NYCM99 Race Report - Glenn Gabriel

On the Wings of Penguins

NYCM 99

Glenn Gabriel

Comments to: ggabriel@pathcom.com

Fellow flightless fowl...

It was the hardest race of my life.

I was on the verge of doing something I've never done in a race...

Cry.

* * * * *

Sunday, February 28

Myrtle Beach, S.C.

New York first entered my head last February. Yesterday, we ran the Myrtle Beach Marathon relay and today we're sitting down, eating our goodbye breakfast at the Sunrise Pancake House. I wondered aloud what my next goal should be. Kecia LiCausi from St. Louis recommended the New York City Marathon. The idea floored me. I was saving that race for later in my running career. But then I asked myself, "Why not?" There would be plenty of Penguins there, including my relay teammates, Debbie Sullivan and Ken & Ellen Weissman. Maybe this would be my only chance? I made up my mind: New York or bust.

* * * * *

My training for this marathon started off on the wrong foot. In fact, my first long run was the Chicago Distance Classic 20K last July. The lack of training and the heat resulted in my worst race performance ever. I promised myself that I would not repeat that effort. There was, however, a brilliant bright spot to the Penguin World Conference. There I met Kelly Ambrose, Kathryn Lye and Carlene Paquette--three fellow Canadian Penguins. I also learned that Kelly (a fellow Torontonian) was planning to run the Canadian International Marathon here in October.

By September, everything was better than I had expected. In particular, there was now a full-fledged Toronto Penguin group who were running together and racing together. Not only that, but because Kelly was running a marathon so close to mine, we ended up doing parts of our long runs together. This was the first marathon where I had done the majority of my training with other people.

I made the decision to run the Canadian International Marathon before the Scotiabank Half-Marathon in late September. My good performance (2:00.37 chip) justified that decision. I had one more long run before my taper and I was scheduled for 22 miles, so why not treat CIM like a long training run? Kecia was planning to do the same thing (run two marathons in three weeks) on the same day in Detroit.

As I reported last month, the Canadian International Marathon was the most fun I ever had at a marathon. It was my fourth, but I treated it like a fun run: Not really concerned about the time, but with how I felt. I had the pleasure to run with Kelly as she completed her first marathon. I also had the support of my fellow Toronto Penguins in the form of cheering and bike support.

5:33.36. My slowest marathon, but my most fun marathon. I received the finish line photo samples and they are truly "proof" that I was having fun. In one picture, I look like I'm a long jumper (a la Bob Beamon). In the other picture, I'm yelling for joy at the camera. Now it was taper time.

With three weeks left until New York, everything else fell into place. I bought my Greyhound bus ticket. I found accommodation with my mother's co-worker's brother (Cheap travel rule #1: If you need a place to stay, tell EVERYONE you know). And I finally received my official registration card, about a month after everyone else got theirs.

At the final pre-New York Toronto Penguin group run, everyone wished me luck. When I told my friends, my co-workers and my family, they were surprised. Glenn? Doing a marathon? Again? In New York? Even after four marathons, people are still surprised to learn that I run. At my comedy improvisation workshop, I did a scene where I was running on a treadmill:

[Scene: Health Club]

Sean: Listen Glenn, I'm closing in 5 minutes.

Glenn: But I've got to get this workout in before the New York City Marathon!

Sean [stops the machine]: I'm closing the health club NOW.

Mark: Hey Glenn, wanna join me? I'm going out for a 10K run!

[FIN]

After the workshop, I told my fellow actors it wasn't fiction. Tomorrow, I was on my way to the Big Apple, New York City.

* * * * *

Thursday, Nov. 4 @ 6:45 p.m.

Scarborough, Ont.

I'm about to leave the house in 15 minutes. Everything's packed into one bag. Should I do it? <Nah, it's stupid. I can make one in New York if I have to> But what if I can't? It's better to have one made up than to scrounge around at the last minute <Yeah, guess you're right>

I pick up a Sharpie marker and an old Tyvek "PENGUIN BRIGADE" bib. I flip the bib over and write in big block letters: "GLENN". They said people would call you by name in New York. I'm still a bit skeptical. I mean, how many people could there be?

Friday, Nov. 5 @ 8:00 a.m.

Port Authority Bus Terminal

The trip from Toronto was uneventful. I didn't get any sleep, though. I've always found it difficult sleeping on a Greyhound bus. It's the combination of small seats, little legroom and the fear that someone will take my wallet. Small consolation, however, was taken in the fact that I sat next to a mechanical engineer from Davis, Calif., who was on his way to Washington, D.C. Interesting conversation and a sense of humour. We parted ways at the Port Authority bus terminal and I started the day carrying my 50-pound backpack.

