New York Marathon - 07 Nov 2004

[Seafront Plodder]

“A record 36534 finishers, and every one a winner!” So said the headline in the New York Post that I read as I sat at breakfast on the Monday morning after The day before.

Stiff of leg and slightly heavy of head I had had time to reflect on my ‘never again’ throwaway comment made to my wife at mile 17. Never have I been so close to wanting to quit. Never have I had to dig so deep, arguing against my legs that told me I was in too much pain. Someone had my calf’s in a vice for the final 10 miles, and it hurt. But……....never had I raised £93 a mile for MS Society, and that thought, (coming to me as it did when the physical pain stopped me from running)……………….kept me going.

The New York City Marathon. A beast of a race! I was looking forward to it as a child does to Christmas, snaking through all 5 Boroughs - hey, when will I ever get another chance to do this?

No less than three alarm clocks were set for 05:20 on Sunday morning, and although I slept well, I was awake at the first sound of the first alarm. The evening before I had had the foresight to battle around the local deli (along with every other entrant it seemed) to pick up the ubiquitous bagel and a banana, I was showered, packed and ready to slip out of the door by 05.55.

Although the enormous hotel had somewhere in the region of 14 lifts, it was almost 15 minutes before I was on the ground floor along with many others anxiously looking for the Sportstours rep to take us to the coaches as we had not individually purchased tickets. I lost sight of him in the throng, but the closer we got to the pick up point the less the lack of a ticket seemed to matter as we were carried along with the ever-growing sea of runners and the ever-present pong of Ralgex. The snaking queues wove back and forth around Bryant Park but movement was swift. Coaches waited and we were on board, seated and away in around 20 minutes.

And so it was that I sat chatting to a Dutch guy in his first marathon about GPS watches. He had a smaller, more watch-like one on and seemed fascinated with what my Garmin 201 could do. Realising that I had to leave it on for around half an hour before it was needed in order for it to find a satellite or two, I turned it on with the intention of showing him the finer points of the personal training assistant. Disaster! What flashed up was the “Battery Low” warning sign. I knew that I had fully recharged it prior to leaving home but it clearly wasn't listening and promptly died on me. Oh well, back in the bag it went and we passed the time eating bits of banana and bagel washed down with Gatorade. It dawned on me that I indeed had recharged it, but had also packed it without turning it off! With my carefully prepared pace strategy now in tatters, I had nothing but the uphill start to save me from setting off too quickly.

We arrived over the huge starting area and I spent a while just wandering around casually watching others with half an ear on a religious service that was underway in a marquis. “God watches, while we run, in His name, praise be”. It was a bizarre sight, a service cum warm-up with around 300 people prancing and singing along whilst the chap at the front on the mike led them through the actions like some holy version of The Birdie Song.


It passed the time until I decided to join a queue for a cubicle (of which there were plenty), followed by a sit down in the autumn sunshine. Much has been said about the hours of waiting at the start but I found the time went fairly quickly. The sights and sounds and smells are everywhere and there really isn’t time to get too bored. Fellow runners are in the main happy to chat; we all have a common purpose and it wasn’t too long before I could put it off no longer. Finding baggage truck #3 (of 38 on my start alone!!) I handed in my bag and made my way to the start.

Unlike London, and despite what we were warned it didn’t seem to matter where we went in the queue. The three starts are all close together and it’s runners only from the time we started queuing for the coaches. I noted plenty of runners with the ‘wrong’ number in my orange start but no one seemed to mind.

As I was unexpectedly watchless I kept sneaking glances at others, and it was while a very chatty lady from California was telling me about her training schedule, and that there were three minutes to go – but she may be wrong – that we heard the boom of the starting cannon A huge cheer followed……and we all went nowhere. It was a good few minutes before we started to shuffle forward at all, and we snaked around the starting area dodging discarded clothes before crossing the bleeping chip mat at the start where the clock told me that we had taken 23 minutes to get that far!

Away we went and immediately we started to climb the hill to the Verazzano Bridge. I could see the Empire State Building and the rest of Manhattan in the far distance to my left, tugs below sprayed out great jets of red, white and blue water, and music blasted from speakers mounted high on the bridge. It was sunny, warm and I felt on top of the world.

.......

[Seafront Plodder]

...

The early miles passed without incident; a couple of runners tried to start conversations but I kept it as short as I could hopefully without being too rude. Part of the reason I have never joined a running club is that I prefer not to talk when I’m running, many times I have seen a group from my local running club out for a simultaneous jog and chat – boring bugger me.

I resisted the desire to press on by going around slower runners (yes there were a few!) unless I could do so in a straight line, and settled into a steady rhythm expending as little energy as possible that actually worked well for the first 10k.

If New York doesn’t do runners in fancy dress (I only saw 1 Elvis), it certainly does crowds that put London to shame. New Yorkers are not known for their shy, reserved manner and the support was truly ‘awesome’. I had my name shouted around every ten yards or so followed by ‘looking good’, ‘nice job’ or the increasingly irritating ‘way to go’. Nowhere in the early miles were we free from this and the more miles I ran, the more annoying the name-calling became. It sounds terribly arrogant and obviously yes they were there to push us on, but I began to regret having my name on my vest; I started to feel the need to be anonymous.

Mile 9 or so was when I had to take my first walk break! I slowed to a walk just as I happened to pass a rather large lady who I took to be a Brooklyner (!) She was sitting at the side of the road in a deckchair waving the US flag and hollering to all. I recall her encouragement to me as I slowed….“Come on now Andy, don’t you dare give up on me boy!” A hundred yards further on I stopped to walk again, this time to rip the sticky-backed lettering from the front of my shirt.

