a bite from the big apple

There are moments in life that seem completely unimaginable, but at the same time fully meant to be.  We have experiences that, on the surface, seem like they shouldn't happen, or are only known through other people's stories.  There are feelings that can't be explained, events that can never be duplicated, and circumstances that will never be forgotten.  They manifest for everybody in different ways, but feel the same no matter what.  For me, they always start and end with running.  On November 3rd, 2013, I ran the New York City Marathon, and it was a seminal, defining moment in my life.  

After being scheduled to run the marathon the previous year but having to wait because of Superstorm Sandy, landing in Manhattan for marathon weekend felt like being a kid again, waking up on Christmas morning to find that Santa had indeed come down the chimney the night before.  The moment we landed at LaGuardia and saw runners descending on the city I knew that it was going to be the most perfect race imaginable, and it was.  Anxious to take it all in, we spent the afternoon walking a bit of the marathon route in Central Park, which was blanked it the colors of Fall, and going to the expo to pick up our gear and bibs.  The energy at the expo was overwhelming, as upwards of 50,000 runners from all over the world gathered for the first time, sharing a common bond of passion for running.  

The weekend would only get better when, unbeknownst to me, Cynthia Puckett walked in the hotel room, there as a surprise to watch me run and enjoy the city.  Todd knew how much she would enjoy the city on marathon weekend and made the arrangements for her to be there with us.  Nothing could have made me happier than to have her there, and it was a very special moment when she arrived.  We immediately took a mini walking tour of midtown, complete with a trip down 5th avenue to the finish line so that she could see the last mile of the course.  The afternoon couldn't have been nicer, and we capped it off with dinner at an Italian restaurant near Herald Square.  I'll never forget the smile on her face when we stood in the middle of Times Square and took in all the goings-on, before calling it a night and trying to get some sleep.  Going to bed, I felt the balance of nerves and excitement that is so indicative of a marathon weekend, but something was different this time.  I had a feeling of complete and total presence in the moment.  I knew I was where I was supposed to be;  and I couldn't wait to run the next morning. 

The alarm went off early, and after coffee and a bagel, we were headed to the New York Public Library to catch a bus to the start on Staten Island.  Mrs. Murie, Heather, and myself were layered in sheddable clothing to fend off the cold temperatures, while Cynthia Puckett, Todd, and our friend Beth from Dallas accompanied us on the walk.  We said our goodbyes right there on the steps of the library, accepted congratulatory good luck wishes, took one final picture, and boarded the bus for the runners village.  Everything was perfect.  That feeling would never change.  

The runners village, at the base of the Verrazano Bridge, was the staging area for the entire marathon.  We'd heard horror stories of freezing temperatures and nowhere to sit down, but found the complete opposite.  Granted, sitting down involved concrete and there was a steady wind, but I would have sat anywhere and waited for eternity to run the greatest marathon in the world.  We found a place to camp out and made a great friend, Beth Hammer from Minnesota, while we waited.  She was fun to talk to amidst the throngs of runners doing what runners do:  eating bagels, checking clothing, going to port-a-potties, talking about other races, stretching legs, and trying not to let the enormity of the event get the best of them.  The starting village wasn't the Ritz-Carlton, but it wasn't Motel 6 either.  I was simply thankful to be where I was, getting ready to do what I love to do.  Heather and Kim huddled together and read celebrity magazines that somebody gave them while I leaned against the village map and took it all in.  Soon we would shed our layers down to running shorts and not much else, ready to go the distance all the way to Central Park.  I was about to be on top of the world.

The start was overwhelming, but in a really good way, as we ran uphill for the first mile crossing back over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn.  The bridge was completely quiet, but the moment we came down off the ramp we were greeted on both sides by throngs of people cheering with unmistakeable fervor.  This would be the norm for the next 12 miles as we traversed the ethic neighborhoods that make Brooklyn and Queens so special.  My first thought was that these people weren't necessarily there to cheer on people they had come to watch, but rather they were true New Yorkers, out on their streets to celebrate their city and their marathon.  It was the most special feeling to be a part of their energy as we passed churches and brownstone row houses, local grocery stores and restaurants, local parks for the kids and local pubs for the adult kids.  I knew immediately that I was part of something really special, both for myself and for them.  The New York City Marathon was underway.

