Cynthia Runs Another Marathon

In the spirit of the upcoming New York City Marathon, I’ve been reflecting on my participation in the 50th running of the event in 2021 with mixed emotions of gratitude, growth, and memories of the pure grit I put into crossing that finish line by the Tavern on the Green in Central Park.

I ran my first marathon in 2019 just months after my brother passed away unexpectedly, dedicating my energy to the full process of not only physically training my body to run 26.2 miles on bridges across the five boroughs of New York in one go, but also staying mentally strong for the hundreds of miles leading up to The Best Day Ever. That inaugural marathon was for my late brother Charlie, and my next NYCM was going to be for me.

The dumpster fire affectionately known as 2020 derailed everyone’s grand plans and NYCM was postponed to November 7, 2021. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was injured in 2020 so I was thankful that I did not have to miss out on the 50th anniversary celebration, but there were stark differences between a “normal” NYCM and mid-pandemic one.

Despite having all the required shots and avoiding people at all costs (including canceling my own birthday plans and not going anywhere near Halloween ghosts and ghouls), I got a bad cold a week before the race. My Covid tests were negative and I hid in a corner masked up at work. I consumed so much Vitamin C I wondered if I could overdose and was in a fog. I felt much better a few days before the race but was still fatigued and mentally drained because I was also looking forward to a much-needed vacation I booked for active recovery in nature before the holiday high season. I was so angry for catching something, but there was nothing else I could do.

I was even more nervous the day before this marathon than the first one and barely had an appetite for the healthy dinner I prepped ahead of time. After failed effort of force-feeding myself leafy greens and protein, I ordered penne vodka to at least carb load and managed to finish most of my meal. I took an Epsom salt bath to relax and make me sleepy and watched a feel-good show before tucking into sleep.

I did not sleep well at all, and my 3 a.m. alarm was jarring and interrupted a terrible nightmare. I woke up sweating profusely and my heart was fluttering uncomfortably. I got out of my bed slowly, but as soon as I stood up I felt the familiar faint feeling. I started panicking because I knew that if I fell down, it would be difficult to get help. I was getting flashbacks of the time I fainted in the bathroom and hit my head on the sink on the way down and my roommate at the time didn’t wake up to the sound of my full weight falling to the floor right in front of her bedroom door. I didn’t even have the chance of her finding me this time because she was at a wedding that weekend, so I was fighting to stay conscious all alone.

I knew the car service I requested was going to pick me up shortly, so I slowly ate a banana and started drinking my electrolytes. I put an ice pack against my neck and took a quick cold shower to calm my vagus nerve and flight-or-fight response. My body leveled off when the car arrived, and I was on my way to the Meadowlands to catch the coach buses to the start village. I worked too hard to let my body scare me into thinking I couldn’t do this again, so if I was going to faint, I wanted it to be with glory and near medical tents. I shook it off thinking that this feeling must have been an extreme stress reaction after all the work I put in. Was it the greatest idea I ever had in terms of my health? No, but if it was my expiration date, I was at least going to go out with a blast.

My bus was the first one to Staten Island before dawn and security was just setting up. Wave 2 wasn’t set to start until 9:55 a.m. so I knew I had to camp out for awhile in the Orange Village. I wore a throwaway 30-year-old itchy soccer sweatshirt, my brother’s very pilly high school sweatpants, and covered my extremities with winter accessories since it’s quite cold before the sun rises in November.

Runners typically wear “throwaway” sweats over their running gear to stay warm for the few hours at the start village in Fort Wadsworth. Here I am in old hometown sweats that I put in one of the Goodwill bins right before the start. There are free beanies at the Dunkin’ table!

The tough part about waiting for a big race like this to start is that you are there for a few hours. You’re ready to get moving as soon as you wake up, but you’re caught between trying to stay warm and not wasting your energy before running for a few hours straight. Some people took naps; I can’t fall asleep when I’m excited, so I sat on a piece of cardboard on a curb and chatted with a friend of a friend I met a week before that was also running. I could tell she was having a rough morning since she forgot a lot of the things she meant to bring because her ex-husband didn’t pick up the kids the previous day as planned. She told me the divorce was recent, and that she was running this race for her own mental health even though it was tough to stick to a training plan this time around. Everyone runs for their own reasons, and I applaud her efforts.

