2012 Olympic Marathon Trials

The speed these women and men throw down is inconceivable to me. Intellectually, I understand the numerics behind a 4:55 or 5:33 pace, but I have absolutely no physical way to ever know what that feels like: how fast my legs would have to switch places, how brief a period my feet would touch the ground, how the wind would ruffle my hair, how hard my heart would beat.

For most of the competitors in the field at the Olympic marathon trials, getting to the trials will be the peak of their running career—no small feat, with “A” qualifying standards at 2:19 for men and 2:39 for women, times most humans take to run half the distance. Consider the fact that probably 95% of the qualifiers hold down full-time jobs while training for the trials, and it’s no wonder I saw so many runners on Memorial Drive (who clearly had no chance of winning) wearing some sort of smile on their faces, even up until Mile 23. Just getting to the game is the fulfillment of the dream. The equivalent for a runner like me is qualifying for the Boston Marathon enough under the required time that I actually came away with a bib during registration.

But there’s that top 5% of runners, the professional elite, who might even take it for granted that they are going to the trials. Men like Ryan, Meb, Dathan, Jason and Brett; women like Kara, Shalane, Desi, Deena, Tera and Magda—the prize in their eyes isn’t a bib for the trials, but a spot on the United States’ Olympic marathon team. That’s not to say the other 95% doesn’t hope for and train for a daring and stunning performance that will earn them a spot on the team as well. No doubt, many of them made tremendous sacrifices on the slight chance that January 14, 2012 would be their miracle day.

When we watch the Olympic trials, we are observing a rarified talent unleashed across a range of ambitions, and that is what makes the race so emotional, so thrilling, and so unforgettable.

The beauty of the circuit course is that as fans, the athletes could pass us as often as eight times. We not only get to monitor the progression of the battle between the elites with enough frequency to really feel the drama, but we also get to know the pack runners. Normally I give chicks who race in skirts a hard time, but at the trials, I gave the woman in the hot pink skirt with ruffles and a matching hair ribbon props—she dressed up for her debut on the national stage, and damn if I didn’t cheer for her each time she zipped by me.  Then there were the Storage twins, and the woman whose last name was Sunshine—you know I cheered my guts out for her, even though I was a little covetous of her name. And the men? Well, I admit that I was admiring their gorgeousness right along with their speed. Fernando Cabada? Hel-lo! And how awesome was it to see my old favorite Andrew Carlson up there in the mix of the top 10? It was very awesome. My heart gave a twinge each time Stephan Shay, who was racing the trials in his brother Ryan’s memory, sped by.

I knew who I wanted to come in first: Ryan Hall and Desiree Davila. Even though they both had the top qualifying times in their divisions, I still felt like they each had something to prove to the world—Ryan because he is self-coached, and Desi because she has toiled away in the shadows of Kara and Shalane for so long. (It was a terrible flashback to the natural laws that goverened my high school when the gorgeous blonde won the day over the girl-next-door brunette in this marathon). Ultimately, the men’s and the women’s races were very similar, in that the runner who led for the majority of the race came in second because they were overtaken in the last mile or so by the eventual champion. Even as I was watching these pros fiercely compete with each other, I knew that they have a deep respect for each other, and that many of them are friends and teammates. This is a beautiful thing, and is a way of relating with other humans that I greatly admire.

Later, after @tejasrunnergirl and I had cheered and tweeted from just past Miles 5/13/21 and Miles 7/15/23, we watched the televised coverage of the race. Even though I knew the outcome, I could not help myself from shouting out loud for Dathan to reel in Abdi and earn back the third place on the team, and for Desi to crank it up and overtake Shalane in the final half mile to win instead of place. I got all choked up when I saw the men’s leaders begin to overtake the trailing women racers, because these women were cheering Ryan, Meb, Abdi and Dathan. And also: imagine what a twisted pleasure it would be to say, afterwards, “Oh yeah, I was totally lapped by Ryan Hall!” Watching Ritz, the fourth men’s finisher, collapse into tears once he crossed the finish line was nearly too much to bear; I felt squirmy and bereft, his private grief was painfully honest. How does Amy Hastings reconcile the bitter disappointment of fourth place after leading several miles—will she be able to ever stop replaying the vision of Shalane, Desi and Kara hugging triumphantly, draped in American flags right in front of her eyes, as she trundled across the finish line in fourth place?

