Here I was 58 years old and planning to do the New York City Marathon. Half the time I thought I must be crazy—the other half the time the idea seemed as natural as deciding to go to the grocery store. I had done two marathons earlier in my life—one when I was 40and the other when I was 45. They were both White Rock Marathons run in my hometown of Dallas, Texas. During my second marathon, I did some damage to my left knee that had never healed. Also during that marathon I vowed never to do another one, and I had kept my promise for nearly 12 years. Now I felt I had to make up for lost time.
The summer before last, my husband, Ed, and I started running with his friend, Larry. Larry was not a runner and had only started running a year earlier, but he got it in his head that he wanted to do a marathon. So Ed and I decided to help him train. In the beginning, I thought he’d never make it; but Larry surprised me more often than not. I became so involved in his training that I started running longer than the half marathons I had limited myself to.
My big breakthrough came when I discovered the patella strap. I don’t know how long these have been around but I don’t remember seeing anyone wearing one when I ran my earlier marathons. They are basically stretchable straps worn around your leg under your knee. They help spread the impact that the knee gets upon contact with the ground. After I started wearing one, I found that I could run much further pain free.
So after running a 30k with Larry, I decided to sign up once more for the White Rock Marathon only a few months away. A recent discovery that we used to our advantage during this marathon was the pace group. Running with a pace group keeps you from running too fast at the beginning of the race thus ensuring that you have something left at the end. We wisely and conservatively decided on a 5 hour and 30 minute pace group. When the day came, we had no trouble running the whole 26.2 miles. I rediscovered why people run marathons. I was hooked once again.
Ed had run the New York City Marathon back in 2002, the year after 9/11. He still spoke of that experience as one of the highlights of his life. Now that I was “running marathons again”, I figured why not try it. Larry was in too so we sent in our applications in early February. The first hurdle was the lottery to be held in early June. Much to my elation, at the appropriate time I got an email that my number had been chosen. Much to my dismay, I later learned that Ed’s and Larry’s hadn’t been.
Over the next couple of months, I did everything I could think of to get Ed in. I looked up many charities which, with a donation, would award a marathon spot. With that alternative we were looking at a minimum of $2,500 just for the entry alone—way out of our budget. I even went to the CFO at my job and asked him to petition my boss for the donation. I later learned my boss just laughed it off—I guess he didn’t think we were serious. Finally, at the suggestion of my runner friend, Janice, I sent an email to the NYC Marathon Race Director. I didn’t get a reply.
Meanwhile, Ed, Larry and I were training hard. I, of course, was the most motivated since I was guaranteed a marathon. Ed and Larry discussed doing the San Antonio Rock ‘n Roll Marathon two weeks after New York but no decision was made. We started after Memorial Day getting our weekly long runs up to 12 miles. It took us until the end of June to feel comfortable with that distance. The first week of August we ran 14 miles and then increased our mileage by 2 miles every other week. On the off weeks, we did 12 or 13. Our longest run was 22 miles two weeks before New York.
We got into a comfortable routine. Larry would knock on our door at 6:00 a.m. Saturday and we would start our runs at White Rock Lake by 6:30 a.m. About mid-way through our training we had all adopted running with MP3 Players to cut down on the boredom. We kept the music low so we could still carry on a conversation; but more often than not, one of us would break into song when a particular favorite came up in the rotation.
I must say that the camaraderie was exceptional. Larry often acted as a buffer between me and Ed when we were especially tired or cranky. Ed always seemed to be in a better mood with Larry around as Larry is one of those special people who live in the moment. He has a stop-and-smell-the-roses-type of personality that reminds me I want more of that. He also frequently talks to animals—birds, squirrels, ducks, etc.—actions that often cause other runners on the trail to look at him suspiciously. I often call him certifiable. After the weekly Saturday runs we go to Starbucks, Einstein Bagels or Café Brazil. That was always the very best part of the week and made me extremely grateful that I could run and do it with two such wonderful men.
Almost from the beginning of the year, I knew I wanted to lose weight. After Christmas, I was up to 148 pounds and not liking “the new me” at all. I know it is common to gain weight as you get older and your metabolism slows, but I was determined not to be like everybody else. I had tried a number of diets that didn’t work. The one thing I hadn’t tried was counting calories. The website www.thedailyplate.com made it easy—and best of all it worked. I lost 20 pounds from February to November. Imagine running with a 20-pound weight that is gradually reduced to nothing. That’s exactly how it felt. Running became fun again.
I can’t remember when exactly I got the email—I just remember it was after my third try. Ed was IN!! I couldn’t believe our good fortune. Our dream of running the New York City Marathon together was to become a reality. Ed perked up considerably after that. Our training got more intense and more focused. We were people on a mission.
At last Friday, October 31st, Halloween, arrived and we were on our way. I had found a deal on Expedia for round trip airfare for two including three nights at a hotel—it wasn’t cheap but it wasn’t out-of-reach. We stayed at the Best Western Convention Center, close to the packet pick-up and Expo. I had emailed my college roommate, Rusty, and her boyfriend, Mark, who got us cheap theatre tickets for Friday night. We planned on spending most of our free time with them. We also contacted John and Val, Ed’s Dallas friends from way back whose daughter was in an off-Broadway play. We made plans to meet up with them on Saturday afternoon. Our dance card was quickly filling up.
