The Short of It: 

Finished in 3:52:00 (a personal best by 25 seconds)

Finished 9,302 out of 37,954

Finished 1,039 out of 2,910 in male 25-29 age group

What a day.  What began with a blaring alarm clock at 4:40am ended some eighteen hours later, at 10:00pm, as I finally collapsed in my own bed, exhausted and reeling. 

The “theme” of this year’s marathon was “One Race 37,000 Stories.”  (If you live in New York you’ve seen this banner around for weeks).  I knew this idea to be true, that every runner comes with his or her unique tale regarding who they are and why they run and where they come from exactly, but had all of it reinforced while simply riding the subway to the shuttle buses that would take me to the start.  There, on the F train at 5:00am I found myself chatting with two Belgians, a Frenchman who had climbed Everest last year and was now looking for a new challenge, another runner who was about to take part in his twenty-sixth consecutive NYC marathon, and the winner of last year’s Five Borough Challenge (a race within the race which pits one ambassador of each borough against the others).  In some ways we were as different as one could imagine and yet we were as similar as ever with each of us barely awake, holding our race bag, heading to the same stop, for the same purpose.  The marathon is all about diversity.  But it’s also all about commonalty. 

I arrived at the staging area in Staten Island plenty early.  I was therefore able to watch the masses slowly arrive as NBC began to report, the bands took the stage, the port-a-john lines grew longer, the nervousness grew a bit more palpable, the sun climbed a bit higher, everything became a bit louder in general.  I listened to my music, read through a magazine, and drank one Gatorade after another, leaning against the very tree I leaned against before last year’s race.  Eventually Scott showed up on his bus from New Jersey and, in a flurry of activity, we checked our bags, began to stretch, had one last bite, made sure we had everything we needed, and walked from the staging area to the starting area itself.

There, we pressed forward so that when they opened the start area we would be near the start (and not caught behind thousands of others.  The mob at the starting line stretches back so far that there were those who had not even reached the starting line yet while we were already passing mile two.)  We were pressed in line sardines, not twenty five feet from the starting line, somehow surrounded by Italians.  They were very much interested in following us, but we implored them not to, that we had run this once, but this in no way qualified us as experienced.  We said this over and over again.  We did not want to be responsible for their entire delegation.  (There must have been six or seven of them).  I’m still not so sure they understood anything we had to say.  Luckily, they decided to heed our advice and run without us.

Next came the singing of the national anthem (by the cast of Jersey Boys apparently), which everyone understood to mean that the start was imminent.  They pressed even closer to the start therefore.  Then, in a flash, the horn went and we were off.  All of us.  Finally.  I felt the bridge moving beneath my feet. 

The first few miles we were determined to remain focused and stay on pace, not allowing the spectacle that is the day to overtake us.  We tried to settle into an easy rhythm, running up the bridge, down the bridge, and into Brooklyn.  Scott and I were so committed to running a smart race, not starting too quickly (as happened last year) or hitting the proverbial wall (as happened last year).  Through miles three-nine however we felt very anxious.  I was feeling very uneasy about things from the beginning.  I hadn’t slept well at all the night before.  Scott was tight in his IT.  We felt that we had so much riding on this day and may have become caught on our own neuroses a bit.  It was far too early in the race for neuroses.  It’s one thing to feel anxious and uncomfortable at mile twenty-two, but at mile six?  I tried to chalk it all up to nerves and remind myself that I can do this.  In spite of all the angst, we continued to hit our targeted splits beautifully, which boosted confidence to be sure.  Then, seeing our people in Brooklyn, right after mile seven, with their giant “Running Rabbis” banner, gave us an even greater boost.  The whole gang was there: my parents, Matt and Jen, Jon and Jaime…

Passing through Park Slope and Cobble Hill (and later on, the Upper East Side) people responded to no end to our “Rabbi Ben” and “Rabbi Scott” shirts.  We eventually had entire packs surrounding us simply because the crowd was paying such attention to us.  Some seemed to remember us from last year.  They ate it right up with their: “You run rabbi!” and “Go Rabbi!” and “Yeah Rabbi!” or, sometimes, in a moment of sheer confusion, something as simple as “Shalom!” or “Mazel Tov!”  We basically heard it all, from runners and spectators.  I believe one or two runners asked us to pray for them. Others asked if we’re really rabbis.  (Such as a couple of Staten Island cops we ran with for the first few miles).  The Chasids in Williamsburg were too stunned to say anything at all. 

