I’m no
rock star, but I now know what it feels like to crowd-surf. I have run the New
York City Marathon.
In our
mid-20s, my wife and I attended the marathon for the first time, and we were
amazed that such a spirit of community could be found in a city of eight
million people. I vowed to run that race someday, and experience it on the
other side of the barricades. It took me about 15 years, but yesterday I
finally got there.
Running
26.2 miles is a bit preposterous, and runners hit their own “wall” at different
points in this race. But the spectators who line those 26 miles make it
impossible for you to give up on the race. You write your name on your shirt,
and they call it out – “Come on, Warren – you’re doing great!” You need some
human touch, and they’ve got their hands out for some high-fives. You need
hydration, and the volunteers are there every mile, handing you your Poland
Spring or Gatorade. You need a reason to think you’re a hero, and there are
firefighters standing along the route clapping for you.
You need some inspiring music, and
there they are, 130 musical acts across the whole route. There’s plenty of
rock, R&B and rap to get you moving, but check out the gospel music in Fort
Greene and Harlem! And how about the students and alumni at Bishop Loughlin
High in Brooklyn, playing “Gonna Fly Now” from Rocky, as they have for years? No need for headphones on this run.
You need signs to motivate you? Look
no further. Here’s one that reads “You Run Better Than the Government.” Here’s
another that says “You Are All Amazing!” And still another that reads “Run
Faster – I Just Farted.” Eventually, you find a sign that looks more familiar –
it’s got your name on it, and your children are holding it. You give your
family members a hug, and tell them you’ll see them soon. The hugs seem to numb
those aches, and get you moving up First Avenue.
Now you’re in the Bronx, and you’re
starting to feel the burn. But here are three people on the sidewalk beside you
chanting, at the top of their voices: “You can! And you will! You can! And you
will!” The hop returns to your step.
As you enter Central Park after a
grueling incline up Fifth Avenue, the spectators take it to another level. They
call you out by name on a regular basis now, well aware of the pain you’re
feeling. There is no way you can keep this up without their voices rising in
volume, to overcome the doubts you might have. Do it, they say – you’re almost
there. You turn onto Central Park South, just a mile more to go, so focused that
you miss both your family and Tony
Bennett standing behind the barricades.
It’s just too close. Dig deep, you tell yourself. And as the
wall of sound echoes along the street, you are propelled there, surfing that
crowd for just a few more meters. You cross the finish line, walk a few paces,
and there they are – the volunteers handing you your medal. You’ve got it
around your neck now, and the emotion is so strong you can’t breathe for a
moment.
You walk slowly through the park, a
heat sheet wrapped around your shoulders. It’s quiet now, just a bunch of
exhausted runners trudging through the gloaming. But you don’t need the
cheering now – it’s gotten you to where you stand.
Outside the park, on Central Park
West, you near the family reunion area, where more hugs await. But before you
get there, another volunteer drapes an orange marathon poncho around your
shoulders. With this final, silent gesture, the most incredible day of civic
engagement, community fellowship and pure love you have ever experienced is over.
And every time you think about it, your
eyes well up with tears. Greatest city in the world. Greatest feeling ever.