We had been closely watching the extended weather forecast for the 10 days prior to the race. It had changed so much, we didn’t know what to expect. On Friday when we arrived in New York, two days before the Marathon, it was in the low 50’s and sunny. The last we had checked, D-Day was supposed to be low 44 and high of 54. That was actually ideal. But we did hear rumors of wind which could make it feel a lot colder.
The trip to the airport was pretty uneventful. We made it there in plenty of time and even found a Starbucks right before boarding. It was obvious that there were many runners on the plane. Ed recognized someone from the Y. The girl who sat next to us was doing her first Marathon. Because it was only days before the Presidential election, the movie they played was “Swing Vote” with Kevin Costner.
We had decided to make the trip as inexpensive as possible so I had done Google maps of the public transit options wherever we had to travel. We found the M60 bus to Manhattan and luckily realized we needed eight quarters before it pulled up. There was a change machine right inside the terminal. The bus was packed so we had to stand for the 20-minute ride to the subway clutching our bags between our knees so we could use our hands to keep us from lurching into other passengers.
We found our subway stop again with no problems and sailed into Manhattan less than an hour after our plane had landed. We called Rusty and Mark and arranged to walk to their place in time to eat dinner before the show. The walk from Times Square at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue to our Hotel on 58th Street between 10th and 11th took longer than we expected; but once we arrived, our room wasn’t even ready. We left our bags with the concierge and headed out to the Expo.
At the Expo things again fell into place. We got our race packets and chips easily with no wait. We got our transportation changed to the Staten Island Ferry at 8:00 a.m. instead of the bus from the Main Library at 4:00 a.m.—a life saver. We bought NYC Marathon gear—shorts and a shirt for each of us. While trying on clothes in the women’s dressing room, I noticed no one spoke English but everyone was very friendly. We had the glow of people doing what we loved most—we were in our element with those of a like mind.
When we got back to the hotel, our room was waiting for us. However, after talking to Rusty again to tell them we were on our way, we found out their neighbors were out of town and had agreed to let us camp out at their place. We tried to cancel our hotel but, because of the 48-hour cancellation policy, we could only cancel Sunday night. That was the most important night anyway as that was the night after the race. It ended up saving us over $200. We arrived at Rusty and Mark’s in plenty of time for a leisurely dinner.
We ate outside at a Mexican Restaurant with frozen margaritas that made our teeth chatter. It was good that we had time for coffee after we picked up our tickets so we could get warmed up before the performance started. The show was called “Romantic Poetry” and it was a funny musical about love, what we think is love and how it evolves over time. There were only 6 whacky characters who were all very strong singers and actors. Ed and I thought the show was good but Rusty and Mark, whose standards are higher because of being New Yorkers, didn’t like it as much as we did. We topped the evening off with good conversation, wine and cheesecake back at their cozy apartment.
Saturday we slept in late. We went down for the Continental breakfast before we showered and were amazed by all the foreign runners. We heard every language imaginable. After getting ready we walked to the Empire State Building as they were giving away “free” Marathon pins. We were disappointed to find out they were only free if you paid to go to the top. We grabbed some lunch at a Ukrainian Bistro just so we could sit down and rest some before Emily’s play. We were afraid of walking too much and being tired the next day.
On the way to pick up our show tickets, we ran into Val and John. We had some time to kill so we hung out with them and got caught up on what was going on with Emily and the rest of the family. The show was in a tiny theatre but the play, Death of a Salesman, was excellent. All the kids in Emily’s theatre group are just that—kids, but they did an amazing job of portraying characters much older. Emily was exceptional and we were glad we had a chance to see her work. She is a member of the MITU (me too) Theatre Group, a job she was offered before she even graduated from NYU. The Group is scheduled to present a film at Sundance this year.
After the show it was time for the Pre-Marathon Dinner, so we checked our maps and headed to the bus and then the subway for our trip to Tavern on the Green in Central Park. What a difference a few years makes. When Ed did the Marathon in 2002, we waited hours in the cold before getting to the pasta buffet. This time we waltzed right in. We were given a goody bag to carry the boxes of pasta, packages of cookies and chocolate bars that were lying in stacks constantly being replenished. Somehow we were ushered into the VIP room where we were waited on and treated like royalty. We sat with a running club from Rochester, New York. Most of its members were sub-3-hour marathoners and so were treated to heated bathrooms and trailers on Marathon morning.
After dinner we went back to Rusty and Mark’s for a short visit. Rusty was off to the theatre with a friend who got her a last-minute free ticket. We played with their bird, Cokey; talked politics with Mark (luckily a fellow Obama fan) took some pictures, and then walked back to our hotel full of apprehension about what the morning would bring.
Ed woke up before the alarm went off. We turned the TV to the weather station—it was blustery. A cold front had definitely blown in. We dressed in the shorts and long-sleeved t-shirts we planned to wear for the race and then pulled on our throw-away sweatpants and sweatshirts over top. Our daughter, Katie, had painted our long-sleeved shirts with multi-colored markers—spelling out Team Stofko, Run if you Love New York, Dallas, Texas, our names and various other tidbits (including our age in bold black letters). We pulled together everything we would need before and after the race—power bars, Gatorade, maps, snacks, Gu, Metro Card—and put them in the plastic bag provided for that purpose. This bag would go on the UPS truck back to Central Park to be picked up after the race.
