Running the marathon was the primary purpose of this trip to New York.
It was a tough day at the office but the harder ones, and overcoming thoughts of quitting, are the sweeter ones once they are eventually done.
At the 5 km mark I was toast. It just happens sometimes, there’s nothing predictable about the marathon. Although, in this case (humble brag warning), running a second marathon within a month probably had something to do with it, particularly as a good proportion of the month was taken up celebrating the first one.
New Yorkers know how to put on a show. Rather than a starters’ pistol there is a starters’ howitzer! Brooklyn is transformed into essentially a 12 km long block party. When you get onto the Queensborough bridge and see the dense jumbled Manhattan skyline, pain sensations confused with endorphin rush, you can’t help but feel something existential moving within you. And then the roar of supporters as you exit the bridge and take a sharp left onto First Avenue …you would have to be a cold fish indeed not to get goosebumps.
The Bronx smells like a garbage truck interspersed with some pretty wicked skunk. It’s here and in Harlem that you have the best bands with searing pitch perfect black female voices that pierce the chest. Why would you not embrace this enriching aspect of your culture and national identity?
Running a marathon brings many personal insights. For example, that after all these years ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ is worth another listen.
Time for a few beers.
