Running the Big Apple

Doing the Big Apple, as in running the New York City Marathon, is a cornucopia of experiences. Each of which is unique and everlastingly memorable.

New York is Winning

The 16,000 chilled marathoners who lined up October 24, 1982, for the 26.2-mile tour of the five boroughs of New York City, had already beat out 44,000 other applicants for those same starting slots. An early postmarked entry and the luck of the draw had determined this dedicated jogger from Indiana was more qualified to run the streets of Brooklyn and Bronx than numerous other more qualified runners.

New York is Big

Logistically, New York is mind-boggling: 1,200 medical personnel, 4,500 volunteers, 284 gallons of course marking paint, 68,000 runner number safety pins, 500,000 paper cups, and the world’s longest urinal. The race administrators process the huge number of runners by issuing bar codes to all participants. Just like a package of wieners at the grocery, it’s the scan of your bar code that triggers the instantaneous printing of your race number, the distribution of your information packet, your check-in at the starting line, and the documentation of your finish in Central Park.

New York is People and Camaraderie

It’s 3,912 foreign runners getting their first exposure to the U.S. through our country’s self-appointed goodwill ambassadors, the New York cab drivers. It’s two gorgeous snow bunnies from Denver, who came east to run their third NYC Marathon. It’s ten people pressed into the corner of the tent on Staten Island spending the eternal two hours prior to the starting gun by opening their hearts and souls to the perfect strangers around them. Wonderful new friends I’ll never see again.

New York is Excitement

When the cannon fires sending the army of waffle-soled combatants on the five-borough crusade of the city, the intensity and pitch of the spectator’s encouragement is overwhelming. Music is heard blaring from every street corner. New York is on display. Flags, banners, and signs are everywhere. Bells ring, sirens wail, firetrucks arc the intersections with their fire hoses, and people cheer like you can’t believe.

New York is Emotion

Along with the thrills, the gaiety, and the fun comes the inevitable marathon pain. Twelve hundred medical personnel aren’t there for their health. Some of my fellow athletes are reduced to a survival shuffle. Others show their badges of courage staining through their shirts and shoes, and still they continue.

At last, the turn into Central Park, the final four-hundred yards. Look at that crowd. Listen to the applause. Is that Frank Sinatra’s recording, “New York, New York”? It’s unbelievable! Why, some of those runners are crying. Can you imagine that? No, not me. Must just be a cinder in my eye.