I’ve explained the Olympic marathon trials to my non-running-fan friends as “the SuperBowl of running.” But I’m not sure that’s adequate. The SuperBowl is every year. Football fans get to see their teams play a gameon TV every week throughout the entire 17-week long season. There are bragging rights, money, and Hall of Fame potential at stake—but nothing as theatrical and grand as representing your country in a field of competition that convenes once every four years.

As fans of the marathon, and as fans of individual distance racers, we get to see our favorite athletes unleash their training at most twice a year in the marathon, more only if they also compete in cross country, track, or shorter distances on the roads. More often than not, those races are not on TV. And the opportunities we have to see the best our nation has to offer compete directly against each other? Rarer still. I’m not complaining, I’m trying to explain to you just how unique, dramatic and inspiring the Olympic marathon trials are. I fear my words are not adequate.

My imagination is sparked by these men and women. I am grateful for the way they so thoroughly exploit their God-given talents. Being a fan of the sport has done nothing but enhance both my enjoyment of and my performances within it.

To Meb, Ryan, Abdi, Shalane, Desi and Kara: congratulations! I cannot wait to watch you take on the best of what the rest of the world has to offer in London this August. I’ve already raced those streets—now it’s your turn!

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NYC Half-Marathon from the Curb

It’s my birthday week on the blog, which means I’m going to post every day, Sunday through Saturday. This is the first post of the week. My actual birthday is Friday.

This morning I woke up when most of the other people who were up at that hour were stumbling to bed: 5:30 AM on a Sunday is the hour of golfers, runners (racers or people running long in July and August), and people who party on Red Bull.

I was heading in to Central Park to spectate the NYC Half-Marathon since the elite field was superb, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to catch such talent doing that thing they do best, live and in the flesh. The subway service changes conspired to get me there late, and the NYRR was very strict about who had access to the starting line; since I didn’t have a racer’s wristband I wasn’t granted entry. So I just took entry: I was the lady in mauve corduroys and a black puffy coat clambering up the stone wall and hopping the wire fence at 96th Street around 7:15 AM. But soon enough I met up with @ericasara and @FitChickNYC. I’d never met Fit Chick before, so it was a treat to put a name and face with the Twitter handle. While we were waiting for the race to start I snapped this picture with my Blackberry, it’s the area where the elites were hopping around and the lead vehicle was gearing up. There was a Very Serious Vibe going on, with lots of NYRR people barking orders. I love this behind-the-scenes crap.

It was impossible to take pictures or even really pick the elites out at the start, they were all smushed together and just two feet away from us. Bear with me as I add all the crappy Blackberry photos I took today to this blog post. After some light debate about what is an appropriate cheer for runners at Mile 0.01 of a half-marathon (surely “looking strong” isn’t right), we strolled across the lower half of the reservoir to pick up the elites at West Drive and 87th Street, except we missed them by about 2 minutes. I immediately turned around and headed back to the East Drive to try and spot them at Mile 6.5ish. I had some great memories of watching the Men’s Olympic Marathon Trials in 2007; I crossed back and forth nearly eight times during that circuit course race. The trials were right before I started my blog so I never wrote about it, but that is one of the specific moments I point to when I explain how I first understood the excitement and drama of the marathon.

