I want to say that the reason why
there have been no posts since late June is that I was training at altitude in
Kenya and am preparing to run the New York City Marathon in 4:59:59 which is
the stated goal of this blog.
The truth is I was abducted by
aliens. Yeah, that’s it. I was running hills one night and saw a
bright light above me. I was lifted into
the air and the rest was a blur. I
definitely remember that Scott Baio gave me pink eye.
Unfortunately, part of me not
writing was just that life got busy. The
twins have enough energy to run 5 marathons except for the fact that they can’t
really run yet. This means that in
addition to not writing, I haven’t been running the way that I should. That’s also part of why I haven’t been
writing. If I could post some
super-arrogant “I ran 432 miles this week” I would have been writing all the
time. But that hasn’t been the case.
First things first: I completed my
second marathon in San Francisco on July 27th. I set a new Personal Best for that distance
even though there were a lot of issues in terms of the logistics of the
race. Without going deep into it, I had
no idea where the race course was for about 3 miles which slowed me down. I’ve had a block trying to write about the
marathon and have started 4 posts about it and was unable to complete any of
them. I know I owe you a post about San
Francisco and you’ll get it but not right now.
It’s amazing that writing about the race is harder than running it.
October 9th was the 20th
Anniversary of Fred Lebow’s death. I
never knew who Fred was until 2011 and as far as I know, Fred never met
me. For a full background on Fred, I
heartily recommend the movie Run For Your Life.
It is the Fred Lebow story but is also deals with the confluence of this
man, the NYC Marathon, New York City in the 70’s and the running movement in
general. He was the right man at the
right time and without him the marathon might still just be loops around
Central Park. Actually, it might still
be the Cherry Tree Marathon in the Bronx.
And the entrance fee would be only a $1.
The first modern New York City
Marathon was held in 1976, the year I was born.
Part of the appeal was that it would be a big event in honor of the country’s
bicentennial. A lot of people thought
that 1977 would see the race disappear back into Central Park.
Fred convinced sponsors and the City, which
was undergoing tremendous financial difficulty, to support him. He spoke to the Hasidic Community in Yiddish to
allow and to encourage a bunch of half-naked adults to run through their
neighborhood. He gave local gangs shirts
and hats and made them course marshalls.
Finally, he convinced everyone to come and run.
While the marathon was his baby, he was so
busy planning and organizing the race that he didn’t take the time to run
it. In 1990, he was diagnosed with
cancer which was treated and went into remission which allowed Fred to run the
marathon in 1992. He was surrounded by
friends and supporters, most notably Grete Waitz, a 9 Time Winner of the
Marathon who had come out of nowhere and shocked the running world when she won
her first New York Marathon in 1978 after being entered into the race to
provide a pacer for the runners who were expected to win.
Watching him cross the finish line always
makes me tear up. He was finally able to
experience what it was that he was giving to everyone else. In honor of the anniversary of his passing,
I’d like to thank him for one of the greatest experiences of my life.
Since its initial run, the Marathon has
become more than just a race. It is a
celebration. It’s a celebration of the
city. It’s a celebration of
humanity. It’s estimated that over 2
million people turn out to watch the race.
Sparks of passion thrown from runners ignite wildfires in the crowd,
people vowing, some silently, some right out loud, that they too will run this
race. For some, it’s the alcohol
talking. For others, the sparks might
not fully ignite and they will stand on the sidewalk again next year hoping to
be consumed by whatever it is that’s making the runners run.
There are too many stories for the spectators
to ever figure out what it is that chases the runners or what it is the runners
chase. T-shirts with pictures of loved
ones or names with words like Cancer, Autism or Wounded Warriors give clues as
frequently happens, it’s only part of a story.
There’s always something more, something that possibly we as runners
don’t even know or realize.
More than these stories, the Marathon is
triumph. 2013 was run through
neighborhoods devastated by Superstorm Sandy the year before. It was run in defiance of terrorists like
those who struck in Boston earlier in the year.
In 2001, the Marathon was run less than two months after the attacks at
the World Trade Center in a time when wounds were still very raw and the world
was still reshaping itself. I was
reminded of the attacks and the terrorists while on the Staten Island Ferry
riding to the start. The Ferry was
flanked by Coast Guard Gunships and the new World Trade Center was visible,
rising proudly on the southern tip of Manhattan.
And it’s not just those nationwide triumphs
either. It is each individual’s
triumph. For as many running groups out
there, it is simply you when you are out there.
There is nothing else. There are
two marathons per marathon. There is the
training that leads to the actual day and then the day itself. To make it do race day is a victory, your
first step across the Starting Line is another but it is also a promise. It says, “I will complete this
undertaking.” And while we follow the
same course route, no two runners run exactly the same race the same way our
paths to get here have not been the same.
Then there is the triumph of finishing which
seems to be more beautiful the more broken it is. The obstacles that we face during our lives,
our training and that day break us down but they also make us stronger. We learn to overcome, we can adapt. We can make ourselves better, even if it’s
only for one afternoon in November.
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