The first thing on my agenda: Eat breakfast. Outside Grand Central Station, I knew there would be marathon workers were handing out free breakfast samples: Smart Start cereal, milk, Dannon yogurt and Nutella. I took my bag of goodies and realized I had nowhere to eat it. I asked the taxi valet where the Central Public Library was and he pointed north a couple of blocks to a group of trees. THAT was it, he said. I walked two blocks, took off my pack, and camped on the steps of the New York Public Library. As the morning rush hour flowed by, I had breakfast. I would return here 48 hours later to make my trip to the New York City Marathon starting line.

* * * * *

Friday, Nov. 5 @ 10:30 a.m.

Pier 92

I had an entire day to kill. I wasn't scheduled to meet my host until Friday night. After breakfast, I decided to visit the expo on Pier 92 bright and early. I stood in line with a group of Austrians and a trio of ladies from Denver. Two hours in line. The actual registration procedure was quick. Picked up international friendship run pack, picked up number, picked up the ChampionChip. Got through the gift shop and browsed the expo for a couple of hours with a heavy pack on my back.

First penguin I see? Go figure: It's John himself. I wasn't expecting him here, but sure enough, he gives me a hug and tells me that he won't be racing, but he'll be here all weekend. I update him on our Penguin activities and leave him to his adoring fans. :-)

The expo's really crowded. (New York, in fact, is the only city that keeps reminding me that I'm claustrophobic.) In tight quarters at the expo, I kept hitting people with my backpack as I turn around. I visited a bunch of race booths, including Comrades (the 54-mile ultra in South Africa), L.A., Paris (25th anniversary in 2001). Scarfed down free Gatorade, P/R bars, Powerbars, rice, Smart Start cereal, Raisin Bran Crunch--who needs lunch when you've got the expo? Bought 4 NYCM postcards for a dollar. Sat down at the exit and ruffled through my goodie bag. Threw out half the stuff. Take the bus to 5th Avenue...

I spend the rest of the afternoon at the New York Central Public Library, reading a complimentary copy of "Distance Running" while waiting 90 minutes for an Internet computer. I check the Penguin NYCM e-group and discover an encounter later that night. I rush from the terminal, beg someone for a quarter (I only have 24 cents) and call Ellen Weissman for the scoop. Intermezzo. 8:00 p.m. Will do.

* * * * *

Friday, Nov. 5 @ 6:00 p.m.

Long Island City, New York

The first good sign: The apartment is only three blocks away from the subway station. The second good sign: The subway station is located in the heart of a busy commercial area with restaurants, a grocery, ethnic stores and a hot dog stand. This is much better than the "Banana Bungelow" hostel in Manhattan, where I stayed last summer ($20/night, plastic palm tree, one bathroom for two rooms).

Plat is my mother's co-worker's brother. He works in a Manhattan hospital and has lived here for more than 20 years. He is also a seven-time finisher of the New York City Marathon, including several sub-4:00 times. I don't know what to expect. This is the first time we've met.

I knock on the door and he welcomes me in. "How was your trip?" he asks. On the wall is a poster-size photo of his first New York finish in 1991. Both his arms are raised in triumph as the clock above reads 4:28. He's excited--I'm running HIS marathon: "You've got to hydrate--you want some water?" "You need bananas for potassium." "Make sure you bring some on Sunday." "Would you like something to eat?" "Here, have some water!" "How 'bout crackers? Bread? Aren't you carbo-loading?" It's runner's hospitality--with a Filipino touch.

I drop my backpack, take a shower and race back to Manhattan where I'm meeting the Penguins for dinner. I run from the subway station and am literally out of breath when I arrive at the restaurant. Waiting outside are Ellen, Ron Horton, his sister Sandy and her son Ryan, who attends West Point. Later that evening, we're eventually joined by Ken Weissman, Harriet Kang, her brother, Shelton, and his wife, Linda. That night, over great pasta, Harriet shows off the new hot-off-the-press (literally!) HotFlashes! t-shirt, Ron updates the Brigade with his pocket e-mail device, and I have a great conversation with Sandy & Ryan.

Two things I notice about New York City: 1. They got really good restaurants--sometimes they're small and hard to maneouvre in--but they're really good, and 2. New Yorkers think it's nothing to walk 20-30 blocks to get somewhere!

I return to Long Island City at midnight and try to get some rest. In eight hours, I have to run.

Saturday, Nov. 6 @ 8:00 a.m.