When I saw the men come by this time, I was disappointed to see how far back Ryan, Meb and Abdi were. I missed Galen all together, but I did give a big shout for Jason. Then we all kicked the dirt for a while until the women showed up, and it was nice to see Kara tight in the lead pack. I was curious how the rest of the race would play out, and tried to keep up on Twitter as I

zoomed downtown in a yellow cab to catch the last 200 meters of the race at Franklin Street and the West Side Highway.$26 later, I arrived just in time to hop up on a concrete barrier to cheer as Mo Farah and Gebre Gebremariam sprinted by in a battle to the finish. And Galen! Mo took the win from Geb in the last meters, it was very exciting, and Galen was a solid third place. What a tickle, this track star placing in this world-class half-marathon ahead of his distance running compatriots. Later I learned that he ran a time which qualifies him for the Olympic Marathon Trials; wonder if he’ll go for it at this distance or if he’ll stick with his distance track events.

In an eerie echo of Boston 2009 (when Americans took third place in the men’s and women’s races), Kara finished third place, behind Caroline Rotich and Edna Kiplagat. This time though she didn’t look nearly as destroyed as she looked at the finish in Boston. Her finish was 2:06 off her PR (1:06:57) and 34 seconds off her time at Lisbon which was her tune-up before Boston in 2009. I am looking forward to cheering her on from my usual spot at the finish line in Copley Square next month; I still want to see her win a major marathon.

After the hullabaloo of the pros coming by, I stayed and cheered until I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering anymore. I saw RJR, CB and EN come by, but I had to throw in the towel because I was chilled to the core. It took me two hours to warm up! No doubt it was a great day for racing but as a spectator, we had it rough. While I always like seeing the elites, and I was glad I was there to give a few of my friends a boost, I think I would have been just as happy watching the race on my laptop; I would have seen a more thorough story of how it all played out with the elites, at least.

All in all, once I’d defrosted, I realized it had been quite a day in the world of distance running, and in the world of TK’s running. As I watched the pack start to come across the finish line, I remembered the best part of cheering at races. I love the way it stirs up my own desire to race, and perform. I love that moment, when the excitement and expectation for a race ignites within me, and I turn my primary focus to training; I love when it takes over my life. By the time I’m done cheering at Boston, I should be ready to dive in to base building for my Fall marathon. Soon, it will be my turn to own the roads.

But for today, congratulations to all the racers who owned the streets of Manhattan and finished the NYC Half-Marathon today. I know RJR set a wicked PR, and Galen has perhaps given himself a taste of what another kind of racing could be like for him.

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ING New York City Marathon from the Curb

Although my running of the NYC Marathon in 2008 is  my best marathon experience to date, I still would choose spectating the race over running it. I staked out my cheering corner years ago, at 45th Road and Vernon Blvd, right before the 14-mile mark, and right after the water station and port-a-potties. (Of course this is in Queens.) I now recognize the other folks who cheer there year after year, including the couple with the golden retrievers who bring cartons of tissues to offer to snotty runners (once the fast people come through, they hardly ever get a rejection). This year I was joined by my dear friend and running buddy EN and my TeamFox teammate @nyrunningmom.

I got there at 10 AM, and EN and I passed the time before the female elites arrived cheering on the wheelchair athletes.  When we shout “Go athlete!” the wheeled competitors usually give us back a composed wave, as if they were visiting dignitaries. I always get choked up when the first few racers come by, overcome with the scope of the event and also with all the effort, planning and dreaming that most of these runners put in to prepare. These folks train for 4 months or longer–heck, I know people who don’t even date the same person for that long.

Before we knew it, the street-clearing police were whoop-whoop-ing their way past.  Mary Wittenberg followed, in the lead vehicle (she waved when I shouted “Hi Mary!”), with the motorcycle cops and the press truck in tow. Here they were, the female elites! I will never get over how quickly they pass, as if they were an apparition. Sometimes I even wonder if they hear us when we cheer for them as there is absolutely no acknowledgment. I was shouting my lungs out for Shalane, I was still yelling “Go Shalane!” when they were four blocks away. She looked relaxed and strong, and I was excited that she didn’t really have to share the spotlight with any other top-notch American marathoners. Even though it was the USA Marathon Championships, there wasn’t much noise made about Katie McGregor (who came in second among all Americans), etc. But I can tell you this: no one was looking for Edna Kiplagat– we were cheering for Christelle, Mara, Shalane, Kim and Derartu. This is what I love about the marathon–there’s no calling the winners at this distance. Who predicted Edna for the win? No one! No one was even talking about her until Mile 22!

