Sunday morning . . . 7:00 a.m. . . . no breakfast today except for a glass of fruit juice.
A half hour away in Staten Island, runners are gathering in great numbers. The first of many buses left Manhattan at 5:30 a.m. bound for the Verrazano-Narrows (Saturday Night Fever) Bridge. There are over twelve thousand people running in this New York City Marathon ranging from eight years of age to women and mostly men aged from early twenties to forty, and many over forty. World class and rookies. By noticing all the different names on the runners' shirts, I get the indication that there are many track clubs represented. One runner, dressed as Superman (cape and all) announces "Due to lack of interest, this race has been called off!"
In comparison, the Boston Marathon is the most prestigious, but New York is the largest foot race ever held. Forty countries and all fifty states are represented here.
Time: 10:00 a.m. . . . An Army band leads us to the starting line on the bridge. Marathon experienced males go to the top level, right side, while women and rookie males start on the left side. It's a beautiful sunshiny day . . . too beautiful for a marathoner. Fifty degrees and drizzle would be perfect racing weather. At 10:15 it's already 70 degrees. Most of us have trained in 50-60 degree weather while some people ran 30 miles per week and others 150 miles per week. Everyone seems pretty relaxed considering what is about to happen. National and local television cameras are everywhere. I've counted 13 helicopters in the air, while all around me it's like Old Home Week; everyone shaking hands and wishing each other well. Mel (one of the joggers) and I become instant friends. He's been doing about the same mileage per week and we have a lot in common. We've decided to run together.
"BANG" . . . the cannon goes off . . . cheers go up and 24,000 feet are on their way to Central Park . . . 26 miles and 385 yards away. There are now eight lanes full of runners. "What a view from this bridge."
First of the five boroughs is Brooklyn, Mel's hometown. He's lived here for 31 years, outside of a tour in Vietnam. We are off the bridge and onto a five-mile stretch on Fourth Avenue. Someone shouts, "Let's hear it for Brooklyn," and a roar goes up. There is a lot of nervous chatter the first few miles as people are setting in. It's a long race to start off too quickly. We have a good pace going as my partner has a watch and we figure we are doing eight-minute miles. Not a bad pace for us, but the leaders would probably fall asleep! The Brooklyn people are out today six or seven deep all along Fourth Avenue. The women runners, of which there are around 1300 this race, up 300% from last year, are getting most of the attention.
THE THREE MILE MARK . . . We'd better grab a cup of water at this first water station. The running magazines say drink before you feel you need it.
FOUR MILES OUT . . . I'm feeling fine and really enjoying the scenery around us. The neighborhood kids are touching us as we go by and asking up to "Give them five" as if we were someone important.
SIX MILES . . . Another oasis. I'm glad I practiced running and drinking. A spectator yells, "Only twenty more miles to go!" I notice the talking has died down and full attention is now being paid to the race. I see Rocco's Youth Center. Last year they had stereo speakers hanging out of the windows, playing "Rocky's Theme."
Still in Brooklyn, Gowanus Park section. It's here that George Washington's first engagement of the revolution was fought. It's hard to believe, to see it now.
"We're crossing Flatbush Avenue." Mel sounds like a tour guide. "There's the 1908 Brooklyn Academy of Music. Enrico Caruso sang here."
WILLIAMSBURG . . . ABOUT TEN MILES INTO THE RACE. Now I see my family strategically stationed. All I need is a little Vaseline for my foot as I feel a blister coming. Mel and I still feel good but it's getting hot. We discuss throwing our shirts away but decide if soaked down at the next water station, they will keep us cool.
A SPECTATOR SHOUTS: "BILL ROGERS HAS JUST CROSSED THE FINISH LINE" . . . and here we are, halfway.
All along the route, spectators are terrific, passing out water, ice cubes, fruit and encouragement. It's fun reading the runners' t-shirts. FATHER OF EIGHT . . . DEAF PERSON . . . RUN ALL DAY, DANCE ALL NIGHT . . . IF YOU'RE BEHIND ME, YOU'RE SLOW.
THIRTEEN MILES . . . Up ahead I can see a group of Hasidic Jews dressed in fur hats and black clothes. This is a male-dominated community right out of the 18th century. Now the water stations are more eagerly awaited, at which point, instead of one cup for the mouth, it's also one poured over the head.
I've heard of the infamous "WALL," when a runner runs out of energy, usually about 20 miles into the race. Mel says, "If he's going too slow, for me to take the pace." (Little does he know that I'm starting to fade.)
TWO MILES LATER . . .I tell Mel to go ahead and don't wait for me because I'm fading fast.
FIFTEEN MILES OUT . . . It is HOT. I take my shirt off and tie it around my neck. A mile later I'll throw it into a dumpster along the route. Some people are starting to pass me now. Luckily, the Queensboro Bridge is at the end of the 16 miles. The bridge is carpeted for us with blue carpet, about four feet wide. Someone next to me says the Queensboro Bridge is New York's answer to Boston's Heartbreak Hill. I agree with him!
My family and I were to rendezvous here, but in the pack of 12,000 runners, I miss them. Maybe they didn't recognize me. I no longer have my shirt on and my running number (6619) is pinned to my shorts. I can feel my left foot wearing badly and I've missed my 16-mile sock and shoe change.