At mile fifteen, we saw our next group of spectators, which included Lisa, Limor, Brian, Jodi, the Eisenkramer’s…  This was another real boost, right when we needed it, before climbing the 59^th Street Bridge, which connects Queens and Manhattan.  Mile fifteen is almost entirely uphill, making mile 16 almost entirely downhill, and, at the end of the downward slope, the city awaits.  There’s a sharp u-turn onto First Avenue and the largest, most raucous crowd that any non-professional athlete will ever encounter.  I almost cannot describe it.  Thousands and thousands of people screaming your name at mile sixteen-seventeen-eighteen-nineteen as you run up the heart of the avenue.  Tired, but invigorated.  Fading, but inspired.  For a few minutes Scott and I couldn’t speak with one another because we couldn’t’ hear one another.  It felt like our own miniature Super Bowl.  All of our anxiety started to slip away.  We realized we were less than ten miles from the finish, in Manhattan, and right on target. 

We coasted all the way to the Bronx, through the Bronx, and back into Manhattan.  We saw our group again just after mile twenty two as we now ran down Fifth Avenue, toward the entrance to Central Park.  Here the crowd seemed twice as thick and, in some areas, the road was very congested.  I collided more than once with other runners, especially at water stations, no one really having the energy to slow down or side step.  By the time we entered the Park the pain officially arrived.  And so had the hills of course.  Last year we were forced to a walk at this point and now I remembered why.  It’s hard here!  Honestly.  But there would be no walking.  We put our heads down and just went.  We had put in far too much work, far too many mornings, far too many miles, way too many pasta dinners and ice baths and blood blisters, too many nights sacrificed, cramps endured, too many gallons of sweat to walk now.  We would absolutely not give up.  Not now. 

Those last few miles hurt but we fought along.  I thought I’d never reach mile twenty four, let alone twenty five.  I did everything I could to relax and focus.  We turned onto Central Park South at mile twenty five and pushed for the final mile, really working now to break our previous personal best.  (We knew it would be close).  That last mile seemed endless.  It always does.  People were fading left and right.  We were zipping through the crowd.  Everyone who had been over eager in the beginning we were now reeling back in, a dozen at a time.  Soon made the turn back into the Park at Columbus Circle and climbed the last half mile of the race.  (This part is entirely uphill, as if you weren’t tired enough yet).  At this point I was almost floating I was so at peace with the pain and attuned to my own breathing, the crowd, and the finish line ahead of me.  If, for the first few hours, I thought about family and work and past races and splits and the course, now I was just running.  With about a quarter mile to go I was running as fast as I could, trying to will the finish line closer. 

I hit the line in 3:52:00.  Then I collapsed into the arms of a waiting medic.  I was absolutely spent.  My legs seized.  My calves were throbbing.  My knees were burning.  My back was in shambles.  Within a few minutes, for the first time in my short marathon-ing career, I was inside the medical tent (but only for the sake of a seat, which I very desperately needed, and some Tylenol, which I needed more than desperately). 

Over the next hour Scott and I managed, very slowly, to pick up all of our belongings and make our way to the meeting spot we’d pre-arranged with everyone.  When we finally made it there, it was wonderful to see them.  It was wonderful in fact to have them there all day.  It made such a difference.  It really impacts the entire experience, knowing they’re out there – and out there for you.

I’m so pleased with this result.  It speaks not only to the power of persistence and commitment, but also the importance of patience.  And, in various ways, belief.  Because, in the end, for me, I’m realizing that all of this is about much more than running.  In supporting Team for Kids and running with them this year and supporting the Soup Kitchen last year, I learned about – and continue to learn about – the creative ways in which each of us can really move others.  Mitzvot indeed come in various shapes and sizes.  I’m certainly looking forward to continuing to think about this and reach folks in less conventional ways. 

Anyhow, thank you again for reading and always being so supportive.

 --BD                 

 p.s. Lance only beat me by 52 minutes.