It was so much fun to root on the American women running in the championship race, since they all had their names on their fancy bibs. This is when I realized that EN is as much of a cheer junkie as I am–to conclude an exciting round of shouting and clapping he would give his goofy laugh of enjoyment, a staccato Huh-huh, huh-huh that after an hour started to bring a smile to my face knowing my friend was getting as much out of this as I was. It felt right, cheering with the guy who had run stride for stride with me through 23 miles of this same marathon.

Soon enough then elite men were approaching. I was jittery with the excitement of seeing Haile run by me live and in person. I was also cheering for Meb, Dathan and Jorge. And I am always pleased to see Goumri on the course; he is one of my favorite underdogs along with Merga. I wish I could write you a few flowery sentences describing what it was like to watch Haile in action (when I ran the NYC Half-Marathon this spring, I followed far behind him on the course, and never clapped eyes on him), but it was all over in the blink of an eye (#twss). Little did I know that the big pack of runners would break up nearly the second they began the ascent up my bridge. My bridge, which will forever will be known as the Bridge that Broke Haile. (At least, that is how I will now refer to her.)

For the first time ever, I’d made a sign for the runners. I wanted to be as inclusive as possible, but I also wanted all my running buddies from Twitter to spot me easily. After the elites, the first runner I saw come by was my GMR teammate AN, who spotted me before I recognized him. Then @Lord_Baker sped by with a smile, then Coach Ramon, and then the river of runners started to flow. I saw dozens of familiar runners, including TNT friends, GMR teammates, and Twitter buddies both local and from out-of-town. An excellent moment was when Matt @luau stopped to give me a big sweaty hug and take an actual picture!  I was so excited when I saw my girl @MauraDeedy trot past–she looked strong and happy her first time through the distance. And another marathon debutante, @SharonPaige, ran by me in a bright green shirt, big white headphones, and a look of calm intent upon her face. I thought for sure I’d missed JG of RunWestchester.com fame, but after a while I saw him walking towards me with a half-smile on his face and his hair pleasantly disheveled. His quads had laid down the law a few miles earlier so he was run-walking until he got over my bridge into Manhattan, at which point he would DNF and head home. His plan had always been to stop running around Mile 16, but since he was run-walking it meant that I got to actually converse with him instead of clap and cheer as he ran by. An odd sort of treat–I’d have rather seen JG run by in a blaze of glory, but I was also happy to chat with him.

And so it went, EN and I clapping, cheering and clanging for nearly four hours, until we were dizzy with the ceaseless undulation of runners approaching and departing. The only thing that would snap us out of our zone was when the wind would pick up cold and strong, whipping my sign and numbing my hands. I felt for the runners, who were headed straight into it. Even though the sun was rising, it felt like the temperature was dropping. I had planned to stick it out until 2PM, but at 1:30 most of the racers coming through were walking, with only a few determined souls running. While rationally I understand that every person is on the course with their own set of goals and expectations for the race, it is difficult for me to cheer for folks walking when they are only just halfway through. My heart breaks to see them, because all I can think of is the difficulty that awaits them at Mile 22, Mile 24, or 26 if they are already walking at 14. I know this is simplistic, and I knew that several of my friends were in that walking horde. I hoped they were dressed warmly. I hoped they had brough their cameras and were treating the race as a pleasure cruise to pass the time. I would never want to be out on the course for 7 hours, which is precisely why I admire those who stick it out for that long. I admit it: my thoughts turned towards my warm apartment, and towards the four hours of TV watching I had in front of me (I had DVRed the broadcast of the pro race on NBC). And so, with a final cheer and wave, EN and I hunched into the wind and trudged down 45th Road to the 7 train to find out who had won the professional part of the race, since clearly all the folks we had cheered on this morning were their own kind of winner.