The playing field for NYCM this time around was limited to 25,000 runners in an effort to “safely” host the event; it’s still a huge race, but the start village felt quite empty compared to 2019. There were a few thousand runners missing that day because the borders only opened up to international runners the day AFTER the marathon, so there weren’t as many athletes from other countries represented. NYRR split the start times into five waves instead of four to spread out the people running. An advantage to less people in the village was being able to move freely among the snack tables and there were NO lines for the porta potties (if you know, you know).

I got into the corral when called and started up my warmup routine to get the blood flowing to my stiff, frozen joints. A woman I had met at a half marathon in 2019 bumped into me in the corral, and just seeing a familiar face eased my nerves a little bit.

The entry ramp to the Verrazzano just felt so empty, especially when I inched closer to the start line for the national anthem. Although the official rules said that we had to wear a mask or gaiter in the corral, about half the people complied and there really wasn’t any way to enforce it as the cannon was moments away from going off. People were just happy to finally jumpstart New York’s “normalcy” with its annual celebration.

The “Orange” group runs on the westbound lanes (left side) on the top of the Verrazzano Bridge. I am lined up much closer to the start line in Wave 2 this time due to there being half the number of runners for NYCM 2021.

I was so jittery, and the emotions of what I was about to endure the second time around as an experienced marathoner welled up tears in my eyes as the singer hit their last high notes over the microphone. My Garmin GPS found me just in time, but the marathon playlist I used in 2019 was not loading on my phone (I had no mental energy to create an updated playlist beforehand). Whether my music started or not, I had the upcoming crowd to cheer me along over the next few hours. The BOOM of the cannon reverberated in my ears and I swung my arms behind me as I started my gentle forward lean to propel across the start line.

The bridges in New York aren’t flat. These runners climbing ahead of me are just about to reach the apex of the Verrazzano. There was more space to move, so many runners went out too fast because there wasn’t congestion to hold them back.

Many runners started bolting up the bridge, but I knew better than to keep up. The Verrazzano is my warmup and time for photographing some action shots while taking in the views that you don’t get in a car. My frozen feet jogged steadily and I alternated between adjusting my annoying waist pack, taking selfies, and trying to get my music to load for the upcoming miles. I didn’t need my tunes yet, but I knew they would be helpful for the Queensboro Bridge and beyond and just wanted them ready. It was my own fault for forgetting to download the playlist to my device instead of streaming on an overloaded cell signal. Thankfully I trained without music for most of the summer to prepare for this to go wrong.

Ideal running form is when your posture is tall and your limbs are nice and loose. I felt tension both from my nervous energy and my cold hands and toes and I found it difficult to relax. I wished I went to my PT the day before to crack my back because everything felt off. My traps were up to my ears, I felt like one leg was longer than the other, and that my diaphragm was not working properly so I was breathing with my mouth too early in the race when I should have been softly breathing through my nose. It didn’t help that my nose was like a leaky faucet in the cold air, making me look like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer after wiping with my abrasive throw-away sleeves. I had to calm my breathing so that my heart rate wouldn’t be so high.

I was excessively thirsty in Brooklyn and found myself holding a water bottle most of the time, whether my own or the bottles offered from kind strangers. I noticed how few good Samaritans were out on the sidewalks and felt like I was taking all their coveted water bottles.

Not only was the stampede of runners sparse in comparison to last time, but there were far less fans along the route. Some neighborhoods that would normally be hopping were desolate and depressing. There were less kids with “high five for a power-up” signs out there; I know the city still feared large crowds and the spread of the virus.  

I reached my first “checkpoint” where my parents cheered me on where Flatbush Ave turned to Lafayette Ave around mile 8. I could see my mother’s bright red hat, but I heard her signature yell well before I spotted her in the crowd. It was just the little emotional boost I needed to pep up before smiling at some upcoming photographer stations. I was determined to get some good race pics while there were less participants.

I spotted the photographer in time to smile. I wanted to keep my Dunkin’ beanie as a souvenir so it was hanging off me weird along with my pockets full of gel!

