NYC Marathon Weekend

Note - this is a long blog entry about last weekend in NYC. An amazing experience, but a bit long. So if you're only interested in the race, scroll down to Sunday. This is also unedited, and maybe I'll get around to proofreading it someday, maybe not, its already taken me long enough to put this together. There's a picture at the end if you make it that far. Enjoy!

Friday

Well, we made it. Its about 11pm and I’m laying in the bedroom of a woman I spoke to over the phone once and emailed a few times while she is off for a week to I don’t know where. A small apartment in the Lower East Side of Manhattan that is considered spacious by local standards – three bedrooms, one bath and an efficiency kitchen/living/dining area. There’s also a patio I haven’t seen yet, right over a liquor store on Avenue A. M & O, A’s two roommates, seem nice enough as T and I basically set up camp in their house. T is happy that they have cable TV and has plopped himself on the futon in the living room, where I’m sure he’ll go to sleep.

New York City is great. What other city, except for maybe Boston, can you hear the lite rock station in the supermarket preface the weather forecast by saying that the weekend’s predicted highs in the upper sixties bode poorly for marathoners (though everybody else will be happy). Where else can you be a part of a room full of people with obvious and not so obvious handicaps who look just incredibly in shape, whether they are blind, are walking on prosthetics, in wheelchairs, and whatever. Marathon advertisements all over the place, people in NYC marathon jackets, t-shirts, and running shoes. There is definitely an energy in the air, and its only Friday.

So we are here, but had a hard time getting up here. I picked up T a bit early from school and he was visibly dragging, complaining that he went to the school nurse earlier in the day but adamant about going to NYC. So we biked down to 30^th Street Station, as SEPTA is on strike, and just missed the 3:40 train to NYC. Next train with space left at 5:15. This left me with an extremely tired boy at the station for awhile, and meant that we would get in to the Achilles Track Club welcoming buffet late. I just kept reminding myself that some things I just cannot control. T slept virtually the whole train ride up and really dragged himself when we had to walk from Penn Station (8^th and 33^rd) to the buffet at 5^th and 44^th. We got there and just missed Jambal and the Mongolian contingent. That sucked, but again what could you do. We stayed a little bit and had dinner, and T was about falling over on the way to our crash pad.

An inauspicious start. We’ll see how the marathon goes. For once I don’t care what the weather will be like. I am worried, however, about a rash that has been my legs for a few weeks now which I first thought was poison ivy, but now am not so sure. It slowly seems to be going away but has now spread to my toes, making them very itchy when I’m in running shoes. To complicate matters a bit more, I planned NYC as a trial run for a new pair of lightweight trainers that came in the mail today, New Balance 833’s. I bought these shoes partly because a previous generation of this shoe has been the last racing shoe that I had been happy with, but also got them on faith as I ordered them over the internet. So I put them on today for the first time and got some irritation on my heels that bodes poorly for running 26 miles in them. And then there are those itchy toes.

So there’s always plenty to worry about before a marathon. I found out more about this tether method for guiding blind runners, as apparently you and the runner both hold onto a tether which you use to guide him where he needs to go. But all those logistics, plus my mixed connections with Jambal, is another source of anxiety that I have spoken about before.

But before all that I get tomorrow to play in NYC with T. We got a list of coin stores to check out, he wants to go to the Toys R Us mothership near Times Square and I need to go to the Expo. We brought a soccer ball and are about four blocks from Tompkins Square. So all that should ensure that we stay busy on what promises to be another mild, beautiful fall day. And I don’t have to run!

Saturday

Just want to write this and then get to bed at a decent hour. My day in the city is winding down, and its about time for getting down to business. I’ve done enough of these where its routine now, and in the absence of any pressure to run fast there is less urgency to get everything right today. So T and I slept in and then hopped on the subway back to Midtown where we went to the supersized Toys R Us, which was a madhouse and we walked around it at least three times before T decided there wasn’t anything in the store that he wanted. So then we went to the addresses of four different coin shops in the area, none of which really panned out, but took us toward the Converntion Center and the marathon expo.