My spectating didn’t end, though, since I spent my hours watching the taped race catching up with all my friends’ race results on Twitter, and tweeting them congratulations. There were more PRs and successful debuts than their were disheartening finishes. By the end of the day, I was amazed at some of the times my friends had thrown down; I was thrilled by the racer’s ebullience and pride; I was affirmed by the achievements and effort. But most of all, I was proud to be counted among them. We were all marathoners, whether it takes us 3  hours or 7 to complete the race. We are all marathoners, whether we run the distance once, or dozens of times.

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Boston Marathon from the Curb

I will say this: I hope the only reason I wouldn’t be at the finish line of the Boston Marathon waiting to cheer the racers across is because I am running it myself. There’s nothing like spectating at this race, I never want to miss it. The field (both elite and amateur) is deep with talent, and it is inspiring and humbling to watch them at their art. Overheard at the curb: “There are so many runners faster than I am.” Indeed, we all get so wrapped up in besting ourselves that it’s easy to forget where we land exactly in the continuum of speed.

All my favorite elite athletes flopped to varying degrees. In the women’s race, Dire Tune was a DNF and Salina Kosgei, last year’s champion, came in third this year behind Teyba Erkesso and Tatyana Pushkareva (who reeled Erkesso in from a huge lead to finish just 3 seconds behind her. It was pretty exciting to watch, I ws rooting for Tatyana.). Again, in the men’s race last year’s winner Deriba Merga came in third, bested by Robert Kipromo Cheruiyot (the Younger) and Tekeste Kebede. Ryan Hall (looking haggard) came in fourth, two seconds (2!!) behind Merga (like last year, Hall regained on the leaders after falling off the pack in the middle miles), and followed by Meb in 5th.

Meb Keflezighi

Roberty Kiprono Cheruiyot

But, other elites delivered an historic, memorable race, as we witnessed two records. Ernst Van Dyk (men’s wheelchair division) is the first athlete to win this race 9 times; and Robert the Younger smashed the course record (2:07:14) and completed the second-fastest marathon ever run in the United States (2:05:52). Thomas S. Grilk, the man who has been calling the race and greeting finishers from atop the finish line for nearly 30 years, said something along the lines of “it is rare that we get to stand in the presence of history like this” when announcing the awards ceremony for Van Dyk (who, naturally, was seated in his wheelchair). Whoops!

Then the crowds started to come, a sweating, grimacing tide of quick humanity. I think I caught these friends as they ran past: Robert, Allen, and Megan. But then I soon had to leave my spot at the sidelines to collect my luggage and get my train home, so I missed friends like Sarah, Sarah (who ran a double), Elyssa and Barb. (Folks, I hope you know that you were in my thoughts even though I abandoned my post.)

There are the runners I simply must cheer for, no questions asked. They are: folks wearing a Team Fox or Team in Training singlet; people with their names on their shirts; and the fast, teeny women who finish with the earliest men (Way to run it, lady!). Oh, and I also like the fit old guys, the ones in their 50’s hanging tough with the pups, silver-haired and flashing by with a wink (they know they’ve still got it). My favorite racers, though, are the ones who revel in their finish. Like the guy who spread his arms and airplaned it in. Or Cheruiyot himself, who blew a big kiss to the crowd as he was less than 100 yards out.  Or the men and women who pump their arms, or look to the sky, or who put their chins down and battle it out with the one next to them to eek out a few extra seconds. And, I am slightly embarrassed to admit, whenever I see a couple cross the line holding hands, I get a lump in my throat.

Mark my words: I will race the Boston Marathon as a qualifying athlete. And when I do, I will blow kisses, I will propeller, I will smile, weep, glance at the heavens and think, If I can do this, then what else am I capable of?

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First, Boston

My marathon, my 26.2, my London is in 8 days.  But first, I am going to Boston to spectate. I will stand at the finish line and cheer for the elite men, then the elite women, and then finally for the speedsters, my friends, the riff-raff and the charity runners. This is one of the touchpoints of my annual cycle as a runner. One year, I will be there as a qualified racer, but for now, I must go, cheer and draw inspiration and motivation from the fastest among us. Normally I like to arrive Saturday night so I can poke around the Expo on Sunday–lots of companies use it as their launch for new products (it’s where I first set my sights on the Garmin Forerunner 405 in 2007)–but this year life’s twisted around to prevent me from leaving before Sunday afternoon.

