The Magic of the New York City Marathon
I’m not a person that keeps a bucket list. While there are plenty of things I’d like to do in this life, I don’t want the pressure of checking things off a list before my expiration date. When it’s my time to go, if I’m lucky enough to have a chance to reflect on my years, I don’t want all the unchecked to-dos to fill my thoughts. I hope I’ll be reflecting on the well-lived time instead.
That said, it’s pretty impossible to not at least keep a mental list of the things we’d like to do. We can’t help but daydream about the experiences we’d like to have, especially when we see photos of other people making it look so easy. Croissants in France, putting a personal project out in the world, hiking in the mountains. It all sounds like fun and things I’d happily do.
As a runner, a lot of bucket lists extend to races you’d like to run. Maybe it’s a race in every state or your first marathon. A lot of runners dream about running the Boston Marathon. I don’t. Most of the things I’d like to do as a runner come up a bit more sporadically and with a lot less fanfare. There is one exception though, and that’s the New York City Marathon.
The New York City Marathon happens on the first Sunday of every November, And it is magical. Every year there are over fifty thousand runners, starting in multiple waves, and running in all five boroughs. The logistics it takes to transport all those people to Staten Island for the start of a 26-mile race that shuts down several major bridges and streets in one of the busiest cities in the country is mind-boggling.
Because of the sheer volume of runners, New York City shuts down for the entire day. With the final participants not crossing the start line until almost noon, the course stays active well into the evening. The finish line stays open with spectators still cheering until the final participant comes through, always overflowing with emotion and in the dark.
The people of New York and all the support crews who travelled in for specific runners pack every mile of the course. They hold signs, ring cowbells, and loose their voices cheering all day. On the first Sunday of every November, New York City cheers for every runner as if they are the elites in the front pack. They line every single barricade of the course. They pull runners through their low points with their cheers, seemingly endless energy, and their support.
I’ve been lucky enough to be in Manhattan on Marathon Sunday a few times over the years. It is my very favorite race to spectate. Boston and Chicago are fun. But nothing is like New York. I’ve cheered in thunder alley as the elite women come over the Manhattan Bridge and turn right onto First Avenue at mile 16. I’ve stood on both sides of the fences where the runners come out of Central Park, and at Columbus Circle where they make the last turn back in for the finish line. My voice is always horse for days after, and I get chills every time.
There is something about the New York City Marathon that defies everything else for me. I’m not interested in races with huge crowds, and I don’t sign up for anything where I need to be there hours earlier to take a bus to the start line with all the other runners. Having to pick up my packet at an expo early instead of on race morning is so annoying to me. In all honesty, the logistics of the New York City Marathon is everything I don’t like about races. But I don’t care.
The New York City Marathon is also everything that does get me to sign up for a race. It’s a tough course that can be absolutely brutal if the weather isn’t just right. The miles are hilly and they can break you with more than ten miles to go. It’s physically demanding in the way that every marathon is, but it turns up the volume on the discomfort. You can go into it wanting to run the best race of your life. But you still come out proud of yourself if you just make it across the finish line.
It is pure magic. And filled with legendary stories. Stories you’ll hear, and stories you’ll never know. But you see their shadows etched on the face of every runner working their way through the miles in Manhattan. Their eyes are filled with determination and resolve. And their feet are rhythmically fighting for every step forward. I cheer on runners I know and runners I don’t. I watch in absolute awe of every person gutting it out on the course.
If you want to be inspired by what the human spirit can do, spend some time near the 25-mile marker during a marathon. You will see people that make you wonder how they are still out there. How they can possibly be putting one foot in front of the other. Most people will be in various levels of rough shape. And yet, they keep finding a way forward, at whatever pace it takes. They will not quit.
As much as I’ve wanted to run the New York City Marathon for more than a decade, I know I’m still a couple years away from its starting line. There is the red tape of race entries determined by time standards and lottery. And I’ve always wanted to run this race on my own terms. Plus, while I’m still not sure if you can put my running pursuits neatly into boxes, I do know that I’m not one of those people naturally drawn to the marathon. For me, a marathon is an occasional deviation.
But one day, my story will be one of the fifty thousand other stories standing at the start line. I will spend a long weekend in Manhattan, settling into the pre-race calm with some easy miles in Central Park. I’ll pick up my packet in a massive expo hall and meticulously review the wild logistics of getting to the starting line. And somewhere along the course, a spectator like I’ve been will see the resolve in my eyes. They will cheer me on no matter my condition.
The day will be so many things. But it will also be magic.