We checked out of our room and left on foot to meet Rusty and Mark on the street. They picked up my purse and our luggage to take back to their apartment. We exchanged small talk about how cold it was. They were going back to bed—we were going to run 26.2 miles! We had a little trouble finding the subway entrance. The turnstiles were locked in the first one we tried and I got a little panicky. It would be a shame to miss the start after coming so far. Ed found another set of stairs across the street and that turned out to be the right way. We were comforted when we saw other runners waiting too. I started to relax when the subway came and we were on our way to the Ferry.
There were some signs that we briefly noticed that mentioned South Ferry passengers being in the first five cars. While we were en route we also heard an announcement to that affect. At one stop, well before the Ferry stop, a runner got off the subway and motioned for us to come with her. The couple from California sitting across from us and the hedge fund guy sitting next to us didn’t seem concerned. We figured if the New Yorker wasn’t moving, why should we? I asked the hedge fund guy which fund he worked for. He assured me I wouldn’t have heard of it. But when I got back to Dallas, sure enough the fund was in my database. I wish I had asked his name.
All at once we realized we weren’t moving and the doors were still shut. Oh my God—we were supposed to be in the first five cars. The rest of the train was being diverted to another line. The five of us jumped up and started racing through the cars to the front. Why hadn’t we paid attention; why hadn’t we listened. Thankfully, there was a conductor who heard our cries and let us out. That could have been a disaster.
The walk to the Ferry was short. We boarded and set out to sea quickly. I couldn’t believe how much room there was on the Ferry as I figured it would be packed like the buses. This was definitely the way to go. It still didn’t feel real though. I was having a hard time concentrating. I felt like I was having an “out of body” experience.
Once we disembarked we were almost immediately herded onto busses that took us the three miles to the start village. The scene there was totally unbelievable—like out of a science fiction movie. I imagine refugee camps look something like this. There were people camped out and standing around everywhere in all manner of dress. Quite a few runners were clad in white uniforms from head-to-toe resembling Haz-Mat workers. They wore the new-fangled, disposable outfits meant to keep you warm—although they didn’t look very warm to me. There were port-a-potties everywhere.
We walked about a half mile to our “Green” staging area. There were actually three wave starts—the fastest runners in the first wave and the slowest in the last. You can guess where we were. Then there were different colors within the waves as some runners would run on top of the bridge and some on the second level. After we deposited our bag on the UPS truck and ate a power bar, it wasn’t long before we set out to find our “corral”. I must say it’s all very well organized with loudspeakers barking directions in every language to make sure everyone knows the drill. We noticed when the first wave started as we could see the thousands of heads bobbing across the bridge.
It wasn’t difficult to find our pace group leaders as they were both carrying “5-Hour Pace Group” signs and sticks with bunches of green balloons attached. After we got into our corral, I thought we would have time to go to the restroom; but the leaders started moving fairly quickly and I was afraid I would lose them before I even started. I figured there would be plenty of bathrooms en route—NOT. We shed our warm clothes into the bins provided (to be given to homeless shelters) and shivered our way to the start. It wasn’t long before the gun went off and we started our run across the Verrazano Bridge.
During the first few miles I felt like I had never run a step. My legs and feet were numb and a fierce wind was blowing me backward. We were glad to be on the second level of the bridge as it had to be worse up top. I tried to take in all the sights and sounds but I seemed to be on auto-pilot. I just couldn’t grasp the fact that I was running in the New York City Marathon—along with 38,000 other people.
We finally adjusted to running behind our leaders and with our group. One of them was a blonde girl of about 30 and the other was a wild, Jack-Black-kind-of guy, about the same age. He ended up being a real hoot—grabbing microphones from bands along the way whipping up support for us. Some of the runners had put the “5-Hour Pace Group” bib on the back of their shirt so it was easy to spot them. There were probably 20 of us total at the start although that would change considerably during the race. Some runners would drop back, some would surge forward and others would join in.
The bridge was long but soon we were running in Brooklyn where we would do almost half of the total miles. Our blonde leader read us something about the area we were running through but I can’t remember a thing she said. I guess I was in the zone. I was also frantically looking for a bathroom. I realized rather quickly that it was going to be more difficult than I first thought to relieve myself and catch back up to my group. I was actually even thinking of jumping off and going behind a tree but there were people everywhere. I wasn’t about to expose myself in front of thousands of New York fans.
The first bathrooms I came across had lines about 10 people deep. I guessed I could hold out a little longer. I really felt I couldn’t enjoy myself until I took care of this little problem. At the next bathrooms there were less people waiting but still a crowd. I decided to chance it. As soon as I started waiting, a man in a suit motioned to me that I could come inside his establishment—it was a funeral home! There were bathrooms in the front and back. I waited in line only 15 seconds before I dashed into the men’s room—I was out in a flash. The man called to me as I ran out to catch up to my group—“Come back and see us.”
That was at about Mile 5. I finally could relax and take in my surroundings. Wow—the sheer number of spectators was unbelievable. Many carried signs encouraging their favorite runners. Many carried cameras awaiting sight of their running friends or family members. Some carried signs for any runner—“Free Hugs Here” is one I remember. Many were giving away food. Fire trucks loaded with cheering (usually good-looking) fireman always got the runners yelling and waving back. Obama signs were plentiful—it was clear what Presidential candidate New York City would vote for. Kids with their hands out to be slapped lined the streets. Formal and makeshift bands competed for the crowd’s and runners’ attention. Many musicians drummed on street lamps and sign posts. Cheering, yelling, noise, filled the air.