Crossing over the 59th street bridge into Manhattan was unreal.  Directly ahead was a panoramic view of one of the most recognizable cityscapes in the world, and I was running directly into the heart of it.  First Avenue, which covers miles 16 through 18 is known to every runner as the apex of celebrations.  It didn't disappoint.  For a moment I wasn't sure if there was a marathon going on through a street party or the other way around.  Whereas Brooklyn and Queens were populated with local New Yorkers, Manhattan was clearly a zone for family and friends to welcome their runners to second half of the marathon.  It was difficult to not surge because of the atmosphere, but I held back and kept my legs right where they needed to be.  In fact, I hadn't pushed the pace at all by that point and felt really good about it, happy to be a part of the marathon of a lifetime.

Approaching mile 18, I began to focus on the left side of the course, knowing that Todd and Cynthia Puckett were planning to be somewhere around 89th street.  I was looking forward to seeing both of them and sharing the moment for a brief minute, hoping that they were as excited and happy as I was.  Sure enough, I spotted Cynthia right where they said they would be.  Maybe it was because she was holding a sign that Don Puckett had made, or maybe it was because, bless her heart, she was about 10 feet out into the dang course, but for whatever reason I couldn't miss her and I'm so glad that I didn't.

We hugged, Cynthia cried, I ate some candy, gave an update of the course so far, checked on Heather and Mrs. Murie who were both ahead of me, took a few pictures, then I was off for the final eight miles.  Seeing both of them on my way out of Manhattan and into The Bronx was the perfect boost I needed for the last stretch.  They didn't know it, but I looked back at them as I ran away and they were already heading in the opposite direction.  I felt great and was so very happy to be where I was.  Everything was hitting on all cylinders, so I put it on autopilot and allowed my legs and fate to guide me.  It was the best decision that I made, because I never ran out of energy or hit "the wall" that is so indicative of running a marathon.

Because I had it printed on the front of my shirt, I had heard "Puck!" at least 100 times by this point.    It's always encouraging to hear spectators yell at you, and it put a smile on my face every time it happened.  I don't know if it was the feel of the neighborhood or the beer that was obviously being consumed, but it all changed when I got to The Bronx and the local New Yorkers showed their true colors with lighthearted, but PG-13 versions, of the "Go Puck!" chant.  Among other things, I heard "Hey Puck you!" and "Shut the Puck up and run!" more than a few times, but it never failed that the inebriated spectator followed up with "You got this!" or "We love ya, buddy!"

The final five miles found us crossing back into Manhattan to run along the famed Fifth Avenue and through the lush, tree-lined trails of Central Park, ultimately finishing in front of Tavern on the Green.  Until this point, the marathon had been simply perfect in every way:  great weather, rolling hills, gorgeous streets, and extremely rowdy spectators.  If it would have finished in mile 20, I wouldn't have had a single complaint.  But running the last stretch in Central Park was, unmistakably, what made the New York City Marathon unlike anything I've ever experienced.  It's the defining moment of the entire race, and one that no other city in the world can duplicate.  I was overwhelmed with emotion as we passed some of the most pristinely beautiful acreage on the planet.  It was a finish that I can't explain and will never forget.  

With my pedestrian time of 5:30:14, the crowds and camera crews were long gone, the winners had showered and were already at dinner, the confetti canons were empty; but seeing that iconic orange and blue finish line in the distance caused my legs to buckle, my eyes to close, and every feeling I could feel come rushing out at the same time as I crossed in a dead sprint.  I've never known such an exuberant joy in my running career, and might not ever again, as people just like me officially became New York City Marathon finishers with one single step to complete the distance of 26.2 miles.  I took a bite from the Big Apple and it tasted so very sweet.  Todd, Cynthia Puckett, and Heather were waiting for me when I got back to our hotel in the middle of Times Square and we celebrated the marathon, the weekend, and life.  It was an incredible night to cap off an incredible marathon.

Such a unforgettable experience called for continued celebration and we enjoyed a great meal at an Irish Pub with our friend Michael Riha, who also ran the marathon.  For that night, it felt like the city belonged to finishers and we were right in the mix.  Sore legs and backs were trumped by the feeling of running the race as we shared our own stories of the race, stories that were unique to each of us but strikingly similar in tone:  accomplishment, emotion, and fun.  

The New York City Marathon was the single most defining race, and i'm so blessed to be just one runner amongst the 50,000 who were a part of it.  But I didn't run it solo, I ran it with every single person that has shown me such love and compassion in my life.  Please know that I thought about every single one of you in my own way, in my own time.  I never run solo, I always run surrounded by people that I love.  When I lace up my worn out shoes, whether it be for an afternoon five miler or a world class marathon, I'm always inspired to do so by people in my life.  If you're reading this now, you're one of them.  I mean that wholeheartedly.  And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for loving me for who I am:  a guy who doesn't always get it right, but desperately wants to show that love back to everybody, over and over again.

Run.