United Nations Headquarters

One-third of NYC marathoners come from outside the United States. I'm one of them. Yep. Hard to believe, but to organizers at least, I'm the equivalent of a French or Dutch or Guyanese runner. I first learned about the International Friendship Run through the NYRRC Web site. Cool, I thought, maybe I could bring a flag? Naw. That's too conspicuous.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. I take the subway to Grand Central and step outside. I'm expecting some of the 10,000 international runners to walk by. I can't see any. But I can hear them. As I get closer to the United Nations, with each passing block, I can hear them. Kazoos. Whistles. Drums. THEY are coming. The green and yellow of Brazil. The "tricolour" of France. The bright orange of The Netherlands. The international runners are coming...

At the entrance to the lawn, I meet three other runners from Toronto. They wore hats with maple leaves on them, shirts with Toronto emblazoned on their chests and neckerchiefs with Canada on them. I... I wore a tiny Canada pin. <I KNEW I SHOULD'VE BROUGHT THE FLAG!> We looked for the Canadian flagpole, but it was taken. Someone had carried it to the front of the UN lawn, where we gathered for the speeches.

We move as close to the podium as possible. It's shoulder-to-shoulder and we're stopped a couple of hundred metres from the front. As we listened to a Slovenian pan-flautist, the announcer listed the countries who were participating in the International Friendship Run. As each country was named, a roar emanated from the crowd. We waited anxiously for ours...

"The Netherlands!" <ROAR>

"Thailand!" <ROAR>

"France!" <HUGE ROAR>

"Cambodia!" <ROAR>

Then...

"Canada!"

And instead of a roar, the only Canadians we could hear were ourselves! Heck, we were embarrassed! The French and Dutch who surrounded us looked at us in pity. I know what they were thinking: "Aren't there supposed to be MORE of you?" [Canadian aside: Canadians have never been known to be TOO patriotic and we wouldn't call ourselves "flag-wavers". However, our response was embarrassing!]

After the obligatory speeches, the announcer introduced the Princeton a capella choir. To their version of Abba's "Dancing Queen" (I am NOT making this up), the flag bearers were told to go to First Avenue. When the race began, the Canadian flag was already 400 metres ahead and pulling away. I tried to follow it, but it was as if Donovan Bailey was carrying the Canadian flag. I knew I was going too fast. There were 6 km to go.

So as we turned onto the Avenue of the Americas, I hooked up with a group of Canadians from Prince Edward Island holding a full-sized Canadian flag. This was their first marathon. When two of the flag holders decided to slow down, I got a chance to hold the side of the flag. My flag companion spoke to the crowd: "We're from CANADA!!!" eliciting cheers. As I ran carrying the Maple Leaf, I thought of my Toronto Penguins and the Canadian Penguins I had met this year. I had trained with them, raced with them: Tracy, Emma Jane, Kelly, Kathryn, Carlene, Heather, Bev, Elisabeth, Joane, so many more...

All of them had helped me this year and I felt like I was carrying the banner for them.

When we turned onto Central Park West, holding the Canadian flag, I saw the Brigade waiting. I saw Kecia, Debbie, Daniel and other people I didn't recognize. I yelled, "PENGUINS!" while waving the Maple Leaf and they cheered back. The Islanders I'm running with say, "Hey, you've got a cheering section!" I know they're jealous ;-) We make the turn into Central Park and continue for another mile. Lots of people are walking now, the pace having been too fast and now they've decided to save energy for tomorrow's race. I'm determined to cross the line running. We cross the finish line and raise the flag in victory!

I return to the penguins and have the chance to meet Molly Ellsworth and her mother and Kecia and her father. We eat at the Shining Star Restaurant, a couple of hundred blocks away ;-) It seems familiar. Then I realize: I ate here last summer on my cross-country trip.

Spend the afternoon killing more time at the expo. Lines aren't as bad this time. Cash some traveller's cheques and take the bus to York Avenue, but not before I dole out $1 to a saxophone busker playing, "Never Can Say Goodbye" on 57th Street.

* * * * *

Saturday, Nov. 6 @ 4:00 p.m.

Padrone Restaurant

The bus stops on 68th Street. Padrone is on 73rd. As I walk north, I see pink hats in the distance. I recognize Harriet, but not the others. As they get closer, I notice the man wearing a pink hat with pink lettering: RUNABE. It's the infamous (Run)Abe Slominsky, himself! He gives me a bear hug and, while I stop to catch my breath, Harriet explains that they're killing time before the 4 p.m. dinner.

Fun dinner with the Penguins and the New York City Deads. At my table, I met Hotflash!/Penguin Mary Sharrow for the first time since Boston '98 Flight School, Hotflash! Anne and her husband George, and Dead Matt. We pass around Becky Buckeye who now has a separate box, assorted drinking glasses, a diary, etc. Across from us is Elizabeth & Tony Lower-Basch, with Liz's parents.