The boost in mood must have boosted my speed too, because I was going way too fast before the half marathon mark. I was getting negative splits, which is ideal, but considering my scary morning and the many miles I had left to go, I needed to slow down. I PR’d my half marathon time within this race and feared when I would crash.

I shed my good running sleeves in Queens and hit the first of many walls to come. There were a few mile markers that the NYRR planning committee decided not to put water stations because of how tight those areas are, but I really needed another few ounces of H2O in between stops.

I struggled to open up my next gel packet as I climbed the Queensboro Bridge. In 2019, I appreciated the silent patter of feet and not having spectators on the bridge, but this time around I didn’t have my music on to lead me forward. I was already stuck in my thoughts for 2 hours straight, and I had about another 2 more hours of hearing other runners breathing too hard and stomping when they run. I slowed down on this urban mountain to get ready for the high energy of drunk spectators on First Avenue, where I also told many of my friends to watch me.

The first half of the race was pretty quiet compared to last time, but the Wall of Sound still hit the eardrums and the psyche the same way. The crowds still liked to party in Manhattan, and I wondered if my different friend groups made it in time to the recommended viewing spots for a front row experience. I hung to the west side of the street where I told them to go and got a little dizzy looking into familiar-looking faces to try and identify my people as I whizzed by. Finally a few feet ahead of me I spotted my friends from my Italy trip, then after waving to them I spotted my college roommates that made it out, then just feet away (without them realizing it) my parents got to this checkpoint. Then, only a few seconds later I spotted one of my clients cheering me on in the crowd again. I found it funny how so many people that I knew that were cheering for me specifically could stand so close to one another and not know each other.

I needed that morale boost; I was on the struggle bus even if my Garmin said I was still on track for under 4 hours again. I took orange pieces from another stranger, another water bottle, and tried so hard to take in my energy gels. My legs still felt like cement pylons from the morning, but there was nothing I cold do until after the race to make them less heavy. I just had to put one foot in front (and to the side; never run on a tightrope!) of the other and trust that I could do this. I’ve run it before, so I can do hard things!

As I was leaving Manhattan to check the Bronx off the list, my heart was pounding uncomfortably. The beats per minute were really high and in the max zone the whole time, but when I saw it was over 200 and I was heading up a slight incline, I decided to walk for a moment to reset.

At first I felt defeated; I didn’t have to stop or walk at all in my last marathon, and I thought it made me a failure to have to walk when I’m a trainer for a living. The only person that was judging me in this moment was myself, and I gave permission to walk for only a minute or two on the incline of the Willis Avenue bridge. It was enough time for my heart rate to go down to a reasonable bpm for the effort, and a short enough time where the medical volunteers didn’t have to watch me like vultures to see if I’d pass out. I leaned into a jog on the bridge.

Just moments before running across the Willis Avenue Bridge into the Bronx, I walked to reset and refocus.

I felt slow for the short jaunt in the Bronx and trudged back into Manhattan, passing the famous Last Damn Bridge lady along the way with her megaphone to let everyone know it was the Last Damn Bridge, but certainly not the Last Damn Hill. I spotted another friend around mile 21 when I least expected and was not having a graceful moment between my runny nose and loud, labored breathing. I had less than an hour more to go at this pace, and it sure felt long.

Another friend that I had strategically placed on the course swapped my empty electrolyte bottle for a fresh one and other energy gummy goodies. I heard her say I was going strong, but I was very much dying inside since I knew Fifth Avenue was a doozy. It goes uphill for more than a mile, and at the time of day I reached it the sun was shining directly in my face. The bright light makes you wonder at that point in the race if this is light at the end of the tunnel, or if you’re about to see some angels at heaven’s gates. I paced myself and let my arms uppercut in front of me as I leaned into the incline to save any energy I had for Central Park.

Holding onto my energy gel and water for dear life and not prepared for a photo op in Central Park just before Mile 25.

When I saw the turn into the park, I knew it was time to rock n’ roll. The first 10 miles you run with your head (slower), the next 10 miles you trust your training (marathon pace), and the last 10k is the actual race where you run with your heart (and run your heart out). I vaguely heard some of my friends in the park cheering for me for the next checkpoints. I tried not to have things in my hands knowing there would be more photographers, but I needed more energy gels and water at this point in the race. I felt my shoulders up to my ears and my breathing was so loud compared to those around me, and I had no way to block out the sound since my music still wouldn’t load right before getting into the park.