I was hardly aware of moving—hardly aware of my legs or exertion. I knew I felt good. I was definitely in the groove. At some point we moved into Queens but I’m not sure when. We must have gone over a little bridge. There were water stops all along the way. Our pace group kept running except when we were drinking—our leaders wanted to make sure we kept well hydrated. Because roughly 25,000 people had come before us, the water stops were littered with cups. We could barely see the street beneath our feet for all the trash. It got quite slippery so it was a good thing we walked. Our time in Queens was short—only about 2 miles.
From Mile 15 to 16 we crossed over the Queensboro Bridge. It was different being on the bridge—much quieter. Right before the bridge is where I left Ed. I felt bad to leave him; but I knew to do my best and make use of all the training I had done, I needed to break five hours. As an added incentive, those under the five-hour mark had their names published the next day in the New York Times. Ed had “been there; done that.” He wasn’t as motivated as I was. He wisely didn’t want to kill himself and wanted to be able to walk in the morning. I saw my goal and I kept moving toward it. I knew all I needed to do was stay with my pace group.
As we crossed the bridge, everyone was gearing up for the big crowds on First Avenue in Manhattan. For almost a four-mile stretch, crowds stand 3 and 4 deep to catch a glimpse of the runners. First Avenue is the reason runners do Marathons. Nowhere else will you get the thrill of thousands upon thousands of spectators cheering for you. Our Jack Black leader lead us in a cheer—“We love New York.” The crowds went wild.
At the end of First Avenue we were up to Mile 20 and crossing the bridge into The Bronx. The bridge wasn’t paved in many spots but the grate was covered with a thin mat. Running on it actually felt like a massage to my aching feet. The tips of my toes were starting to feel sore as were my knees and rear end. I wanted to stop and stretch so badly, but the best I could manage was to stretch my calves and thighs while walking through the water stops. There were just too many people everywhere and nowhere to stop. As we stepped off the bridge, we heard, “Welcome to Queens.”
Queens was nice and, thankfully, short. By Mile 21, we were crossing our last bridge back into Manhattan—Harlem this time. Again lots of kids, crowds and music! It kept us going—moving to the beat. By this time I was getting a little cold probably because the sun was sinking behind the tall buildings. After the initial blast on the Verrazano Bridge, the weather had really had been ideal up until now. The pains in my toes, knees and rear were getting sharper, but I was still going strong. We ran along Central Park for a few miles before we finally turned in.
At that point, it seemed like we should be almost finished but there were four more miles to go. Gratefully there were many fans in the Park so that helped. Around this time, I think I got my second wind. I was actually not wanting it to end! I was having so much fun—the full impact of what I was doing finally hit me. Our leaders were talking to us. They had pushed us so hard; we had a few minutes to spare. They had to pull back because they were required to cross the finish line within two minutes of five hours. They told us we didn’t have to stay with them—we were welcome to run ahead. I think all of us did.
About a mile from the finish, I saw Rusty and Mark waving with their cameras aimed. I waved back and smiled CHEESE! I was really feeling good now—flying along the last mile. I ran by a big TV screen but couldn’t manage to pick myself out. I saw the “bandit chasers” pulling out someone in front of me who didn’t have a number. They wouldn’t get the “thrill” we had all paid for. And then—there it was right in front of me—the Finish Line. I raised my face and arms as cameras flashed. I had done it!!
I planned to get my timing chip cut off so I could go back and run through the Finish Line again with Ed. That way we could get our picture taken together like we did last year at White Rock. I also wanted to get our formal picture taken together with our medals. I took my medal but decided to forgo the goody bag and foil blanket until I could find Ed. I wandered aimlessly searching for the chip removal station. After walking a good half mile, I gave up and decided to go back to the Finish Line to wait for Ed. At that point it occurred to me that maybe I had missed him.
I waited for about 20 minutes before I gave up—an obnoxious woman working the Finish Line kept telling me to back up. (I know she was just doing her job.) I was starting to get cold and hungry so I got the blanket and goody bag and headed for the UPS truck to pick up our belongings. I figured I would wait there for Ed as he would know if I wasn’t at the finish, I would be there. When he did show up, I was never so happy to see him in my whole life. I was desperate to get my chip off and get to the subway. I was starting to get really, really cold. I realized while we had been prepared for the wait at the beginning of the race, we hadn’t prepared for after the race.
We were moving very slowly. We finally got our chips removed and filed out of the Park shuffling gingerly toward the subway. I don’t know about Ed but I started shaking violently because of the cold. While I was running I was fine; but once I stopped, the wet clothes and setting sun did me in. And then our savior arrived. We figured Rusty and Mark had gone back to the apartment to wait for us, but there was Rusty with sweatpants and sweatshirt for me and a sweater for Ed. She also helped us find the subway where, because of our Marathon runner status, we rode for free.
Back at Rusty’s neighbor’s apartment we leisurely took warm showers and prepared for dinner. We answered text messages and voice mail from friends and family. We basked in the glory of knowing we had finished the 2008 New York City Marathon. The only thing missing was Larry. Dinner was a joyous affair at a neighborhood café. We didn’t have to go far to find the hamburgers and sundaes that we craved and deserved. After stopping for a nightcap after dinner, we fell into bed exhausted.
Monday morning we were treated to latte and raisin bread at Rusty and Mark’s before the long trip to La Guardia. Both Ed and I had on our Marathon shirts and medals as is customary the day after the race. We took pictures, hugged and said our last goodbyes. We were still on our Marathon high. On the subway we talked with a bicyclist who was in awe of our accomplishment. We saw many other marathoners on the bus out to La Guardia and we compared stories. At the airport, we heard someone announce loudly—the runners have arrived. I felt like a celebrity. Because of our gold medals, the ticket agent asked Ed if we had won. He replied “Yes we did, because we finished.”