Excellent tiramisu. Great olives. Followed by the obligatory photo session with the fake double magnum of champagne. Rounds of good luck all around. If there's nervousness and tension in the room, it's not evident. To me, the mood is half-"been there before" and half-"let's get it over with". We're ready for tomorrow.

When I get back to Long Island City, I prepare my running gear and go to bed at 10:00 p.m. I'm restless on the sofa. I only manage two hours sleep in 30 minutes chunks before I wake up at 5 a.m.

Marathon Day (Sunday, Nov. 7) @ 5:30 a.m.

New York Central Public Library

I leave Plat's apartment in Long Island City, just across the river from Manhattan. It's still dark outside, but you can distinguish the outlines of the clouds in the Sunday sky. It's going to be sunny, I told myself. I catch the N train into Lexington Station and transfer to the green line. A couple of stops and I arrive at Grand Central Station, a mere two blocks away from the Central Public Library and the marathon start shuttle buses.

I'm here.

There was a lot to worry about: registration, accommodation, getting around the city... But the biggest concern I had was getting to the library on time. When I boarded the bus, I knew I was going to complete the marathon (it was just a matter of how well I would do it). The hard part was over. I sat next to a woman from Boston and a man from Denver. I told them, "You know, finding a way to get here this morning was the biggest problem for me. Training was easy. Getting to New York was easy. Even finding a place was easy compared to this. I can't believe I'm here!"

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 6:30 a.m.

Staten Island

The bus crosses the Verrazano-Narrows bridge. We can see the starting area on our right.

As we enter the runners-only area, race volunteers are welcoming us: "Good luck," one says. "Have a good race," wishes another. A woman (obviously a resident) says in a characteristic accent: "Welcome to Staddin EYE-land, the best of the five boroughs!" You've got to hand it to the race organizers: Every little detail has been taken care of.

I look around. I'm the only Penguin here so far. It's not busy. In fact, there were plenty of port-o-potties empty and unused. A quick scan of the area: Where are the UPS baggage trucks, where are the food tents, where are the tents? Where's the "World's Largest Urinal"? I stake a claim to an new port-o-potty and took my time. No pressure. I hung around the Information tent and about a half-hour later, a group of penguins arrived en masse: Ken & Ellen Weissman, Kecia, Elizabeth L-B, Debbie Sullivan.

We find a space in a tent and lay down the tarp that Ron Horton gave us. We spend time talking and thinking about the race ahead. Reading the Times. Reading Runner's World. Chomping on a bagel. Drinking water. Three hours of waiting. In cold weather. Wearing really ugly t-shirts and sweaters that we planned to discard. In fact, a cold wind continually threatens to blow our tent down; we keep our sweats bags on the corners of the tarp. Thank God for the tarp. Without it, the Staten Island soil is a virtual heat sink. Every 30 minutes, one of us checks the marathon information booth for more Penguins.

And they arrive: Pam and Terry, RunAbe, Dan Wellner, Mary Sharrow... The wait is unbearable. Kecia says, "I don't know how I could wait here by myself." We all agree. Soon, every square inch of the tent is occupied. Some are catching 40 winks in sleeping bags. Others are showing off their race attire. But most are anxious: How much longer do we have to wait?

We hear scattered applause and turn around to see race officials carrying away the multicoloured balloon arches that were kept in our tent. It's getting close.

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 9:30 a.m.

Decision Time: I'm still wearing my sweatpants, my gloves, my jacket and my black turtleneck. The sun was out. It was mostly sunny, but a cold wind still blew hard. If there was no wind--even if there was less wind--I'd opt for my shorts. But the wind chill IS a factor. And my knees are sensitive to cold. I decide to wear the "full package", tying my jacket around my waist. Most of the others are wearing shorts. A few non-Penguins are going with singlets. Crazy.

Before we leave the tent for good, we review our race strategies. Most of us are aiming for a time between 5:00 and 5:30. Elizabeth L-B, we're all aware, is aiming for sub-4:00 and perhaps a Boston qualifier. Some of us are using the traditional run/walk. Others are taking breaks at the aid stations, which are plentiful and about a mile apart. I'm looking for 5:30, the time I did three weeks ago in Toronto as a "training run". My goal: Have fun. Take pictures.

At 9:40 a.m., we roll up the tarp and head for the UPS trucks. Everyone is standing now. They're making their last runs to the port-o-potties or finding their spots in line. We're scheduled to get into our corrals by 10:15 a.m. It's a human zoo. Luckily, there are enough of us that we make our way through the crowd unbroken. On our way to the baggage trucks, we find more Penguins: Jorge, Margaux from New Jersey and some lurking penguins whose names we didn't recognize from the list. But they wore the pink hat, too.