This morning I ran 8.14 miles (let’s not forget the 0.14 miles, kids!!) and nearly the entire time I thought of my friends who will be racing the epic, historic course. Elyssa. Sarah (also a GMR teammate). Barb, a long-time blog reader who I hope to one day meet. Jeff. And Michael, who owns the PT clinic I use when I must. Robert and Antonia (also GMR teammates). Goodness gracious I am positive I’ve left folks off. Perhaps now is the time for me to say I love my network of NYC runners, it makes me so happy every year when I pull a few more quality people who run into my orbit. One day I want to have a massive party with everyone, where we celebrate our accomplishments and talk about running all night long. I digress.

The elites. Predictions. Yah, me & strict predictions is always a mess.  So I will tell you who I am rooting for, which is tricky. I am rooting for Meb and Ryan equally, since I love them equally. This is the thing about marathon runners: the closest thing we’ll ever get to a grandstanding athlete like baseball’s Manny Ramirez, football’s* Chad “Ocho Cinco” Johnson or Terrell Owens (ugh, end-zone dancing), or basketball’s Dennis Rodman is Sammy Wanjiru, who has publicly said he wants to break Gebreselassssie’s records. Which goes to show: Meb and Ryan play nice. they train together, they race together, they each hope to win but manage their victories or disappointments solo.  I guess deep down I want Ryan to win, the golden child, but I would still jump for joy if Meb did, too. I would like to see last year’s winner, Deriba Merga, run a strong race as well. Even though he won Boston last year, I still consider him an underdog, given his past racing results. As far as the women’s race goes, I am not so invested without Kara in the field–in fact, the only American LetsRun.com mentions in the bios is Michelle Frey, and I’ve never heard of her. (Perhaps that is my bad.) Nevertheless, I will root for Tune and Kosgei.

I ran this morning, my last chunky mileage run before race day (anything less than 15 really doesn’t count as a long run, does it?). It was nice, easy and humid. It’s the humidity that gets you, that’s what we said in Baltimore but it’s true for wherever there is moist air. It really does make the effort harder. Nevertheless, I managed to pull out a decent showing as I ran from Sunnyside to Astoria Park, around the park with a loop of the track, and then back home again. This is my “Hell Gate” route, since it takes me alongside of and next to the Hell Gate Bridge (and the Triboro). I like to run familiar routes the closer I get to my big race, because their familiarity makes me feel like the mistress of my universe, and therefore boosts my confidence.  8.14 miles in 1:16:40. Average pace 9:25; fastest mile 9:05; slowest mile 9:48

*I must admit I got these football names from Husband. But the baseball & basketball references are my own.

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Ellipses…

I am grateful for YOU my dear readers, commenters and lurkers alike… How cool is it that Meb Keflezighi will be starring in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade tomorrow? Super fucking cool! (Suck it, Football!)… Followers of pro racing will love this fan’s condensation of the New York City Marathon elite field over the past few years. My friend TS is the same kind of emotional fan I am, do check it out… I added a few links to my blogroll this week. The first is a fledgling social networking site dedicated to NY Metro Area runners. If you’re in this area, do click over and register (and invite me to be a friend)… The second is RJR’s (aka Cowboy Hazel) new blog To Badwater. That’s right, my Green Mountain Relay teammate and newly-minted member of the sub-3-hour-marathon club (Philly), has his sights set on the Badwater Ultramarathon, and he’s agreed to let me crew! Suh-weet, we better start hydrating now… As for the third, I’ve only met her once in person, but she already has my admiration. ES is a super-talented endurance athlete, a generous coach and fundraiser for Team in Training, and now, once again, a blogger… A very strange thread on Twitter got my boasting up and somehow I am now running the Emerald Nuts Midnight Run on December 31 in Central Park in this costume… JG from Run Westchester sent me this link a few days ago. Ah, Kara. Everything she says makes perfect sense to me (except for the part about running 115 miles a week. That I know I can’t do.), but what’s most appealing to me is the flexibility she gives herself on her workouts. If she has a certain mileage or speed session scheduled for that day but her body’s not feeling it, she will shift things around in her week so she can tackle the harder stuff when she’s feeling fresher. I’ll call that “Intelligent Obstinance.”

