that. Yes I do. It’s just focus and dedication and pain, I know what that’s like. I could do that.”
Today marks six years since I won the state cross-country meet, which also makes it harder. Every year I wake up the morning after Halloween feeling like I ought to do something impressive, or at least difficult. I don’t feel guilt about running anymore, but I also haven’t completely lost the competitiveness. If other people are out there racing, I feel like I ought to be with them.
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