At 10:30 a.m., we finally settled into the first "X" corral, behind the "F" corrals. We start taking pictures, but there's not enough room to take them. Every time we LEAN, we bump into someone. It would make the perfect mosh pit. I start chatting with the runners around me. I wish them good luck. Right behind me are Kelie & Diane, two first-time NYCM runners. They're both wearing their names on their shirts.

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 10:50 a.m.

The howitzer fired. Helicopters circled overhead. No one moved. In fact, for the next 10 minutes, we walked a couple of steps and stopped. Walk. Stop. Repeat. We filed out of the staging area and onto the bridge. As we walked, we were careful not to step on garbage bags and leftover clothes. There was a small uphill to the perimeter fence and a corresponding downhill to the bridge roadway itself. All my fellow runners used it as an excuse to begin running. So as they left my sight, I kept walking. Why waste energy when I haven't crossed the starting line? I thought. I crossed the chip mats and started to shuffle.

I talked to my fellow runners and called out the names of those who put their name on their t-shirts or singlets. When I reached the peak of the Verrazano-Narrows, I looked on my left and saw the Manhattan skyline, the twin towers of the World Trade Centre. I was in awe.

At this moment, I had to make a decision. I told myself before this race that I would have fun and take pictures. Now that I was actually running, I wasn't so sure. Should I just keep on running? Then I told myself: "You may NEVER get another chance to take this photo." I had my answer. I saw a professional photographer on the roadway and I asked him to take my picture with my disposable camera.

I knew how I would approach this marathon: I was going to have fun. I was going to ask people to do things for me. And I was going to help other people. I saw a couple of women taking each other's photo on the bridge and I volunteered to take a picture of both of them.

When you look at the course elevation map, the V-N bridge is the highest point of the entire course. But I didn't feel a thing.

Next stop: Brooklyn.

Marathon Day @ 10:30 a.m.

Brooklyn

The Verrazano-Narrows bridge ends and I get my first taste of New York City Marathon spectators. They're awesome.

On both sides of Fourth Avenue, they've packed the sidewalks. I've set my watch to 10/1 intervals, but I can't hear the alarm. It's too loud! In the first two miles in Brooklyn, I realize that pinning my name to my singlet was the smartest thing I've done so far in New York City. The spectators are calling my name:

"Go Glenn!"

"Good work, Glenn!"

"Looking good, Glenn!"

"Gimme five, Glenn!"

I yell back to them:

"YOU'RE THE FANS!"

"Fire Department rules!"

"Brooklyn: The best of the five boroughs!"

"NEW YORK'S THE BEST MARATHON IN THE WORLD!!!"

"I'm looking good? No, >>>>>YOU'RE<<<<<< LOOKING GOOD!"

I'm slapping the hand of everyone who offers. Not everyone is encouraging, though. Every time I take a walking break, some say, "Shouldn't you be running?" or "Hurry up!" I blame it on ignorance: Does the average spectator understand the run/walk philosophy? Most of the time, I ignore them, but sometimes I yank THEIR chain: I'll say something like, "Hey! Gimme a break! It's my walk break! I've got 20 more miles to go!" After one guy yelled, "Go faster!", I slowed down and did an exaggerated, slow-motion run.

Painfully slow. I could see him cringe :-)

At the five-mile marker, I notice a twinge in my left knee. I've been running close to the left curb and I think that the camber of the road itself is causing my trouble. I run to the other end of the southbound lane, cross the traffic island, and continue on the northbound lane of Fourth Ave. Now the slant of the road will fall to my right. The twinge slowly disappears and I try to stay in the middle of the road for as long as I can.

I reach 10K in 1:20. Slower than expected, but considering the long wait at the start, I can't be surprised. I'm running in the northbound lane and cross a ChampionChip mat. However, I look at the southbound lane and see a mat there, too. What's going on? Then I realize: I was supposed to cross the mat in the southbound lane, the one for the RED START. First thought: "Have I ruined my race? Will they record my official time?" Then I think of the worst-case scenario: What if they think I cheated? They'll think I didn't complete the marathon. Under the timer, I see a volunteer wearing an NYCM jacket. I ask her if it's okay to cross both sets of mats. She says, "I don't know."

I'm also starting to feel the effects of my cheering. I start laughing at silly things like signs that read "Go Runners". There's definitely no PR in me today. And I'm sure that a sub-5:00 finish is impossible. I'll have to find another reason for finishing today.