The summer before last, my husband, Ed, and I started running with his friend, Larry. Larry was not a runner and had only started running a year earlier, but he got it in his head that he wanted to do a marathon. So Ed and I decided to help him train. In the beginning, I thought he’d never make it; but Larry surprised me more often than not. I became so involved in his training that I started running longer than the half marathons I had limited myself to.
My big breakthrough came when I discovered the patella strap. I don’t know how long these have been around but I don’t remember seeing anyone wearing one when I ran my earlier marathons. They are basically stretchable straps worn around your leg under your knee. They help spread the impact that the knee gets upon contact with the ground. After I started wearing one, I found that I could run much further pain free.
So after running a 30k with Larry, I decided to sign up once more for the White Rock Marathon only a few months away. A recent discovery that we used to our advantage during this marathon was the pace group. Running with a pace group keeps you from running too fast at the beginning of the race thus ensuring that you have something left at the end. We wisely and conservatively decided on a 5 hour and 30 minute pace group. When the day came, we had no trouble running the whole 26.2 miles. I rediscovered why people run marathons. I was hooked once again.
Ed had run the New York City Marathon back in 2002, the year after 9/11. He still spoke of that experience as one of the highlights of his life. Now that I was “running marathons again”, I figured why not try it. Larry was in too so we sent in our applications in early February. The first hurdle was the lottery to be held in early June. Much to my elation, at the appropriate time I got an email that my number had been chosen. Much to my dismay, I later learned that Ed’s and Larry’s hadn’t been.
Over the next couple of months, I did everything I could think of to get Ed in. I looked up many charities which, with a donation, would award a marathon spot. With that alternative we were looking at a minimum of $2,500 just for the entry alone—way out of our budget. I even went to the CFO at my job and asked him to petition my boss for the donation. I later learned my boss just laughed it off—I guess he didn’t think we were serious. Finally, at the suggestion of my runner friend, Janice, I sent an email to the NYC Marathon Race Director. I didn’t get a reply.
Meanwhile, Ed, Larry and I were training hard. I, of course, was the most motivated since I was guaranteed a marathon. Ed and Larry discussed doing the San Antonio Rock ‘n Roll Marathon two weeks after New York but no decision was made. We started after Memorial Day getting our weekly long runs up to 12 miles. It took us until the end of June to feel comfortable with that distance. The first week of August we ran 14 miles and then increased our mileage by 2 miles every other week. On the off weeks, we did 12 or 13. Our longest run was 22 miles two weeks before New York.
We got into a comfortable routine. Larry would knock on our door at 6:00 a.m. Saturday and we would start our runs at White Rock Lake by 6:30 a.m. About mid-way through our training we had all adopted running with MP3 Players to cut down on the boredom. We kept the music low so we could still carry on a conversation; but more often than not, one of us would break into song when a particular favorite came up in the rotation.
I must say that the camaraderie was exceptional. Larry often acted as a buffer between me and Ed when we were especially tired or cranky. Ed always seemed to be in a better mood with Larry around as Larry is one of those special people who live in the moment. He has a stop-and-smell-the-roses-type of personality that reminds me I want more of that. He also frequently talks to animals—birds, squirrels, ducks, etc.—actions that often cause other runners on the trail to look at him suspiciously. I often call him certifiable. After the weekly Saturday runs we go to Starbucks, Einstein Bagels or Café Brazil. That was always the very best part of the week and made me extremely grateful that I could run and do it with two such wonderful men.
Almost from the beginning of the year, I knew I wanted to lose weight. After Christmas, I was up to 148 pounds and not liking “the new me” at all. I know it is common to gain weight as you get older and your metabolism slows, but I was determined not to be like everybody else. I had tried a number of diets that didn’t work. The one thing I hadn’t tried was counting calories. The website www.thedailyplate.com made it easy—and best of all it worked. I lost 20 pounds from February to November. Imagine running with a 20-pound weight that is gradually reduced to nothing. That’s exactly how it felt. Running became fun again.
I can’t remember when exactly I got the email—I just remember it was after my third try. Ed was IN!! I couldn’t believe our good fortune. Our dream of running the New York City Marathon together was to become a reality. Ed perked up considerably after that. Our training got more intense and more focused. We were people on a mission.
At last Friday, October 31st, Halloween, arrived and we were on our way. I had found a deal on Expedia for round trip airfare for two including three nights at a hotel—it wasn’t cheap but it wasn’t out-of-reach. We stayed at the Best Western Convention Center, close to the packet pick-up and Expo. I had emailed my college roommate, Rusty, and her boyfriend, Mark, who got us cheap theatre tickets for Friday night. We planned on spending most of our free time with them. We also contacted John and Val, Ed’s Dallas friends from way back whose daughter was in an off-Broadway play. We made plans to meet up with them on Saturday afternoon. Our dance card was quickly filling up.
We had been closely watching the extended weather forecast for the 10 days prior to the race. It had changed so much, we didn’t know what to expect. On Friday when we arrived in New York, two days before the Marathon, it was in the low 50’s and sunny. The last we had checked, D-Day was supposed to be low 44 and high of 54. That was actually ideal. But we did hear rumors of wind which could make it feel a lot colder.
