NYCM2005 - Karen Bingham Scream Team Report

Race Report

New York City Marathon

Sunday, November 6, 2005

Wow. Wow. Reading all the NYCM reports is getting to me. The whole
experience of being in NYC got to me, in every which way. For one thing, I
spent so much time on my feet--walking and running some in Central Park on
Wed & Thur mornings, working the expo Thur-Fri-Sat, spectating the race, and
sightseeing in Manhattan--that I think I have overuse injuries. Seriously,
everything hurts, but especially my knee. I've never had knee problems, so
this is the pits.

It's a "worth it" kind of hurt, though. Wed I ran the last two miles of the
marathon course in Central Park, my personal mini-race. Literally thousands
of other runners were doing the same thing, cool beans. Thursday I got off
the Park loop the runners use and went on the trails that seem to be
frequented more by people and dogs. Saw a lot more of the good stuff of
Central Park. I'm certain I saw every conceivable size and shape of dog in
the Park and on the streets of Manhattan. Big dogs and little dogs, scruffy
ones and undogly and ungodly groomed ones, many of them clearly fashion
accessories. And all of them on leashes. It saddened me to see the big ones
like that, with no hope of running. Interestingly enough, I did not see one
single cat in all Manhattan, not one, not once.

Sunday I walked from my hotel at Times Square through the Park to watch the
early fast runners and then to 99th and 1st Ave, where Ken and Ellen told me
the roaring 1st Ave crowds thin out and the slower runners really need
support. I had to shove my way through elbow to elbow people who were out
drinking and supposedly cheering the runners. It took only a block or two
to figure out that along 1st Ave the people shouting and supporting the
runners are only about 3 deep. Everyone behind them is using the race as a
reason to drink and carouse. It put me into my own Bite Me Zone, I was so
mad at them for impeding my progress to where I wanted to see penguins on
the course. After taking 15 minutes to elbow my way through one block of
barhoppers, I eventually figured out I needed to detour around them til I
got to the higher blocks.

Once I got to mile 18.5 I saw Ken and Ellen, Sarah, and Nancy and some other
runners I know. I stayed and stayed waiting for Harriet but finally figured
I'd missed her. Headed for 5th Ave and mile 23 which is just before runners
enter the park and the last 3 miles to the finish. I remember how hard that
hill up 5th into the Park was. I was too late to see Ken and Ellen or Sarah
pass at 23. But Nancy stopped for a hug again. I stayed to cheer on the
slow runners and walkers.Missed Harriet again. By then people were in
glazed eye mode, having lost the ability to acknowledge or hear anything,
just focusing on getting through the next step. I cheered anyway, knowing it
registers somewhere inside.

I saw Mike at both 18.5 and 2. Mike is the young man with cerebral palsy who
does the race every year in his wheelchair, pushing it backwards with one
foot for 26.2 miles. He careens down the hills backwards and inches up them
backwards, pushing with that one good foot. He is surrounded by Achilles
guides, but I've never seen one of them push him. I walked behind him for
many miles in 2003. I cried then and I cried again Sunday. He is beyond
inspirational, he's unbelievable. I saw a lot of awesome people out there,
all of them running and walking past the 5.5 hour mark. So many stories.

I was feeling pretty done by dark and decided it was time to go back to an
internet cafe and check race tracking. But first, I sat down on a bench to
rest my feet and call friend Kellee to report penguin race progress. As I
was talking to her, an older runner staggered off the course and collapsed
on the bench beside me. I hung up on Kellee.

That was when I got to hear and help someone through their story. To make
it a short one (which it wasn't), I learned he was Sheldon Zinn, aged 83, a
physician who'd done 6 or 7 NYCMs among his 25 marathons. More importantly,
he'd run all of them with his beloved wife, who died six months ago. This,
then, was his first marathon without her. Since her death, he'd moved across
country from AZ to be closer to his children in NJ. He'd gotten very little
sleep the night before. Being an old time runner, I eventually learned he
didn't take energy gels or sports drink on the course either.

He was shaking and chilled. Being a doctor, he knew he was near physical
exhaustion yet he was determined to finish one way or the other. I could
tell he was dehydrated, among other things. It was obvious his wife was on
his mind and that it had been a painful race without her. His adult kids,
waiting at family reunion, called repeatedly on his cell phone, very
worried. Half the time he couldn't get his cell phone out of his pocket in
time to answer.

Given his condition, and the lack of nearby medical support, I wasn't about
to leave him on his own. I talked and talked and distracted him. We stopped
and started and sat down and restarted repeatedly as he got a second wind,
lost it, got a third, and faltered again. It was quite a privilege to walk
those last 3 miles to the finish line with him. There was no opening for me
to get off the course, so I actually crossed the finish line with him, at
which point he turned to shake my hand and tell me to go join my friends for
dinner, he could find his family. He insisted that I leave, so I stepped
aside and watched him from the shadows for a few minutes to make sure he was
okay.

Then I left and had dinner with Ricky and Sharon, and saw Sue and
Shari...all happening to eat in the same restaurant by chance in all of the
city. Sometimes I'm amazed what a small and wonderful world it is, even in
New York City.