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1992
8:30 A.M. Achilles Club early start, crowd of maybe 100-150. Every Achilles participant has an official escort; Bill Kopetz accompanies me. Recent prosthetic problems hindered me from any substantial decent training. I deliberately set out slowly, determined only to finish. Chilly enough for long sleeves, gloves, but temps felt perfect once I got moving. Over V-N bridge into Brooklyn traffic, seven miles straight stretch, some spectators already, more as we turn right.
Environmental protesters provided
an interesting diversion in Brooklyn. I don't recall their issue. |
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Caroline Baldo (right) took over for Bill at the Pulaski Bridge
59th Street Bridge into Manhattan: eerily quiet except for the steady muffled clomp clomp clomp on the carpet covering the metal grid walkway. Crowd noise becomes dimly audible as we near the end of the bridge. The sound gradually crescendoes as we approach the 270° left turn off the bridge. As we spill out onto 5th Avenue, the cheers roar on non-stop. We find literally miles of spectators, especially right here, almost sure to evoke an adrenalin surge—whoohooo! In all seriousness, for marathon concerns, I consider this a peak experience.
Constant encouragement from other racers easily overrides my slight muscle tightness. Over the bridge into the Bronx, quads complaining but I'm OK. Through Harlem with music and cheers. Finally Central Park, rolling hills, some foliage still beautiful. Fatigued, sore, but still pumped. Crossing the line I get my finisher's medal, space blanket, luggage pickup—all executed seamlessly. At the reunion area, thanks and goodbyes to Bill and Caroline.
I loved this, but I would like to experience that initial crossing of the V–N Bridge with some 28,000+ people. Maybe I'll come back.
1994
The Return of the Gimp
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My friends Darryl and Montse (right) check in at Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island. We have some three or four hours to wait
As most of the 30,000 participants have to cross the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to get here for the 10:50 a.m. start, buses begin running from Manhattan's Main Library at 5:00 a.m. |
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| On the day of the NYC Marathon, Fort Wadsworth hosts The World's Longest Urinal |
Some of the 30,000 people ready to rumble
I started my chrono with the starting gun and the official clock. I noted 1:03 as I crossed the starting line. Feel that V-N bridge shake as 30,000 people cross!
Light drizzle embellished temps in the high 60's. Keeping up a good racewalk pace, I felt stump discomfort by miles 3–4. Caught the Rhino in Queens. Excellent spectator turnout.
The 59th Street Bridge, a cleverly disguised hill that does not leave me feelin' groovy. |
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Firefighters in the Bronx (above) keep up the cheers. I actually felt stronger through here—perhaps the orange slices and/or PowerBar kicking in? I cross back into Harlem (below) to hear Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now booming from the speakers. Gotta high-five the kids.
Central Park means roughly a 5K to go. Rolling hills, some foliage, crowds that will grow stronger as we approach the finish. I make an agonizing but respectable kick uphill to the finish and I hit my stop button: 5:31:03 officially. And then it caught up to me. My stump felt numb for days after. All feeling gradually returned, but until then I feared I'd caused some permanent nerve damage.
5:30:00 stands as my P.R. |
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I didn't know about German Silva's win until I saw it on the video highlights at Roseland's post-race party that night. I literally couldn't believe what I saw. Silva, running steady with his training partner Benjamin Paredes in the final mile or so, made a wrong turn into Central Park. He ran maybe 15–20 yards before realizing his error and turned around. He had to backtrack over all this distance and still caught and passed Paredes for the win. For marathon history, this has to rank as one of the most phenomenal finishes ever. And I was there! (So I had yet to reach the halfway point when this happened. Still—)
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