NEW YORK MARATHON, Central Park

The first Sunday in November is one of my favorite annual New York pilgrimages. We start the day watching television coverage of the 38,000 plus over-achievers eagerly awaiting the stampede over the Verrazano Narrows, then head uptown to await their arrival two plus hours later at Tavern on the Green.

No, we don't sit sipping cocoa in the garden. We post ourselves as close as possible to the finish line where we can hear the announcer but can't see the Jumbotron or the awards ceremony. While I have met some actual marathoners, we have not yet managed the clout required to get a real seat.


To me it's cruel that the last .2 section of the 26.2 mile run is uphill! And it makes our part of cheering on the runners to their very last step increasingly valuable. A humbling, tear-swelling feeling repeats itself each time a runner hobbles to a walk, hops haltingly with a cramp or crumbles to the pavement and then is bouyed by our cheers and courageously scales that final incline.

Then there are those that wave and smile as if to lift our spirits and encourage us to persist in our chants. And those with novel get-ups that help their family and friends spot them amidst the sea of off-the-shelf track gear that intermittently sparkle their way to the finish.



For hours and hours after the race metallic draped post-marathoners dapple their way across the city. And the sighting of each one commands a moment of respect and sheer wonder at the accomplishment of people who on any other day are regular folks wearing business suits, police uniforms and every other form of regularity. But on this one day they are amazing - they are NYC marathoners.

I abandoned my post around the time the 31/2 hour racers arrived to get a ride over to Jack's for brunch and had my first NYC motorcycle ride zooming up Broadway. (Okay, it's really a scooter but it felt like a motorcycle to me!)