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ING New York City Marathon from the Curb

It began in the dark. At 5:30 AM, Lil Brother slipped out to Queens Boulevard to hail a cab which would take him to the bus which would take him to the runners’ village in Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island. I gave him a hug and a kiss and sent him off with one final reminder to keep hydrating. Then I went back to bed for another three hours.

At 9:15 I was out the door myself–it was time to make my way to Vernon Boulevard to catch the elites just before the Mile 14 mark. I was carrying by BlackBerry, a cowbell, my camera, the course map, house keys, my credit card, MetroCard, and about $15 in cash. All these things fit in the pockets of the snazzy lime green running jacket EN got me for my birthday last year. I was happy; I was heading off to cheer for my people. Mom and Dad were set to meet me at a predetermined corner in Queens around noon, a little before we expected to see IK come trundling by, but until then it was just me and the early runners. Communion.

I stood here for two and a half hours, but it felt like 10 minutes.  I was so excited to see Paula, Magda, Ludmila Petrova and Salina Kosgei I thought I’d jump out of my skin. I knew that as soon as they were here they’d be gone; I had my cheers prepared ahead of time. The lead vehicles came by, first Mayor Mike, then Mary with (I learned later) Sammy Wanjiru, Shalane Flanagan (who later said on national TV she’d be running NYC in 2010) and Amy Yoder Begley. And then here was the lead pack of women and all my cheers flew out of my head as I stood there in awe, shouting something like “oh my god” or somesuch starstruck nonsense. Paula is just. so. tall. Then here was Magdalena Lewy Boulet pulling up about 10 seconds behind in very cool orangey arm warmers. I pulled myself together enough to shout, “We love you Magda!” (The people around me had begun to back away by this point, clearly thinking, “Speak for yourself, lady.”) Then I cheered for the locally-ranked runners, those zooming by in Central Park Track Club, WXC, New York Athletic Club, etc singlets.

Before I knew it, the media truck for the elite men was coming around the corner from Pulaski Bridge and I was freaking out again. Abdi Abderahman was leading when I saw them, but they were all so closely strung I couldn’t read their singlets. Whoosh they were gone–wait there’s Ryan, eesh he’s lagging!–and then here came Brian Sell, oh Brian I love you for dreaming (2008 Olympics) and then for turning to practical matters (dental school). They were gone before I could think where was Torres, where was Meb, where was Cheruiyot, where was Gharib? Thank goodness for Twitter; all my faithful tweople (@runblogrun being the most reliable) were tweeting the proceedings so I could keep up with the action from the curb.

I beckon thee, oh mass of citizenry, run to me! Run through Brooklyn, run through Queens! Be the rushing river of humanity through the streets of this great city. Be greater than Manhattan, be swifter than a crosstown bus, be stronger than the Chrysler Building, be tougher than the Bronx, be your own legend. I promise I will stand here and tell you want you need to hear to get the job done. I will shout and cheer because what you are doing is amazing, it’s crazy and mythical. For a few hours the entire population of New York City hovers a millimeter above the earth as we are caught up in your tailwind. When you cross that finish line with a grunt and a cry, with a raised arm or a hung head, we will marvel, and bow.