I hear a loud cheer behind me and turn around. I see a man with one leg using two modified crutches, being led by an Achilles guide. I admire the man's courage. Then I tell myself: It's not whether I finish or not, but how I deal with the race. It's the struggle that's important. I've got to make something of this day. I recommit myself to helping others on the course and finding joy in every step I take.

I made sure to look around. All around. It's amazing how much you see if just look up. I saw at least 100 people who were celebrating from their apartments: To each group I yelled skyward, "That must be the best seat in the house!" They cheered for us and it was nice to acknowledge their support.

Music surrounds us. A school band played the "Rocky" theme. The heavy metal band with the ear-shattering speakers. The homemade "jug band" playing on plastic pails. Latino music. Not to mention the recorded music playing from people's homes. I ran to the rhythm, stepping to the beat, and even stopped to dance: Head-banging. The "Cabbage Patch". The samba.

After I high-fived a gauntlet of youth volunteers at the end of Fourth Avenue, I was overwhelmed by a vocal explosion. What was that? I asked myself. I turned around to see a full gospel choir in front of their church, singing an inspirational song. And for the first time since the bridge, I completely stopped and listened.

Because of the cold breeze, I was still wearing my sweatpants. However, I was chafing. Just as I was starting to notice, I heard someone yell, "Vaseline!" I walked up to the man and said, "You can't believe how lucky I am right now." I scooped a glob, said thank you, and began applied it liberally. I warned them, "This ain't pretty." "Yeah," he replied, "don't worry about it. We've seen this before."

I started running again, with noticeably less rubbing, when 200 metres later, a lady yelled, "Vaseline!" I couldn't believe it--TWO Vaseline stations within 200 metres of each other! I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, up to this point, the spectators were offering paper towels, candy, chewing gum, oranges, water... in addition to the regular aid stations!

One offer I had to refuse. As teams played their Sunday softball at a park, I met a woman (inebriated) across from the diamonds. "Hey there Glenn... Why don't you join us?" (At that split second I forgot I was wearing a name tag and wondered, "How do you know my name?") She took my arm and repeated her request: "Why don't you hang out with us?" I was embarrassed: What could I say? A million thoughts rushed through my head, but I settled on the obvious: "I'd like to... But I'm sorry! I have a marathon to run!"

If this race was merely a half-marathon, I'd already be happy. But there was still Manhattan to conquer. And I still have to get through Queens and The Bronx. There's plenty more to come.

Marathon Day @ 1:40 p.m.

Pulaski Bridge entering Queens

Before you leave Brooklyn, the last thing you see is a medical station. It reminded me to keep listening to my body and re-evaluating my pace and condition. I began a slow climb up the second bridge of the course�the Pulaski bridge--that leads to the third borough of the race: Queens. I turned my attention to the back of a singlet of a man in front of me: "50 STATES AND D.C." I guessed he was about 5 feet tall, late 50-ish, brown-skinned and greying on the scalp. I knew this guy.

I ran up beside him and asked, "Remember me?" He did. It was the third time I met this Filipino: He was a member of the exclusive "50 states and D.C." club, whom I first met in 1998 at the San Francisco Marathon and again last summer in Chicago at the Distance Classic 20K (RunLiz: remember?). We were 100 metres from the half-marathon point and I asked if I could get a photo with him. "Of course!" he replied. I was running a faster pace, so we wished each other good luck and I pulled ahead. As I left, I said, "I'll see you again." I probably will.

As I pass the aid stations, I make sure to thank all the volunteers: water people, Gatorade people, the people sweeping up. "Good work, guys! I really appreciate it." I take water from the smallest kids. I want to be sure that their efforts are noticed.

A woman runs next to me and asks me what my plan is. I tell her that I'm running 9 minutes and walking 2. She asks if she can join me and I agree, BUT that I wouldn't push my running pace any harder. Eventually, she realizes that I'm not going at the pace she likes and she leaves me. I had to draw the line somewhere. I have to run on my own terms.

It's less noisy. There are fewer crowds. And for the first time this race, I see people packing up. I've expended too much energy cheering in Brooklyn, so I stay silent for the first time during the race. I'm saving my energy. For what, exactly? I don't know.

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 3:00 p.m.

The Queensboro Bridge

It's arguably the toughest section of the New York City Marathon. The Queensboro bridge. Nearly a mile long. A rise of nearly 150 feet. Finish it and you'll hear the screams of specatators in Manhattan. Until you get there, though, the only stimulation is the traffic, your fellow runners, and the occasional SUV with its stereo blasting and windows open.

I didn't realize it was a bridge until I was a quarter-mile across it. I looked around me and everyone was walking. The guy wearing the Superman costume. Another with the Guyanese flag on his singlet. They were all walking and I was running ahead. I pass at least 100 runners in the span of a couple of minutes.