First stop at the expo was the Achilles TC office. The place seemed somewhat chaotic as people came looking to guide but there was a surplus of guides, and people were calling asking about making connections with the runners they were supposed to guide, and a guy in a wheelchair with what looked like cerebral palsy was trying to communicate with volunteers despite his very impaired speech. I introduced myself and the volunteer looked at me with awe, not for who I was but because the Jambal, the guy I’m scheduled to guide, apparently has quite a reputation at ATC. So much so that in deference to our speediness I was given one of the athlete’s shirts, which were coolmax, rather than the guide’s shirts, which were cotton. This is one perk I appreciated because I would have been very reluctant to run a marathon in a cotton shirt, especially as the temperature is supposed to get into the upper 60’s. I didn’t spend much time at the expo (I rarely do), only enough to get my bib, goody bag (most of the contents of which I threw out), and to buy a bunch of Power Gels, which I am trying tomorrow as an experiment to see if a) they give me an energy boost; and b) if I can stomach them.

I still haven’t hooked up with Jambal. IC is in town, and we spent some time calling back and forth trying to arrange a meeting with Jambal, who was staying in a Midtown hotel that wasn’t very good at passing on messages. After the expo I took an exhausted T back to the apartment we’re staying at and IC did manage to hook up with Jambal. He says that Jambal is taller than I am and very easygoing. Despite his not knowing English they were able to communicate about rudimentary matters and IC felt much more at ease about running with him. I think that, given that IC and I run easily and comfortably together, Jambal might fit right in. We agreed to meet at the ATC buses that take us out to Staten Island tomorrow morning, and I figure we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted in the morning. I’ll bring a camera with me as well to post pictures of him on the blog.

We spent the late afternoon at the apartment, T watching Cartoon Network and me grading Stats assignments and then going over marathon info and prepping a spectator plan for C. C and M got in at about 7 and, after cruising around looking for parking and finally parking the car amidst the housing projects along Ave C, we got the kids a pizza and C and I went to a little Italian restaurant on 1^st Avenue and had the customary pre race pasta meal. A very relaxed atmosphere, dark with romantic Italian music and the door open to let in the mild evening air. After a trip to the corner bodega to get water, yogurt, bananas and Gatorade for tomorrow, I think I’m set to go. My day will start around 5 and I’ll head to the subway by 5:30 to get started with the day.

My new 833’s felt more comfortable today, but my toes are still itching and this will be a problem tomorrow. I guess its gotta be something.

The thought I’ll sign off today with is that I was very impressed by the number of people that ATC gets who are willing to run as guides. Even today I saw several people walking up and offering their services, which were politely accepted by ATC as backups should somebody not show or have to drop out of the race. There is a booklet that ATC distributes for guides that has a section of various anecdotes, including one where Eastern European disabled runners are often shocked to see people volunteering to run the marathon with them, as they would not fathom why a complete stranger would be willing to do this without getting paid. A different culture perhaps. The closer I get to doing this the better I feel about doing this. After some initial iffiness, I now have no problem with the prospect of extending myself to where I may not be in peak form in two weeks. I’ve taken so much from this sport that it feels right to be giving something. And apparently a lot of people agree with me.

Next time I post it’ll be with another long boring marathon report.

Sunday

New York is truly the city that doesn’t sleep. The bedroom I slept in overlooked Avenue A and my usual fitful premarathon sleep was interrupted regularly by sirens, car horns, and people talking loud, shouting and arguing all through the night. I woke up for good at five to go through my pre-marathon rituals, and left the apartment to catch the subway at 5:30. People were still wandering the streets in their evening clothes. On 14^th Street four tough looking teenagers came up to me asking if I was running the marathon, and wished me the best when I said I was. Two guys, one who looked homeless and one who didn’t, were sleeping in the 1^st Avenue subway station, keeping me company for the fifteen minutes it took for the train to get there. At the transfer point at Union Square I ran into another guy decked out for the marathon, from Washington State and running his first marathon, and we discussed the upcoming race.