The trip to the airport was pretty uneventful. We made it there in plenty of time and even found a Starbucks right before boarding. It was obvious that there were many runners on the plane. Ed recognized someone from the Y. The girl who sat next to us was doing her first Marathon. Because it was only days before the Presidential election, the movie they played was “Swing Vote” with Kevin Costner.
We had decided to make the trip as inexpensive as possible so I had done Google maps of the public transit options wherever we had to travel. We found the M60 bus to Manhattan and luckily realized we needed eight quarters before it pulled up. There was a change machine right inside the terminal. The bus was packed so we had to stand for the 20-minute ride to the subway clutching our bags between our knees so we could use our hands to keep us from lurching into other passengers.
We found our subway stop again with no problems and sailed into Manhattan less than an hour after our plane had landed. We called Rusty and Mark and arranged to walk to their place in time to eat dinner before the show. The walk from Times Square at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue to our Hotel on 58th Street between 10th and 11th took longer than we expected; but once we arrived, our room wasn’t even ready. We left our bags with the concierge and headed out to the Expo.
At the Expo things again fell into place. We got our race packets and chips easily with no wait. We got our transportation changed to the Staten Island Ferry at 8:00 a.m. instead of the bus from the Main Library at 4:00 a.m.—a life saver. We bought NYC Marathon gear—shorts and a shirt for each of us. While trying on clothes in the women’s dressing room, I noticed no one spoke English but everyone was very friendly. We had the glow of people doing what we loved most—we were in our element with those of a like mind.
When we got back to the hotel, our room was waiting for us. However, after talking to Rusty again to tell them we were on our way, we found out their neighbors were out of town and had agreed to let us camp out at their place. We tried to cancel our hotel but, because of the 48-hour cancellation policy, we could only cancel Sunday night. That was the most important night anyway as that was the night after the race. It ended up saving us over $200. We arrived at Rusty and Mark’s in plenty of time for a leisurely dinner.
We ate outside at a Mexican Restaurant with frozen margaritas that made our teeth chatter. It was good that we had time for coffee after we picked up our tickets so we could get warmed up before the performance started. The show was called “Romantic Poetry” and it was a funny musical about love, what we think is love and how it evolves over time. There were only 6 whacky characters who were all very strong singers and actors. Ed and I thought the show was good but Rusty and Mark, whose standards are higher because of being New Yorkers, didn’t like it as much as we did. We topped the evening off with good conversation, wine and cheesecake back at their cozy apartment.
Saturday we slept in late. We went down for the Continental breakfast before we showered and were amazed by all the foreign runners. We heard every language imaginable. After getting ready we walked to the Empire State Building as they were giving away “free” Marathon pins. We were disappointed to find out they were only free if you paid to go to the top. We grabbed some lunch at a Ukrainian Bistro just so we could sit down and rest some before Emily’s play. We were afraid of walking too much and being tired the next day.
On the way to pick up our show tickets, we ran into Val and John. We had some time to kill so we hung out with them and got caught up on what was going on with Emily and the rest of the family. The show was in a tiny theatre but the play, Death of a Salesman, was excellent. All the kids in Emily’s theatre group are just that—kids, but they did an amazing job of portraying characters much older. Emily was exceptional and we were glad we had a chance to see her work. She is a member of the MITU (me too) Theatre Group, a job she was offered before she even graduated from NYU. The Group is scheduled to present a film at Sundance this year.
After the show it was time for the Pre-Marathon Dinner, so we checked our maps and headed to the bus and then the subway for our trip to Tavern on the Green in Central Park. What a difference a few years makes. When Ed did the Marathon in 2002, we waited hours in the cold before getting to the pasta buffet. This time we waltzed right in. We were given a goody bag to carry the boxes of pasta, packages of cookies and chocolate bars that were lying in stacks constantly being replenished. Somehow we were ushered into the VIP room where we were waited on and treated like royalty. We sat with a running club from Rochester, New York. Most of its members were sub-3-hour marathoners and so were treated to heated bathrooms and trailers on Marathon morning.
After dinner we went back to Rusty and Mark’s for a short visit. Rusty was off to the theatre with a friend who got her a last-minute free ticket. We played with their bird, Cokey; talked politics with Mark (luckily a fellow Obama fan) took some pictures, and then walked back to our hotel full of apprehension about what the morning would bring.
Ed woke up before the alarm went off. We turned the TV to the weather station—it was blustery. A cold front had definitely blown in. We dressed in the shorts and long-sleeved t-shirts we planned to wear for the race and then pulled on our throw-away sweatpants and sweatshirts over top. Our daughter, Katie, had painted our long-sleeved shirts with multi-colored markers—spelling out Team Stofko, Run if you Love New York, Dallas, Texas, our names and various other tidbits (including our age in bold black letters). We pulled together everything we would need before and after the race—power bars, Gatorade, maps, snacks, Gu, Metro Card—and put them in the plastic bag provided for that purpose. This bag would go on the UPS truck back to Central Park to be picked up after the race.
We checked out of our room and left on foot to meet Rusty and Mark on the street. They picked up my purse and our luggage to take back to their apartment. We exchanged small talk about how cold it was. They were going back to bed—we were going to run 26.2 miles! We had a little trouble finding the subway entrance. The turnstiles were locked in the first one we tried and I got a little panicky. It would be a shame to miss the start after coming so far. Ed found another set of stairs across the street and that turned out to be the right way. We were comforted when we saw other runners waiting too. I started to relax when the subway came and we were on our way to the Ferry.