It's a straight incline, no dips or bumps, but after a half-mile, you begin asking, "When will this end?" You finally notice the East River underneath. I thank myself for all those mile repeats in the hilly terrain behind the Toronto Zoo. At the crest, I take a walk break. I've increased my walking to 3 minutes and reduced my running to 8 minutes. Soon everyone around me starts running again to take advantage of the downhill. We pass the 25km marker and a steep downhill takes us to the promised land...

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 2:30 p.m.

Manhattan's First Avenue

It's as good as promised.

When I bought the application, this was the picture that intrigued me most. Hundreds of runners filing down First Avenue, while spectators, many deep, cheered on. Penguins, runners from Toronto, books... All these sources said the same thing: Be prepared to hit a wall of sound.

A quick series of right hand turns and I had to stop at a row of port-o-potties underneath a bridge. I screamed under the bridge as Kelly in Toronto had taught me three weeks ago at the Canadian International Marathon. On both sides of the First Avenue, thousands of spectators filled the sidewalks. Many carried signs for individual runners, but almost everyone cheered for anyone who showed interest in the crowd. For example, there were plenty of bars along this stretch. Here's my yelling match with a drunk, who was holding a glass of beer at the same time:

"YOU ROCK!"

"NO! YOU ROCK!!"

"NO!! YOU ROCK!!!"

"YEAH!"

"YEAH!!!"

"ARGHHHHHHH!!!!"

It was easy to get a response. I used lines like: "I heard that there were some noisy fans here!" and "The people in Brooklyn said they were the loudest fans on the course!" I high-fived as many people as I could, especially the children. Sometimes I stopped and made sure I got everyone.

I was holding steady, but I had to be diligent. Take in water and Gatorade every stop. Take a PowerGel every hour. Once the crowds thinned out, I became more quiet. I had to reserve my energy for the final 10K. At mile 18, a young woman ran up to us with a cellular phone in hand.

"Hi," she began, "I'm from Sprint. If you want, you can make a free call to anyone in the continental United States." A woman next to me phoned her mother in Illinois: "Hi Mom! I'm running the New York City Marathon <pause> Yeah, right now!" I begged the Sprint lady although she couldn't: "C'mon, let me make ONE phone call to Canada!"

Before mile 19, a black woman on the Upper East Side stood on the side of the road with her mother and child. She held her hand out to the runners and I gave her a high-five. With a huge smile, she told me: "There's some marathon power for you!" I returned the smile, ten-fold.

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 3:15 p.m.

The Bronx & Harlem

We cross the Willis Ave. bridge and enter The Bronx. 20 miles. And I'm on target for 5:30 gun time. I need more walking breaks and I decide to switch from 8/3 to 7/4. It's humbling--I've never walked so much in a marathon.

A mile into the Bronx on 138th Street, I meet Kelie and Diane again, the two ladies I spoke with at the starting line. Kelie looks strong. Diane seems to be struggling. For the next two miles, we play tortoise and hare. They leave my sight on my walking break, but I'm kicking ass on the run, catching up with them and even passing them. I see the same group of people as they pass me and as I pass them.

Across the Madison Ave. bridge and back into Manhattan. If I can remain at my pace, I'll pass lots of people. But it's getting tougher. Crowds are sparse and not very enthusiastic. A guy is sitting down in a recliner selling furniture along the curb. No cheering, just watching.

At the 35 km mark, I'm still on track for 5:30. But I'm still struggling to take in water and Gatorade. I take a cup of each, alternate sipping between them, and throw them both away when they're still half-full. I can't stomach more.

I finally sense the beginning of the end: I see the tree-lined fringe of Fifth Avenue. The avenue is starting to roll and I attack every hill, passing dozens of runners. Then, on my right, I see the first Penguin since Brooklyn: It's Ron Horton, who is acting as an Achilles guide. We quickly exchange words of encouragement and Ron snaps a photo of me right before I tackle the final challenge: Central Park.

Marathon Day @ 3:45 p.m.

Central Park

A short burst uphill and I'm in Central Park. I see the 23 mile marker: 4:55. Fall colours. And thousands of spectators behind the steel barricades. For the last hour, I've used a 7 min run/4 min walk pattern. It's keeping me upright. But now everything's changed. It's no longer physical fatigue. I'm overwhelmed by the cheering. With every step I take, I hear my name: "You can do it, Glenn!" "Go Glenn!" "Nice job Glenn!" "Looking strong, Glenn!"

I am so close to crying.