Anonymous at last, I pressed on, past halfway and through Brooklyn and into Queens. By then I was counting down the miles, taking water and too much Gatorade every mile, to the point where the mouth was dry but the stomach was sloshing – not ideal but in the increasingly warm conditions, necessary.

Mile 15 is an energy-sapping uphill climb to the summit of Queensborough Bridge, where we re-enter Manhattan. It was also the point where I saw my first race casualty as this poor guy was flat out on the pavement surrounded by a couple of police on bikes who were with him waiting for the ambulance. I remember wondering whether in the UK they would at least be off their machines trying to do what they could for him, instead of sitting astride CHiPS style just letting him lay there. He was motionless; eyes open, but motionless. I hoped it was simply exhaustion.

The two things I detest about running downhill: the way your toes push against the front of your shoe, and the fact that the time lost running uphill can never quite be made up. The corner turn off the Bridge and into Manhattan is where the crowds are reported to be at their most vocal. You start to hear the roar of the crowds long before you can see them. The screaming, clamouring, flag waving masses are packing the pavements and nothing, but nothing can effectively describe the moment. I couldn’t help feeling very proud as I ran around the corner and smacked straight into this wall of noise. We were treated like heroes, every one of us. We were special.

If that was one of the highest points of the race, then it was immediately followed by one of the lowest. We turned onto 1St Avenue, I remember looking ahead into the distance some 4.5 miles away down a road which was dead straight, and all I could for the whole distance were bobbing heads disappearing over the horizon. It made me realise that I had to do some serious digging-in if I wanted to finish the race so I began to try and feed off the crowds a little more. High-fiving the kids was strictly a 0–6 mile activity but I started to read the signs being held up. A chap holding a 9 Miles To a Hot Bath and a Beer! got the largest thumbs up I could muster.

My family has arranged to be around mile 17 with the rest of the MS Society cheering team. Sure enough they were there, a sea of orange tops, balloons and flags. A quick kiss and a photo followed by “never again” and I was off once more, if not rejuvenated, then certainly lifted.

Mile 20 and into The Bronx for a mile that means that the organisers can boast that the run encompasses all 5 Boroughs. By then I wasn’t really taking much in, but I do recall a huge sign strung across a bridge 10K to go, run it like your first! If I had had the energy I would have disagreed. ‘Bollocks’ is what I think I muttered!

Back into Manhattan and the route took us along the side of Central Park, and therefore nearer home. We run down 5th Avenue before we turned into the Park itself at mile 24. Grateful for the tree coverage, I shuffled on trying to ignore the pain in my calfs and left big toe. We passed the mile 25 marker and I could have kissed the guy with the loudhailer as he stood on the side shouting “Half Mile Downhill, Half Mile Uphill and You’re Home!!”

I had long since given up any thoughts of a decent (by my standard) time, but it was at that point that I actually knew I would finish. Giving a feeble excuse for a kick I ran most of the last mile, giving in to walk around 400 yards to go to catch my breath for one final run that would take me over the finish line.

Oh the relief!!

My bag was on truck #3, which meant I had to carry it past 35 more before I could shuffle off to have the chip removed and head for the repatriation area. With no chance of a cab we had little choice but to walk the 3 miles back to the hotel, and any desire to return for the post-race disco had by then long since vanished. Nevertheless there was one thing I did have to do. My first beer for a month could wait no longer. So craving was I for adulation and sympathy that I selfishly forgot that my family had been standing around waiting for me for the best part of 3 hours. So they picked up some giant cookies and hot chocolate while I only stayed for a swift two, before it was back for the hot bath that had seemed so appealing at mile 17.

We were off to Niagara the next day, so once more the alarm was set for some ungodly hour. With breakfast in the room, duly prepared "over easy" I was able to glance through the New York Post and that headline. “A record 36534 finishers, and every one a winner!” Was I?

Over the next few days for the remainder of the trip I had more opportunity to reflect. Whist dissecting the race with fellow runners I found that for most of them it wasn’t right either and we were all pretty much without exception, feeling the same way.

Is it a disaster that I ran a whole 40 minutes slower than my last marathon? At the time for me it was. I felt well prepared and confident going in to the race. I had trained on hills, I could run 19 or so miles non-stop, had tapered correctly, was well rested, hydrated and buzzing; and yet something clearly wasn’t right, I was disappointed.

But that was then.

Now I realise that I am not disappointed at all, I am proud – very proud. Able to say that I have taken part in the biggest, brashest, loudest marathon in the world! Way To Go!

[El Gordo]

Well done Andy, great report.

I was delighted with your time as I think it was slghtly 'less fast' than mine in Copenhagen this year. Makes me feel a bit better. But your race sounded much harder, has to be said.

I think this is one of those races I'll have to do sometime, though I'm not planning to visit the US while that madman is on the throne, so it may have to wait a while.

Anyway, no time to waste. There's a half marathon in January and another marathon in April for you to attend to, so I'm sure you're back in training already.

Once again, well done.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Sensational effort Andy B! And what a fabulous report... a great read

Gosh, I don't know what else to say... brill!

[Yorkshire Plodder]

Well done Andy, I admire anyone who has the determination to do a full marathon, don't think I've got the guts to even contemplate it!! Fantastic report as well.

[Nigel]

Well done, Andy, on completing such a tough but memorable race. And what a marvellous report ! Something to look back on, with pride and relief. London will be easy after this....

[Antonio247]

Congratulations, Andy! Wondeful report. After this Almería half marathon will be just a walk.

Antonio

[Riazor Blue]

Well done Andy. Bit of a bugger not having the GF working. I'm a bit like you, I like my anonimity, so I can fully understand why you ripped your name off. It's the experience that counts, as you have said in an earlier post, you can tell the grandchildren that you've competed against Paula Ratcliffe in the New York marathon.