The Blonde, The Brunette and Their Blisters
Part 7 Cont
It took 20 (long) minutes to shuffle over the start line. As we had given ourselves a predicted finish time of four hours, we had been landed in the most congested pack of people, something that would later prove one of our biggest obstacles.
We started running to the sound of Frank Sinatra singing ‘New York, New York’. It was the most beautiful Autumn morning and the sparkling sun was bouncing off the water below. We were moving … this was it. There was no turning back. I beeped my stopwatch into action and totally wound up from the anticipation, burst into tears with relief.
Conserving energy was our primary tactic, but it was hard to resist the temptation to speed up as we passed the first crowds. We left the bridge and turned the corner into Brooklyn to a rapturous welcome. One of our most successful brainwaves was to have our names emblazoned across our matching t-shirts, and for the next four hours all I heard was crowds of people chanting our names. I felt like a star. As we ran along, the kids jumped up to give us ‘high fives’, and the more restrained shouted, clapped and cheered …
The course takes in all five boroughs, winding through a diversity of ethnic communities, each with a distinct, fascinating character. There were big bands on every street corner, pumping out motivational favourites such as ‘Eye of TheTiger’ and ‘YMCA’. There were water stops every mile and Gatorade stations every two. As the sun was warming quickly we took full advantage and refuelled wherever possible. This, combined with the sheer congestion for the first half of the race, was to prove critical to our target time. By the time we crossed Queensborough Bridge we knew we weren’t going to make four hours, but had settled into a steady rhythm and felt strong.
Psychologically, turning into Manhattan was the toughest part of the course. First Avenue stretched ahead as far as the eye could see … four miles of tired runners bobbing up and down and the end nowhere near. The crowds were immense. Five men deep, we couldn’t even spot the British Heart Foundation reps, the only people we knew out of 2 million supporters! But it didn’t matter. By this stage the road had widened and we had the space we needed to go at our true pace … we ended up running the second half 20 minutes faster than the first … I don’t think that’s normal!
Before the race started we had ear marked certain games and conversation topics for various milestones. At 5 miles we had gone through our families and detailed what each person would be doing back home. At 10 miles we had planned our Christmas shopping. The brunette said she had something special saved for the 18 mile point, the moment when the pain starts to kick in, and as we entered Harlem for the first time we startedsinging. ‘Guess the tune’ was our favourite running pastime. One person startshumming a well-known song, ranging from 80s pop to TV themes, and the otherperson has to join in when they know what it is. Before long we were singing atthe top of our voices. ‘Keep on Runnin’ took us to 19 miles, ‘Don’t StopMoving’ guided us through the Bronx and ‘The Bare Necessities’ saw us re-enter Harlem at 22 miles.
By this point we had entered a silent race with Scooby Doo who we kept overtaking and being passed by intermittently. Determined not to be beaten by a cartoon character, our competitive spirit took us to the start of the park at 23. I remember the brunette mentioning her sore quads at this point and trying to black out my own pain. We have a strict rule not to discuss ailments whilst running, but this comment triggered awareness throughout my body that tiredness was starting to take over. This was compounded by the steady ascent that took us from 23 to 24. I had vague flashback to my dad warning me about the undulations of Central Park, but after almost 4 hours of solid running, the hill beneath my feet felt like a mountain. At 24 we entered the park gates and I felt the brunette accelerate. It was hard not to. There were runners collapsed with fatigue at either side of the path, every step of the way, but we were flying through. The crowds were going wild and as we ran beneath the 25 mile banner for the second time that weekend, I allowed myself, for the first time, to think about that medal.
The finish line was like a magnet pulling us forward. We grabbed each others’ hand and made a last-minute sprint (well, that’s how it felt) for the finale.
After a stagger and a deep gulp for air, choking on my own tears and feeling my legs wobble and give way, reality started to kick in. We had done it. We had run 26.2 miles in the greatest road race on earth and we were still alive … just. The rest is a blur. There was a medal clanking around my neck and a shimmering cloak of silver wrapped around my shoulders, but the marathon was over. It was time to celebrate …
26.2miles. 4 hours 16 minutes, all-over body ache and too many calories to count!
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