For the first time I think about quitting, but quickly dispel it. I've had a few training runs of 20 miles plus 10 miles a day for three months, but the heat is taking its toll. Runners are starting to drop out now. I've trained for one year for this race, in snow and rain, and I can't quit now.
EAST HARLEM AND FIRST AVENUE . . .AS FAR AS YOU CAN SEE AHEAD, THERE ARE RUNNERS. The fire hydrants are open and if you want, you can cool off, but if you get your feet wet, you'll develop blisters al the sooner.
More and more runners dropping out, while spectators are yelling, "You're looking good," even if you're not.
"KEEP GOING BABY" . . . "WELCOME TO HARLEM" . . . There's no discrimination here. The people are clapping and yelling for everyone. It seems as though First Avenue will never end.
NINETEEN MILES . . . "LEGS, DON'T FAIL ME NOW . . . My family is to meet me at the 20-mile marker so I'll take a quick shower in the next hydrant. My feet are soaked now but dry shoes await me ahead.
TWENTY-ONE MILES . . . "MISSED THEM AGAIN." I will learn later that they did not see me at Queensboro and waited an extra hour, leaving no time to get to the 20-mile marker. Great! Now I have a "side stitch" (which is a pain in the side from not breathing properly). I try to walk it off but it doesn't work. However, two miles later it will disappear.
TWENTY-THREE MILES AND CENTRAL PARK . . . It hurts to pick my legs up. The race resembles a full-scale retreat. More often now you come upon a body sprawled in the street. The 600 police stationed at the 300 intersections have their work cut out for them today. Ambulance sirens are wailing all over the area. I hope my wife isn't worried.
SHOUTS: "YOU'RE IN THE PARK. NOW YOU'VE GOT IT MADE" . . . "ONLY THREE MORE MILES" . . . "THIS IS THE LAST HILL."
A hill, no matter how small, when met at 23 miles, is a problem. The course map lists it as "a gentle rolling hill." . . . Many people including myself walk to the crest and heading downhill, try to pick up the pace once more. The good runners are probably showered and on their way home by now. I only hope the finish line is still there when I arrive.
"ONLY TWO MORE MILES" . . . "YOU'VE GOT IT MADE" . . . Now, for the first time, you know you have. Then, after what seems like a mile, you come upon the 24th mile marker. Seems the "24th mile marker" that someone said you just finished was only the 23rd. Very disappointing. There are runners all over, some limping and others sitting or lying next to the road.
FINALLY . . . YOU SEE THE FINISH LINE . . .AND, IT'S ALL DOWNHILL . . . People are lining the last mile, 10-15 thick. Somehow, I manage a burst of speed and sprint to the finish. Above the finish line there is a digital clock that records your time. For me, it's 4 hours and 39 minutes. Terrible by marathon standards.
We are shuffled through three separate finish lines where our time is recorded. I wonder how Mel made out as his stress fracture was bothering him at thirteen miles.
At the end of the lane we are wrapped in a blanket resembling aluminum foil to keep us warm. An official looks me square in the eye and asks me if I feel alright. Each finisher is given a medal and a cold drink. Everyone who completes the marathon is a winner today.
At this point we are left alone to find our relatives and friends and a piece of green grass to lie on. Many are led to hospital cots. It's 80 degrees and the heat has taken its toll.
3:00 PM . . . THERE ARE STILL THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE HERE. My pre-arranged meeting place with my family is so crowded you can't get near it. Around me, people are embracing and congratulating each other. My legs are surging with pain but my mind is doing somersaults.
My brother-in-law finds me first. They saw me cross the finish line but couldn't get close enough to be heard over the crowd. Soon I'm surrounded by my family and friends and my two daughters hug me. They are glad to see me.
It has been a long day. The tears running down my wife's smiling face tell me she is relieved to see I'm okay. After all, it has been 3 hours since she saw me in Brooklyn at the 10-mile point.
THE REALIZATION IS SETTING IN . . . "I DID IT, I COMPLETED MY FIRST MARATHON." Now is the time to relax and reflect on today's happenings. We break open a bottle of champagne and stretch out in a shady spot in some green grass to rest.
As we leave Central Park an hour later, runners are still coming down Fourth Avenue and we yell encouragement to them: "ONLY ONE MILE TO GO AND YOU'RE LOOKING GOOD!"
“The act of driving your body, very occasionally, close to its limit of endurance, is for some reason one of life’s major satisfactions. And reflecting afterwards is one of life’s most luxurious rewards.”
-Anonymous
In this picture, you can see the numbers 1495.3. I don’t remember for sure, but that’s probably the number of miles I trained to run this first marathon. #6619, beardless, is me at 10 miles.
Post date:
100,000 will apply this year
38,000 finished in 2007
Bob Bacon ended up running 54,000 lifetime miles, with races four times the marathon distance and one solo 200 mile run across Massachusetts. When asked why he did the solo run, Bacon referred to the movie "The Magnificent Seven." When Steve McQueen was asked why he was about to do a crazy thing he replied, "I knew a cowboy from El Paso who took off all his clothes and jumped into a pile of cactus. When asked why he did it the cowboy's reply was, IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME."
Family legend has it that when we went to dinner after the marathon, Marnie fell asleep in her spaghetti. We've just discovered the photographic evidence!
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