We wished each other well as we walked up from the Bryant Park station and into a stream of marathoners heading towards the buses that would haul us all to Staten Island. Its amazing how well organized this whole process was. This year I walked a bit past all that down to 38^th Street, where the Achilles Track Club had bus service for the handicapped athletes. The darkness started to get lighter as I made it there. IC was already there with not much more than a cup of coffee and the New York Times. Like at Fridays dinner, athletes with all sorts of disabilities were hanging around. Jambal eventually showed, with his sister, at about 6:50, a few minutes before the last buses were scheduled to go. He looked a bit older than 44, a bit shorter than people told me he was, yet still tall and lean – a runners body. He was all smiles. He shook my hand and bent down to feel my thigh, as naturally as if it were some Mongolian greeting. We posed for pictures, with my camera and with his sister’s, and boarded the bus.

It was foggy enough so that we couldn’t see the East River on the ride to Staten Island. IC and I tried to get information from Jambal about what he wanted us to do in guiding him. We understood he wanted to run about in the 3:01 to 3:03 range, that miles meant nothing to us but he understood kilometers, and he had heard about the Queensboro Bridge. In turn IC and I decided that we would take turns holding his tether, while the other ran in front to function like an offensive line. That person would also get water and Gatorade for us, and there wasn’t really much else we could plan. One of us would keep splits in miles and the other in 5 kilometer chunks. We were a bit better in understanding stuff about him, such as that he was a gym teacher in Ulaan Bator, was married with two children and had one small grandchild. The bus got stuck in traffic on the Verrazano Bridge a little after 8, so that we could see the handicapped athletes in the early start. Our bus got more excited as we saw these athletes, who are given a start two hours before the regular marathon because they will need more time to finish, waved to them and in some instances saw them wave back. They were in wheelchairs, handcycles, crutches, on prosthetics, and on their own power, mostly in red ATC shirts and with one or more guides. Watching them I felt part of all this.

We were stuck in the bus for a while and as a consequence did not have long to stay in the staging area. We were in the Blue section and pulled up a spot of grass to sit on and, like 37,000 or so others, wait for the race to start. I was worried mostly about my feet making it through the race, and put on my old, worn in (and out) trainers rather than the new shoes I had because there would be less chance of blistering. I take some of my Gatorade and hand it to Jambal. Jambal sips and quickly gives it back, and we ascertain that he prefers water over Gatorade. Like everyone else, we killed time and got ready and as the time got closer IC took Jambal to the portapotties and I took our gear bags off to the trucks that would transport them to the finish.

It helped that I knew the drill from last year. We were marched along a winding way to the start just behind the toll plaza and stood around nervously while Mayor Bloomberg gave a welcome, the National Anthem was sung. I tried to envision what Jambal must have thought, being led around with all this noise in what must have been a very strange surrounding. Then the cannon went off, signaling the start, and we started to run. It occurred to me that I had not yet run with Jambal, and for some reason was relieved to see that he was a runner, with a steady, shuffling stride that started slow and, as the field sped up he too went faster until he found his pace. This was the clearest communication I felt I received from him, and I knew this would go fine.

The hardest part as a guide was the first few miles, where the crowds are still very dense. At this point Jambal did not want to use the tether, and IC and I quickly found out that what worked best is having him at his right and me at his left, and taking Jambal’s arm and pulling him either right or left, as the situation demanded. We did not want to have him weave too much, and we quickly learned that saying “blind runner coming on your left” would obviate the need for us to move him around. This worked particularly well when people wrote their names on their shirts, but not so well for international runners, of which there are many in this race. So we went multilingual, with my trying it in German first, IC trying it in Spanish and then we ventured into more other languages with mixed results. I did get to take in running over the Verrazano Bridge more than I did last year, but not much more as I felt like a bodyguard, scanning all around us and also at the surface underfoot for anything that might potentially get into Jambal’s way.