After the curves in the park, I reached mile 25 and looked on my Garmin for my overall time. I couldn’t really do math with brain fog like that on a normal day, but from what I could tell, even if I kept up that pace for the last mile, I had the potential to beat my time! I had renewed mental energy and focus, and just had to get my log legs to turn over fast enough for just 10 more minutes to PR. I was SO CLOSE yet SO FAR.

59th Street is a tease because you think you can sprint it all the way since it’s practically an airplane runway, but I just had to hold around a 10k pace for a half mile and wait until I was back in the park to fire up all cylinders. I was like an F1 racecar; my tires were worn out, and I was low on fuel at the end here but still had other racers to pass to claim my prize. I had to focus on the tricky turn back into the park at Columbus Circle and watch where I stepped because of the tripping hazards around there.

Running past the bleachers just moments from the finish line. Pure grit is driving me forward after 26 miles.

There’s another little curve where you know the finish line MUST be close because you’re at mile 26, but you don’t quite see it. When you do though, the emotions hit you like a Mack truck.

Float like a mermaid, sting like a jellyfish. Eyes on the prize.

I’m holding back tears, though I can’t tell if they are happy or sad, out of frustration, another wave of grief for those I’ve lost, or a hormonal response to my fight or fight adrenaline pumping through my body the past few hours. I’m trying not to hyperventilate, leaning into the tough hill to push my center of gravity forward, swinging my arms back furiously, and my eyes are locked in to the finish line. I pictured an invisible fishing line reeling me in with force. I see a few runners ahead of me that had the honor of being my competition for these last few seconds and swooped pass them as strangers in the grandstands cheered. I tried to hold good form until I reached the big letters with FINISH on the ground.  

I stumbled over the finish line timing mat like a drunk kicked out of the bar at closing time. As I abruptly stopped, my vision was turning white with a mix of dizziness and euphoria as I tried to get my bearings on what just happened. Is this heaven? Is this a dream? Was I just abducted by aliens and they spit me back out across this finish line? How did I get here?

I did it! Big exhaleeeeee. 3:54.54

I waddled forward as volunteers congratulated me and directed traffic toward where to collect our medal. While on the move, I took the obligatory selfies and recorded a quick video of my immediate feelings on the race. I was soaking in the post-marathon high and my smile was ear-to-ear as if I was deliriously in love. I was in love with the accomplishment, yet I was also very much in need of refueling and recharging. I was crashing big time.

I got my heat shield and goody bag and downed the gross Gatorade and a protein shake (I didn’t care that it was also Gatorade brand, I just needed muscle repair) and started my long walk to meet my parents and friends by the subway station. The portrait photos were far away from the finish line this year which was much better in controlling the flow of zombies exiting the park. I got my victory shots and when my friends called to ask where to meet me, it was a struggle to describe where to go in between big breaths of air. All I remembered was to head straight west and they should be able to spot me.

My parents greeted me with my requested Trader Joe’s half gallon of chocolate milk (fresh from the store) as requested and a bouquet of flowers. My college friends found us at the intersection and we recapped the day and my run. They said they almost missed me a few times because the app was only tracking every 5k instead of mile this time around, so they had to do some math to figure out when to move closer to the sidewalks with their homemade signs. They said I was the “fastest mermaid on land” and that I had such focus in Central Park that I must have known I was close to my old time. My Garmin time said that I made a new record, but we were finally able to see my official time of 3:54.54. I didn’t try to look until I stood still after my long walk to meet up with them.

I shaved off about 2 minutes from my first marathon, and to this day I’m in disbelief that I pulled that off on a rough training cycle, terrible sleep, nearly fainting before getting to the start line, and having to walk for a bit! Anything is possible and I am so glad I got to run the New York City Marathon a second time. I look forward to taking on other major marathons sometime in the future as long as I am physically able. I’m in it for the long run (pun might be intended).

My new bling and bouquet. Marathoner x2!