The locally-ranked guys came by in loose bunches, I cheered for the clubs as I recognized their singlets.  They mesmerize me, these powerful yet light men, barreling forwards. Some looked so young; most looked “my age,” which very generously indicates anyone within a ten-year window on either side of 36. I love how it plays out; next come the speediest “regular” women, the ones who are used to running shoulder-to-shoulder with the dudes. Before I knew it, Vernon Blvd was a mass of people running for the hills; specifically, the hills of the Queensboro Bridge and First Avenue. Mom and Dad showed up, and we began scanning the crowd for my brother. Dad’s a great guy to have on the curb as he is so tall he’s easy to spot, and around 12:19 IK came trotting up. He didn’t see us at first, I saw him first and started screaming his name and waving my arms like mad. He saw us and came over, we all hugged him, I knocked him in the chin with my shoulder because I couldn’t stop jumping up and down. Then he ran off and that’s when I saw he was wearing compression shorts–essentially, tights that stop at the knees. Oooh I couldn’t resist, he’s my brother of course I’m going to embarrass him, so I shouted after him as loud as I could, “NICE ASS!”

[50 tense minutes ensue as we get the subway to 117th Street and First Avenue hoping not to miss him.] I sent Mom and Dad ahead to the corner as I stripped off my jeans–I was going to jump in and pace Lil Bro from Mile 19 to 22, and had on running shorts beneath my jeans & jacket. Here he came, a bit later than I’d anticipated (he was slowing down from the 10-minute miles I’d counted earlier), but glad to see us. And we were off. I drilled him with questions (his stomach was queasy and his legs were tired–oh no!) and chattered on to distract him. As we ran, I roused the spectators to cheer for him, and tried to keep the patter up but eventually he just wanted me to hush. As we came around Marcus Garvey Park, I told him that once I left him at Mile 22, it was going to start to feel like he was running up a hill. That’s because it is a hill, I said, but don’t worry because you will pass a lot of people on it. He snorted. Mom and Dad were waiting for us just past the water station, and I nearly hip-checked Lil Bro into the sidewalk as I craned around looking for him. Oh yeah I got some shit for that! So then he was off and we cheered him away. I was still excited for him, but I was a little worried. He looked tired, and I just didn’t want him to hurt; I wanted him to whoop it up through the streets of New York City.

The three of us had a long time to wait for him now–indeed, longer than we thought. I was texting with friends at home on their computers and found out that Brother definitely crossed the finish line in 4:44:16, so we knew it would take him a while more before he trudged through baggage check, etc. But as soon as we caught up with Husband in the runner’s reunion area on Central Park West, we got a call from IK that he got very dehydrated and went to the medical tent right at the finish line. Oh the poor kid! What a trooper. We all waited him out in a diner on Broadway, and then finally finally got him home to Sunnyside (taking advantage of his “runners ride free” subway discount, of course!) around 6 PM. Our newly-minted marathon stretched and showered after he cutely admitted he wanted Chinese for dinner. It was a long day for him, layered with anticipation, struggle, pain, inspiration and  ultimate success. I am so proud of him for taking on the 26.2-mile challenge, for completing the training, for persevering through the last 10k when he was debilitated from the aftereffects of his cold.

Four days later, after the Yankees won the World Series, I was finally able to sit and watch the elite race.  (Missing the coverage on TV last year is what convinced me to get us a DVR cable box). Even though I already knew the outcome, I was on pins and needles watching the moves and progress of the runners through the miles. I loved seeing them rush through my city’s streets, streets I know so well as a resident and as a marathoner. I shouted when Kosgei took a terrible tumble, I mourned when Magda, then Salina, then Paula all dropped off the lead pack. I exulted for Tulu, I felt Petrova’s bitter disappointment, and I could feel Dauney’s joy at third radiating off her. And Meb! Meb! I cried as he ran through Central Park, shivering with the excitement of an American champion, with the elation of his comeback–what an amazing career he’s already had and now this. Look at Robert Cheruiyot, crushed; and Gharib, also laid low despite his podium finish. It was wonderful the way Ryan Hall crossed the finish line, clutching his back (oh no!) but happy for his teammate’s glory; six male Americans in the top ten! What an amazing day for American distance running–with tens of thousands of epic performances, starting with Meb and scrolling all the way down, flitting upon IK and continuing past, a ribbon of effort and culmination and triumph over the competition and over ourselves.

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