The first mile up the bridge and through the crowded start went by in 8:27. The second mile, down the bridge and into Brooklyn, went by in 6:50. The runners were thinning and the crowds of bystanders were thickening as we headed up Fourth Avenue. The cross streets start here at about 100^th Street, and will count all the way down to 1^st Street and then some before we get off of Fourth Ave. And all along the way it feels like a big block party, and the runners are fresh enough to participate. Clusters of different ethnic groups cheer on particular nationalities of runners. Bands, organized and impromptu, play almost one after the other to add to the festive atmosphere.

The toughest part here is breaking through a clot of runners that is the pace group set to run 3:15. We get the water stop routine down, with either me or IC getting water for Jambal and the other. We brush the water against Jambal’s hand, and he takes it, drinks some, and pours the rest over his head. I get nervous about Jambal navigating the slick expanse of spilled liquid and trampled paper cups around the stops, but he can take care of himself. The Brooklyn miles take care of themselves as well. 7:14; 7:39; 6:20; 6:51; 6:43; 6:50 and 6:54 get us to mile 9 and heading to Bedford Avenue with a steady rhythm. IC tried to communicate to him each time we passed by a 5k mark, and tell him the split. We couldn’t tell if that helped him or not, but we’d keep doing it throughout the race.

Jambal is a running machine, and we’re doing the backup, Diana Ross and the Supremes. 2 more miles, 6:38 and 7:07, and we pass where C and the kids are standing. I stop and kiss each of them in all my sweatiness (M particularly loved that) and ran back to catch up. Another two miles in 7:07 and 6:35, then we blow by the halfway point at 1:32:11 and head up the Pulaski Bridge into Queens. Even though the pace could be steadier, Jambal is still on schedule with his goal time, and I’m thinking with some relief that we’ve got this guiding thing down.

But I’m also now aware of how strong the sun is, and I’m happy to be in a coolmax shirt. I’ve gotten to this point in several marathons, where even though you realize cognitively that the conditions are warm here you fully comprehend that the conditions are warm. One of the advantages of a language barrier is that I can tell IC that Jambal will have to run a hell of a back half to match this.

Halfway up the Pulaski Bridge Jambal asks “Queebo Bidge” and IC says not yet. Next two miles go in 14:33, winding our way through Queens and getting a hearty sendoff from the crowd before ascending up the ramp into the silent cavern that is the lower level of the Queensboro Bridge. IC breaks the news to Jambal but the silence, the stale air, and the echoes of labored breathing around us have doubtlessly already tipped him off. He appears more determined but also slows some and mile 16 goes in 7:39. Heading down and around and we’re on 1^st Avenue and on parade.

The crowd noise gets very loud and Jambal breaks out the tether. First IC runs with him and I run support. They seem attached and I’m floating around and I get very antsy, running ahead and around them and realize that I’m itching to pick up the pace. I’m anxious to get back on goal pace, perhaps more so than Jambal. Perhaps I’m flashing back to this point in my run last year, where I came off a slow mile on the Bridge and never got back on goal pace. Jambal still runs expressionlessly, and he is sweating more. They give out wet Sponge Bob sponges, I pass him one and Jambal is initially puzzled, but then wipes down his face and neck. Miles 17 & 18 in 7:17 and 7:31.

Jambal switches the tether to his left hand and now I’m guiding him. It takes some time to get used to the tether, as my cadence and his seem at odds and we pull against each other on the tether. I try to adjust my arms so as to relieve the tension on the tether but that is clumsy and maybe that is not what he is looking for. It is moments like these that I wish we had prepped on this. But ultimately I just run as normal as I can. IC hands Jambal a cup of Gatorade and he gulps it down, as well as a cup of water which he drinks some and pours the rest over his head. This, and a pair of miles that read 7:46 and 8:40, and we don’t have to know Mongolian to know that we’ve crossed the Willis Avenue Bridge and hit the wall.

