Thanks a Million, New York
By Jan Larson (11/13/06)
What must it feel like to step into the batter’s box at the World Series? What thoughts would be running through the mind of an “average guy” as he was getting ready to run downfield on the kickoff of the Super Bowl? I will never experience either of those, but last week I did get to experience what it is like to participate in one of the world’s greatest sporting events – the ING New York City Marathon.
Just a few short years ago, it was as likely that I would run in such a race as it was that I would fly into space. Since I don’t have $20 million to buy my way into space, the chances of me running a marathon, never mind one of the two or three premier marathons in the world were slim and none.
A series of events ultimately led me to the starting line last Sunday morning on Staten Island. The first, and most important, was that a few years ago I took stock of my life and decided I didn’t like where I was or where I was headed in terms of my health. I had become sedentary, partially the result of nagging allergies that made it difficult to exercise outdoors, but also because I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to my health.
Eventually, I got my allergies under control and began an exercise and weight loss program.
The second major event that led to New York occurred shortly after I began a new job in early 2004. By that time I had been running two or three miles a few times per week. A pair of my new co-workers decided it would be fun if we all ran a marathon. I had thought about a marathon now and then over the years, but again, I pretty much equated running a marathon with a trip to the moon.
To make a long story short, I did register for that marathon, trained for it and completed it, although I set no world records that day. I checked “run a marathon” off my life list of things to do.
After completing that race, it occurred to me that there was no rule against trying to run another. I ran that same marathon again in February of this year and then decided, why not try for something really big and entered the lottery for the New York marathon.
Much to my delight, and with a certain amount of trepidation, I found out in June that I had been selected. I made travel arrangements and then there was no turning back. Running in the summer in central Texas can be very challenging with the heat and humidity. But after 19 weeks of getting up at 5:45 a.m. six days per week to hit the streets with my running shoes on,
last Sunday I found myself on Staten Island with 38,000 others waiting for the starting gun (actually a starting cannon).
In the days up to and including race day, I had met runners from all over the world – England, Brazil, Costa Rica, France, Finland, the Philippines and others – each with a unique story of how they found their way to New York last weekend. There were no discussions of politics or world events, just about running and the race. Everyone was excited to be there.
The race began and the mass of runners surged across the Verazanno-Narrows Bridge toward Brooklyn. As I ran along with the thousands of fellow runners, seeing the New York skyline in the distance and with helicopters hovering overhead, I could only reflect on how far I had come – but yet how far I had to go, 26.2 miles to be exact.
I looked at those around me and wondered how they had each come to be on that bridge on that day. I passed a woman I judged to be in her 70’s, moving slowly but steadily. I saw a group of three young women running together and chatting as if they were drinking coffee at Starbucks. I saw a slightly overweight man running with a wrap on his knee and a 20-something young man jump up onto the roadway divider to snap a photo of the throng of runners. Each had traveled a great distance to be at that point, even if they lived in New York, and we each had a story to tell.
The race through Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan and the Bronx was like nothing that I had ever experienced and will ever experience again. Crowds of spectators, estimated at more than two million, lined the course for virtually the entire 26.2 miles. I tried to take in all that I could – excited kids with big smiles high-fiving runners as they passed. Cops doing the same. People holding signs hoping to catch a glimpse of their husband, wife, brother or sister. Bands playing. People cheering for the fast and slow alike.
It was long after the world-class runners had crossed the finish line before I found myself in the final miles, but yet the crowds remained – cheering for everyone and offering encouragement no matter how fresh or exhausted each runner appeared.
After seeing the “26 mile” marker overhead as I approached the finish in Central Park, I ran the last two-tenths of a mile knowing that I had accomplished something very special. It wasn’t so special that I had simply navigated the distance – it was special because of the 38,000 runners which whom I shared the experience, the thousands of police and race volunteers that made it possible and especially the spectators that spent their day helping all of us complete the race.
It was a day that I shall never forget. Thanks a million, New York. No, let’s make that, thanks two million!
Copyright ©2006 Jan A. Larson All rights reserved.
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