November 2, 2014
Miles 1-2 – Verrazano Narrows Bridge
As I stood on the Verrazano Narrows bridge, waiting to start the 2014 New York City Marathon, I looked straight ahead at an empty roadway. This was new. And strange. And very cool. Usually I start near the back, but this time I was positioned in Corral A within the fourth and final wave of runners.
We were lead up the onramp and onto the bridge by a row of race officials dressed in blue and yellow NYC Marathon jackets. They stretched the full width of the highway, their arms interlocked– a slow, deliberate, and seemingly ritualistic processional up to the starting line. Music played over loudspeakers, and the scene was magical. Drama and energy filled the air.
I stood on the bridge in the howling wind with my toes positioned directly behind the starting line. I looked ahead at empty lanes of pavement and then gazed up at the Verrazano’s massive suspension towers. This was surreal.
“America the Beautiful” was sung. A cannon fired. And off we went. It all happened so fast! I had heard stories of runners waiting for hours on Staten Island, huddling, shivering, waiting, pacing about, and sleeping on trash bags. I was there for what felt like an instant. There was no time to feel nervous. I used the bathroom, stretched, got myself ready, up and onto the bridge, and off we went.
Wow. Ok. Here we go.
Boy was it windy. Blasts of cold air whipped fiercely left and right. Hats were flying off runners’ heads. I had little to shield me from the frigid gusts because I was at the front– there were very few bodies around me. But I felt happy and excited and it was a beautiful atmosphere despite the wind. I took it nice and easy up the mile-long incline leading to the center of the bridge. Aside from the wind, it was quiet, although I could hear my race bib flip-flapping about. I glanced down and...
Holy fucking shit. My race bib is about to blow off. NOnononono
My bib was hanging on by a thread on a single safety pin, thrashing about violently in the wind. A mere millimeter was preventing it from separating from my body, soaring over the side of the bridge and vanishing into the bay.
The bib is each runner’s official entry into the race. Without it, I’m just a pedestrian. I’m no one. I’m a rogue non-participant.
Without the bib there would be no official record of my having participated in the marathon, because adhered to it is a digital timing chip which syncs with “timing mats” along the course. If I were to continue on without a bib, the record next to my name would read “DNF”, which stands for “did not finish”. Without the bib I doubt that I’d be permitted to approach the finish line, let alone cross it. I needed that goddam bib.
I continued to run while pressing the bib against my torso– an uncomfortable running posture. I battled the wind while contemplating what to do.
I need to pin my bib back on. But when? Now? Has it torn? It’s really windy up here. It might fly off if I mess with it. And I have gloves on... I can’t manipulate a safety pin with gloves on! So take the gloves off dummy. When? After the bridge? No, now. Now? Yes, now.
I crouched down onto the pavement by the median and re-pinned my bib to my shirt while uttering profanities and trying to remain calm. It took only about 40 seconds to accomplish this task, but it felt much longer.
I got back onto my feet and ran down the second half of the bridge. My sweatshirt was zipped in order to keep the bib secure. But the sweatshirt made me too warm, so once I was off the bridge I tossed it aside, along with my sweatpants and hat.
This was not exactly how I imagined the marathon would begin.
Miles 3-13 – Brooklyn
Miles 3-8 are all along 4th Ave in Brooklyn, a route that I know very well. I ran those miles at the correct pace, as planned, but I had trouble getting comfortable. Early miles of a long run are often awkward for me. I need time to get warmed up, but this was particularly tough.
And to make matters worse, I felt abnormally hungry. I usually start running two hours after eating, but because of the long time between leaving my apartment and starting the race, this was a bit more challenging. I had eaten my usual breakfast at home, and I ate a second breakfast on the Staten Island Ferry. But nonetheless, my stomach felt uncomfortably empty as I ran up 4th Ave. I decided to eat it my first gel at mile 4 instead of mile 5.
By the time I was into the ninth mile along Lafayette Ave, I desperately needed to pee. But every port-o-potty that I passed had a long line, and I didn’t want to stand there with the clock ticking, so I continued on while tolerating the discomfort.
Somewhere during mile 10 the pressure in my bladder became excruciating, so I had no choice but to stop and use the bathroom. This added three minutes to my time, but I felt much more comfortable and relaxed.
I was moving too slowly, and running felt difficult. I was hesitant to try and increase my pace, because I needed to conserve energy for the later part of the race. I tried my best to avoid hitting the wall.
At this point my race plan was out the window, I needed to adjust my expectations, stay positive and march onward.
Miles 14-15 – Queens
I live in Park Slope and I love Brooklyn, but I’ve never been so happy to leave that borough! I saw my brother Mike in Greenpoint, then I began mile 14, heading north and over the Pulaski Bridge and into Queens. The Pulaski bridge is the halfway point of the marathon and it was a great feeling to be up and over it and on to the next chapter of the saga. Queens welcomed me.
Shortly after entering Queens, I passed my two sisters Rachel and Sarah, my nieces Julia and Katie, and Ben Hsu, Sarah’s boyfriend. It was great seeing them. They were cheering with enthusiasm!
Suddenly I realized that I had dropped my salt pills which contain sodium and electrolytes. I was now forced to drink Gatorade. Although Gatorade upsets my stomach, running the rest of the race without electrolytes was not an option.
