Floating in and out of consciousness, I tried to sleep on Halloween. When my alarm went off at 5 a.m., I could still hear cops shooing drunks outside. It was dark near Union Square. I went onto the subway platform to to begin one of the longest days of my life. At 22 years old, I was about to run the New York City Marathon, my first marathon ever.
On the Staten Island Ferry, I saw the early morning light begin to break. The Statue of Liberty was being photographed. I was barely awake to notice a bus ride to the runner’s village. It was all anticipation before the starting gun.
As it turns out, my sister was working the event as a publicist for her firm. She gained me access to a VIP tent where I met tennis player James Blake, and the chef of 11 Madison Park, Daniel Humm. Danny and I agreed to pace the race, at 8:00 minutes per mile. At the starting line, Mayor Bill de Blasio announced his excitement to see over 55,000 runners from 149 countries. I was in the 1st wave, which meant starting at 9:50 a.m. after the Elite Men’s tier.
The anticipation was killer. Then I heard the starting "BANG!" My wave started off slow. We walked to the narrows bridge, and began running into Brooklyn. The first mile was a breeze, it was the sixteenth that winded me. In Brooklyn, Danny ran beside me and we paced each other to Queens.
Across the boroughs there was live music, screaming fans and witty signs (“All this for a banana?”). I found runners to pace with, including a towering Italian wearing a rainbow afro. Not only was it the loudest race ever, but at each mile there were water stations, where the roads became drenched and littered with paper cups. Also, fans were handing out bananas to runners, so the path had a few banana peels to avoid. It was a live game of Mario Kart.
Fans who saw my shirt screamed, “GO SPIDEY GO!” The run was a communal effort. Every time I faltered, someone would tap my shoulder and say, “C’mon spider man, we gotta finish this.” The sixteenth mile was Queensboro bridge, a murderous uphill climb above the East River. I saw a runner on the floor. He had twisted his ankle and screamed in pain. Everything was pain at that point.
Walking off the bridge, I had to slow down. Back in Manhattan, I found myself on 59th street and 1st Avenue. It was a long haul to the Bronx, where I made it to 140th street, looped around and returned to Central Park. Fighting through the pain, I saw friends and family before finishing at Columbus Circle.
My sister met me at the finish line and handed me a medal. After adrenaline wore off my body nearly shut down. I wanted to lie down and die at first until I walked towards home. As I walked home, passersby congratulated me on completing the marathon. It was the toughest physical and mental challenge. My final time was two seconds under four hours, 3:59:58.