There were some signs that we briefly noticed that mentioned South Ferry passengers being in the first five cars. While we were en route we also heard an announcement to that affect. At one stop, well before the Ferry stop, a runner got off the subway and motioned for us to come with her. The couple from California sitting across from us and the hedge fund guy sitting next to us didn’t seem concerned. We figured if the New Yorker wasn’t moving, why should we? I asked the hedge fund guy which fund he worked for. He assured me I wouldn’t have heard of it. But when I got back to Dallas, sure enough the fund was in my database. I wish I had asked his name.
All at once we realized we weren’t moving and the doors were still shut. Oh my God—we were supposed to be in the first five cars. The rest of the train was being diverted to another line. The five of us jumped up and started racing through the cars to the front. Why hadn’t we paid attention; why hadn’t we listened. Thankfully, there was a conductor who heard our cries and let us out. That could have been a disaster.
The walk to the Ferry was short. We boarded and set out to sea quickly. I couldn’t believe how much room there was on the Ferry as I figured it would be packed like the buses. This was definitely the way to go. It still didn’t feel real though. I was having a hard time concentrating. I felt like I was having an “out of body” experience.
Once we disembarked we were almost immediately herded onto busses that took us the three miles to the start village. The scene there was totally unbelievable—like out of a science fiction movie. I imagine refugee camps look something like this. There were people camped out and standing around everywhere in all manner of dress. Quite a few runners were clad in white uniforms from head-to-toe resembling Haz-Mat workers. They wore the new-fangled, disposable outfits meant to keep you warm—although they didn’t look very warm to me. There were port-a-potties everywhere.
We walked about a half mile to our “Green” staging area. There were actually three wave starts—the fastest runners in the first wave and the slowest in the last. You can guess where we were. Then there were different colors within the waves as some runners would run on top of the bridge and some on the second level. After we deposited our bag on the UPS truck and ate a power bar, it wasn’t long before we set out to find our “corral”. I must say it’s all very well organized with loudspeakers barking directions in every language to make sure everyone knows the drill. We noticed when the first wave started as we could see the thousands of heads bobbing across the bridge.
It wasn’t difficult to find our pace group leaders as they were both carrying “5-Hour Pace Group” signs and sticks with bunches of green balloons attached. After we got into our corral, I thought we would have time to go to the restroom; but the leaders started moving fairly quickly and I was afraid I would lose them before I even started. I figured there would be plenty of bathrooms en route—NOT. We shed our warm clothes into the bins provided (to be given to homeless shelters) and shivered our way to the start. It wasn’t long before the gun went off and we started our run across the Verrazano Bridge.
During the first few miles I felt like I had never run a step. My legs and feet were numb and a fierce wind was blowing me backward. We were glad to be on the second level of the bridge as it had to be worse up top. I tried to take in all the sights and sounds but I seemed to be on auto-pilot. I just couldn’t grasp the fact that I was running in the New York City Marathon—along with 38,000 other people.
We finally adjusted to running behind our leaders and with our group. One of them was a blonde girl of about 30 and the other was a wild, Jack-Black-kind-of guy, about the same age. He ended up being a real hoot—grabbing microphones from bands along the way whipping up support for us. Some of the runners had put the “5-Hour Pace Group” bib on the back of their shirt so it was easy to spot them. There were probably 20 of us total at the start although that would change considerably during the race. Some runners would drop back, some would surge forward and others would join in.
The bridge was long but soon we were running in Brooklyn where we would do almost half of the total miles. Our blonde leader read us something about the area we were running through but I can’t remember a thing she said. I guess I was in the zone. I was also frantically looking for a bathroom. I realized rather quickly that it was going to be more difficult than I first thought to relieve myself and catch back up to my group. I was actually even thinking of jumping off and going behind a tree but there were people everywhere. I wasn’t about to expose myself in front of thousands of New York fans.
The first bathrooms I came across had lines about 10 people deep. I guessed I could hold out a little longer. I really felt I couldn’t enjoy myself until I took care of this little problem. At the next bathrooms there were less people waiting but still a crowd. I decided to chance it. As soon as I started waiting, a man in a suit motioned to me that I could come inside his establishment—it was a funeral home! There were bathrooms in the front and back. I waited in line only 15 seconds before I dashed into the men’s room—I was out in a flash. The man called to me as I ran out to catch up to my group—“Come back and see us.”
That was at about Mile 5. I finally could relax and take in my surroundings. Wow—the sheer number of spectators was unbelievable. Many carried signs encouraging their favorite runners. Many carried cameras awaiting sight of their running friends or family members. Some carried signs for any runner—“Free Hugs Here” is one I remember. Many were giving away food. Fire trucks loaded with cheering (usually good-looking) fireman always got the runners yelling and waving back. Obama signs were plentiful—it was clear what Presidential candidate New York City would vote for. Kids with their hands out to be slapped lined the streets. Formal and makeshift bands competed for the crowd’s and runners’ attention. Many musicians drummed on street lamps and sign posts. Cheering, yelling, noise, filled the air.
I was hardly aware of moving—hardly aware of my legs or exertion. I knew I felt good. I was definitely in the groove. At some point we moved into Queens but I’m not sure when. We must have gone over a little bridge. There were water stops all along the way. Our pace group kept running except when we were drinking—our leaders wanted to make sure we kept well hydrated. Because roughly 25,000 people had come before us, the water stops were littered with cups. We could barely see the street beneath our feet for all the trash. It got quite slippery so it was a good thing we walked. Our time in Queens was short—only about 2 miles.