I have never received so much encouragement in my entire life. Every emotion that I've felt in every race I've ever run bubbles to the surface.

"Why are you doing this race, Glenn?"

"Who am I to deserve your applause?"

"I wish I could return your cheers... I'm so tired."

"When will this be over? Where's the finish line?"

"Thank you."

Tears try to break through, but I'm too tired to cry.

At this point, I'm still running 7 minutes and walking 4. I've never walked this much in a marathon. The spectators are shouting, "You can do it! Hold on!" I want so badly to run, but I've hit a wall. I don't think it's the proverbial "wall," though. I'm emotionally exhausted.

They say that New York City brings out the best and the worst in people. On this day, I had an entire city of Penguins behind me. I finished the race on their wings.

* * * * *

I hear an anxious, "Glenn! Glenn!" It's my host, Plat, and his friend, Francis. He gets a picture with me and asks me how I'm doing. I'm still struggling, but I say, "I'm tired, but I'm okay." He offers me Gatorade and water, but I say no thanks. He says, "You're almost there, Glenn!" and for the first time this race, I believe it.

With less than a mile to go, I saw a man come from behind the barricade to run alongside me. It was John, the Penguin himself. He asked me how I was doing and I said that it was tough. I tried to offer an explanation, but the words came out mangled. I couldn't compose a coherent thought. I was focused on finishing the race. John and I ran step-by-step, side-by-side for a couple of hundred yards. I regained my rhythm. Left. Left. Right. Right. Synchronicity. And just at the point when I was again in fluid motion, John ducked back behind the barricades before 57th street at the southern edge of the park. It was up to me to finish the race.

On the left, barricades were lined with spectators. I noticed that the runners kept along the curb, while the fans were halfway across the street. I made up my mind to run beside the barricade and feed off the marathon power of the crowd: "Looking good!" "Good pace!" "Go Glenn!" "You can do it, Glenn!" Any intention of walking left my mind. I was in the zone. I was passing people reduced to walking. My mind was telling my body to stop, but something deeper than my thoughts kept me moving forward.

I climbed the last hill, the same hill I climbed a day ago in the International Friendship Run. The stands were full of spectators. I pointed to the sky repeatedly. Number one. Thanks to God. I heard my name over and over again. I wouldn't break 5:30, but I would come close. I looked in front of me and there was only one runner in my vicinity. I slowed down 20 metres from the finish line and let him go first. Then I did what I had planned, something that I visualized before I had even stepped on New York soil:

I had both arms out to my sides like an eagle in flight, palms open, while I raised my head up, eyes closed, breathed deeply, and embraced everything around me.

I accepted my medal, refused an emergency blanket, and began the long trek through the finishers chute.

* * * * *

Marathon Day @ 4:30 p.m.

The Finish Line Chutes

The end is the beginning. The beginning is the end. It happened after I crossed the finish line. As I walked through the mile-long finishers' chute, I turned to my fellow runners and congratulated them. Most smiled. Others said thanks. Some ignored me. I walked up to a woman in her forties, one of many wrapped in a printed emergency blanket. "Congratulations," I said. She smiled. I asked her, "Is this your first one?" She kept looking straight ahead as tears welled in her eyes. I rubbed her shoulder. I understood.

* * * * *

Post-Marathon

It took another mile before we picked up our sweats bags and entered the family area. I was tired and alone when a man walked up to me and congratulated me. Apparently, I talked to him during the marathon and here he was thanking me. I couldn't remember meeting this gentleman during the race (actually, I was so tired that I couldn't remember much), but I accepted his thanks graciously. I walked to the finish line stands and spent a half-hour cheering runners before the 6:30 pace car drove in. One of those runners was Charlotte Penguin Jane Fraytet. I yelled, "PENGUINS!", but she couldn't hear me. She was definitely in the zone.

I return to Long Island City for the last time. As a thank-you gift, I give Plat a triathlon book (one of his goals is to complete Ironman Hawaii). He says, "Maybe we can run New York together someday." I smile.

I have dinner with Jane, John B, and Kecia and her dad at the City Grill. I'm still a little nauseous from the race, but manage to finish my dinner (a turkey special--definitely no more pasta). "This distance humbles you," Kecia says. She's right.

Soon the five of us are taking the Red Line downtown. I'm carrying my 50-pound backpack on the subway train, making my way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. As I say my goodbyes on the train, someone asks me if I'll be attending Myrtle Beach, Vermont City or Marine Corps.

I don't know when my next encounter will be, but I'm looking forward to it already.

* * * * *

Thank you for reading. What I've learned from New York is this: Being a Penguin is not really about being a runner. A Penguin is, in the end, someone who cares.

Godspeed!