Miles 16-19 - 59th Street Bridge, then 1st Avenue, Manhattan
The next step in the marathon was the 59th Street Bridge, which brings the runners out of Queens, over the East River and into Manhattan. The bridge was beautifully quiet. I welcomed this peace and tranquillity. I found the cacophony of noise along the marathon course fun and exciting, but at times it was grating on my ears and mind. The bridge was frustratingly cramped however, with many people walking the incline, I had to weave left and right in order to stay within my pace.
Running up 1st Avenue is a hazy memory. I saw my friend Steph, and later Mike and Lisa Stillwell. I hung in there, but continued running at a slower pace than I had planned.
I talked to myself as I continued north up towards the Willis Ave Bridge.
Keep it positive. I’m not tired. See? I’m not even tired!
I ran 19 miles 3 weeks ago and I felt amazing. If I could do that then, I can do this now.
Let’s go. This is easy.
Miles 20-21 — The Bronx
Something interesting happened during mile 20. I arrived at the Willis Avenue Bridge, which connects Manhattan with The Bronx. As I ran up the incline, I noticed that most people were walking. I, on the other hand, was running. I felt no need to walk. Not even the temptation to walk.
Ok! I’ve got this. I have energy. I am NOT tired. Cut the nonsense right now. Let’s go. Let’s go.
Things were suddenly improving. I reached down and found another gear. After running some slow and often frustrating miles in Manhattan, I was able to ease into my target pace as I ran through the Bronx, then back into Manhattan. My confidence grew. My legs were strong and responsive, and I was still in control. I passed other runners and started to enjoy myself.
Miles 22 – Back in Manhattan, through Central Park, and to the Finish Line.
I ran down 5th Avenue feeling good, and turned a slight right into Central Park at 90th Street. Once I was in the park, I was astonished at what I was able to do. I ran hard and fast all the way down the main drive and onto Central Park South. I never slowed, and I loved every second of it. I felt alive and alert as I passed countless other runners. I looked around at the trees, the spectators, the path on which I’ve run so many times over the years. I glanced at my watch during mile 25 and observed a 9:09 pace, my fastest mile so far. I was home and nearing the end of the marathon. I glided through mile 26 in 8:50.
In my past marathons I’ve crossed the finish line in a daze— exhausted, hanging on for dear life, barely able to see anything except for what was straight ahead. But as I ran the final stretch of this marathon, I was awake, alive, alert, and present in the moment. I removed my sunglasses and looked around. And as I ran across the finish line I raised my arms in the air— something I had been too tired to do in the past.
Concluding Thoughts
Although I missed my time goal of 4 hours 30 minutes, I still ran my fastest marathon by a margin of three minutes (4 hours 41 minutes), and I’m proud of the way I finished. I didn’t hit the wall and I didn’t walk. I didn’t get sick, I wasn’t in pain, and I ran a solid race in New York City, my home town.
As successful as this marathon was for me, I’m frustrated that I was unable to run with stamina and confidence earlier in the race. I feel that I have the ability and potential to run better and faster. This season I enjoyed some magical training runs in which I was able to tackle distances of 18 and 19 miles, all while feeling relaxed, at ease, in control, and happy. I wasn’t able to replicate that feeling in the New York City Marathon until the very end.
So there’s more work to be done, and goals yet to be achieved. But therein lies the fun and the challenge.
I continue to cherish the experience of training for and running the marathon. Each race is an epic journey– an adventure filled with drama, highs and lows, successes and failures, high energy, fatigue, and a range of emotions from anger to exultation. I love the camaraderie among the runners out on the course— strangers become friends and allies throughout our shared journey.
I take great pride in associating myself with Team in Training, having just completed my fourth season with the Brooklyn Chapter. The coaches and teammates whom I’ve met over the past two and half years are an inspiration and a joy in my life. Together, every dollar that we’ve raised for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is helping someone live a happier, healthier life. When I remember that, running 26.2 miles feels just a little bit easier.
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Thank you
I had the joy of seeing friends and family along the way. Much of it is still a blur in my memory, but the ones I can recall are: Joe Wagner, Natasha Ross, Gina Schmeling, Cass Crocket, Karen Ramos, Lynn Richardson, my brother Mike Rubenstein, my sisters Rachel Demeny and Sarah Rubenstein, my nieces Katie, and Julia, Ben Hsu, Gabriella Lee, Stephanie Fagenson, Judith Ackerman, Jeanette Oswald, Mara, Jess Greif, Mike Stillwell, and Lisa Stillwell, and Linda Lam.
I also had some great support from Team in Training coaches who ran with me on the course: Mike Flegar, Josh Ess, Stephanie Melka, and a coach from Manhattan whom I had never met before, named Sarah. Thank you.
Thank you to Jim Purvis, Amy Sitar and the rest of the Team in Training coaching staff for helping me prepare for this race mentally and physically. (Coach Amy, you are not just a coach, you’re also a therapist.)
Thank you to everyone who donated money to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Running a marathon may be hard, but it’s nothing compared to living with cancer. The money that you donated helps fund new treatments and healing therapies once thought impossible. Thank you for helping wage the war against blood cancer.
And finally, thank you to the teammates and friends whom I’ve met over the past two years who have shared their very personal and often painful stories. You’ve reminded me very day how lucky we all are to be alive and running.
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| Mile 9, Lafeyette Avenue in Brooklyn |
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| Mile 22, 5th Avenue in Manhattan, with Coach Stephanie Melka. |