From Mile 15 to 16 we crossed over the Queensboro Bridge. It was different being on the bridge—much quieter. Right before the bridge is where I left Ed. I felt bad to leave him; but I knew to do my best and make use of all the training I had done, I needed to break five hours. As an added incentive, those under the five-hour mark had their names published the next day in the New York Times. Ed had “been there; done that.” He wasn’t as motivated as I was. He wisely didn’t want to kill himself and wanted to be able to walk in the morning. I saw my goal and I kept moving toward it. I knew all I needed to do was stay with my pace group.
As we crossed the bridge, everyone was gearing up for the big crowds on First Avenue in Manhattan. For almost a four-mile stretch, crowds stand 3 and 4 deep to catch a glimpse of the runners. First Avenue is the reason runners do Marathons. Nowhere else will you get the thrill of thousands upon thousands of spectators cheering for you. Our Jack Black leader lead us in a cheer—“We love New York.” The crowds went wild.
At the end of First Avenue we were up to Mile 20 and crossing the bridge into The Bronx. The bridge wasn’t paved in many spots but the grate was covered with a thin mat. Running on it actually felt like a massage to my aching feet. The tips of my toes were starting to feel sore as were my knees and rear end. I wanted to stop and stretch so badly, but the best I could manage was to stretch my calves and thighs while walking through the water stops. There were just too many people everywhere and nowhere to stop. As we stepped off the bridge, we heard, “Welcome to Queens.”
Queens was nice and, thankfully, short. By Mile 21, we were crossing our last bridge back into Manhattan—Harlem this time. Again lots of kids, crowds and music! It kept us going—moving to the beat. By this time I was getting a little cold probably because the sun was sinking behind the tall buildings. After the initial blast on the Verrazano Bridge, the weather had really had been ideal up until now. The pains in my toes, knees and rear were getting sharper, but I was still going strong. We ran along Central Park for a few miles before we finally turned in.
At that point, it seemed like we should be almost finished but there were four more miles to go. Gratefully there were many fans in the Park so that helped. Around this time, I think I got my second wind. I was actually not wanting it to end! I was having so much fun—the full impact of what I was doing finally hit me. Our leaders were talking to us. They had pushed us so hard; we had a few minutes to spare. They had to pull back because they were required to cross the finish line within two minutes of five hours. They told us we didn’t have to stay with them—we were welcome to run ahead. I think all of us did.
About a mile from the finish, I saw Rusty and Mark waving with their cameras aimed. I waved back and smiled CHEESE! I was really feeling good now—flying along the last mile. I ran by a big TV screen but couldn’t manage to pick myself out. I saw the “bandit chasers” pulling out someone in front of me who didn’t have a number. They wouldn’t get the “thrill” we had all paid for. And then—there it was right in front of me—the Finish Line. I raised my face and arms as cameras flashed. I had done it!!
I planned to get my timing chip cut off so I could go back and run through the Finish Line again with Ed. That way we could get our picture taken together like we did last year at White Rock. I also wanted to get our formal picture taken together with our medals. I took my medal but decided to forgo the goody bag and foil blanket until I could find Ed. I wandered aimlessly searching for the chip removal station. After walking a good half mile, I gave up and decided to go back to the Finish Line to wait for Ed. At that point it occurred to me that maybe I had missed him.
I waited for about 20 minutes before I gave up—an obnoxious woman working the Finish Line kept telling me to back up. (I know she was just doing her job.) I was starting to get cold and hungry so I got the blanket and goody bag and headed for the UPS truck to pick up our belongings. I figured I would wait there for Ed as he would know if I wasn’t at the finish, I would be there. When he did show up, I was never so happy to see him in my whole life. I was desperate to get my chip off and get to the subway. I was starting to get really, really cold. I realized while we had been prepared for the wait at the beginning of the race, we hadn’t prepared for after the race.
We were moving very slowly. We finally got our chips removed and filed out of the Park shuffling gingerly toward the subway. I don’t know about Ed but I started shaking violently because of the cold. While I was running I was fine; but once I stopped, the wet clothes and setting sun did me in. And then our savior arrived. We figured Rusty and Mark had gone back to the apartment to wait for us, but there was Rusty with sweatpants and sweatshirt for me and a sweater for Ed. She also helped us find the subway where, because of our Marathon runner status, we rode for free.
Back at Rusty’s neighbor’s apartment we leisurely took warm showers and prepared for dinner. We answered text messages and voice mail from friends and family. We basked in the glory of knowing we had finished the 2008 New York City Marathon. The only thing missing was Larry. Dinner was a joyous affair at a neighborhood café. We didn’t have to go far to find the hamburgers and sundaes that we craved and deserved. After stopping for a nightcap after dinner, we fell into bed exhausted.
Monday morning we were treated to latte and raisin bread at Rusty and Mark’s before the long trip to La Guardia. Both Ed and I had on our Marathon shirts and medals as is customary the day after the race. We took pictures, hugged and said our last goodbyes. We were still on our Marathon high. On the subway we talked with a bicyclist who was in awe of our accomplishment. We saw many other marathoners on the bus out to La Guardia and we compared stories. At the airport, we heard someone announce loudly—the runners have arrived. I felt like a celebrity. Because of our gold medals, the ticket agent asked Ed if we had won. He replied “Yes we did, because we finished.”
No comments:
Post a Comment