Now we are in the Bronx. Mile 20 comes here, as the spectators in this gritty part of town, perhaps by years of seeing this spectacle of beaten down runners or perhaps by intuition gained by hardscrabble lives, seem to know the mindset that comes with hordes of runners suddenly struggling against defeat. The tone of the cheering takes on a different tone, less festive and more encouraging, pushing folks onwards and summoning them to find that last store of energy to make it back into Manhattan. 21 at 9:06, is the slowest yet, but Jambal’s expression remains determined and unchanged.

Vamos Achilles! Starting toward the back end of Fourth Avenue and regularly throughout the rest of the race we passed by the handicapped runners that we had waved to from the bus as they started early. Each time we’d pass them we’d shout go Achilles and they, or their guides, would shout back encouragement to us. All along the course shouts of “Go Achilles!” came regularly from the crowd as well, including a point in Queens when a whole mass of spectators in red ATC shirts cheered loudly as we passed. In contrast to past marathons, which despite the cheering and the crowds is essentially a solitary, self-encapsulating experience only occasionally broken up by connections made seeing loved ones and friends, here running became a communal experience, a connection with something larger than split times and personal records. Now many of the runners passing us, some of whom we’d previously passed, were encouraging Jambal on. IC, whose brain was less glycogen depleted than mine, stopped by a stand and came back with a placard upon which he had written “Jambal”. One of us now had the tether and the other was the cheerleader, holding up the sign and getting the crowd to cheer directly at him. He never let on whether he recognized the personalized cheering or not, or even wondered how all of a sudden so many of the spectators knew his name. But miles 22 and 23 were a bit faster, in 8:50 and 8:44, and Jambal now asked us “Cental Pak?” We said almost, and didn’t know if he understood.

The 3:15 pace group now chugged back past us. Taking inventory, my feet were doing fine and my legs felt very sore but were holding up fine. Mentally I was impatient for the race to be over, but kept my focus on Jambal. Mile 24 was in 9:34 and we were back in Central Park. IC, again with more glycogen going to his brain, pointed out C and the kids cheering us on again (they had also been on First Ave but I had missed them), which gave me a boost. Crowds got bigger, and finally the rich smell of horseshit around Columbus Circle told us the finish was near. Mile 25 went by in 9:23 and by now I was literally pulling Jambal along on the tether and encouraging him to pick things up for the last mile, but I don’t know if this was a help, an annoyance, or irrelevant. We did pick up a bit (10:58 for the last 1.2 miles) and the final time was 3:21:45 (3:21:35 or so chip), good enough to place 1,924^th out of about 34,000 official finishers and first among ATC’s non-wheelchair athletes.

The three of us had a big group hug and kept walking toward the ATC reunion area. Here we met up with Jambal’s sister and another companion and we took more pictures, took our shoes off and kicked back a bit. Exhausted and happy. Jambal babbled away in Mongolian, I wish I could understand what he had to say about the race. I told him, through the companion, to let us know should he ever come back to the States to race. With nothing much more to say we said good-bye and I got my stuff and hooked up with the family. It then struck me what a beautiful fall day it was, and C, M & T were hanging out patiently in the grass. It struck me what a privilege it was to run with Jambal, and how my family did much to make this possible as well. I’ll get a lot of complements for running with Jambal, and their efforts will go unrecognized. So I’ll say thank you here.

We walked back to the subway and went down to Union Square. T & I kicked a soccer ball around and the girls shopped in the stores that encircled the Square. We all then got greasy food to eat at a street bazaar that stretched a couple of blocks up Broadway, and walked back a few long blocks down 14^th Street to the apartment. It was dark when we got back, about as dark as it was when I left the apartment in the morning on this most remarkable day.