Never Quit!—2013 New
York City Marathon
I've fallen far too far behind in my blogging to ever catch up. Sunday I sat by my fireplace and watched the 2013 NYC Marathon on TV. I was a bit overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia as I read facebook posts from families of friends as they wished their runners Godspeed. As I watched the drama unfold, I remembered the thrill of crossing the starting line of the previous four NYC Marathons. So I dusted off the following account of my previous journey through the Big Apple and finally got around to posting (As you read the tale, bear in mind the dates of events are a year prior to this posting).
If I make it to the
starting line, I WILL finish!
The alarm clock blinked two AM when the phone rang. I said to Sally, “That’s pretty rude;”
expecting the wakeup call at three AM.
My watch told the bad news…it really was three. In a fog of disorientation after travelling
through six different towns, I thought “If today is Sunday, this must be New
York”.
On the street around 4 AM, a “gleeful” couple invited me to help
find a liquor store. In the “city
that never sleeps,” my ‘Sunday,’ was just the unwelcome conclusion to their
Saturday activities. “Yes, this
must be New York.”
Two weeks prior, I rolled out of my hotel toward the
starting line of the Detroit Marathon. One week ago it was Arlington, VA, and my destination was the
Marine Corps Marathon. This day,
the New York City Marathon was to be the capstone for a difficult and
fulfilling year.
Sally and I raise money for Hope For The Warriors through my
participation in marathons and half-marathons. This year I attempted six marathons and three half
marathons. The New York City
Marathon would be my 70th such event in the past six years.
I reminded myself, “You’re not at the starting line yet.”
Leveling the field
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| Reedshift |
I don’t consider myself an athlete.
“I’m a participant.”
For those that don’t know me, I’m a quadriplegic.
I use a unique crank wheelchair to
‘participate’ in road races.
For
years I bragged of an unsullied legacy of last-place finishes amongst the other
wheelers. ‘Participating’ with
other “quads” (quadriplegics) is rare.
But somewhere, I caught a competitive bug.
Last year, with the help of Bertram’s Machine shop, in
Morehead City, and Crystal Coast Bicycles, at Atlantic Beach, I developed some
unique modifications to a new handcycle. Now I put to full use the few arm, shoulder, and back muscles
above my level of paralysis. I
‘participated’ in a few events with other quads. Not only was my last place legacy behind me, but often, my
competition, the other quads, were behind me too.
My greatest accomplishment was my final event last
year. At the Palm Beach Marathon, as
I entered the finish chute, I could see the winner’s tape stretched across the
finish line. As I approached, the
finish line crew hastily retracted the tape, which was intended for the runner
behind me. Nonetheless, it was a
personal achievement to have crossed the finish line ahead of the winning
runner.
The fall challenge
Early this year, that ‘competitive bug’ gnawed at me as I
registered for these three events. Each was uniquely exciting and rewarding to me. The Detroit Marathon was a physically difficult
event that included a crossing of the Ambassador Bridge into Canada and a
return via the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel. The grades of the bridge and the tunnel were no greater than
the Atlantic Beach Bridge, so I was confident of completion. More importantly, since I knew another
quad who would be there, it would be a race.
The Marine Corps Marathon has a sentimental meaning for
me. In 2006, I watched from the
sidelines for my niece to pass by. I witnessed crank wheelchair athletes for first time. With the words, “I think I can do
that,” my marathon career began.
In New York City, five bridges, including one of the longest
suspension bridges in the world, make it strenuous. A record 50,000
runners ensure a congested course, a problem for wheelers on steep downhill
streets. The biggest obstacle to
the event’s starting line, however, is its popularity. A limited field of crank wheelers are admitted
into the event. It was August
before I knew I was in.
I knew the volume of runners would be my biggest challenge. Hills slow down quads tremendously on
the uphill climb. The bigger
problem is safely maneuvering through the runners at high speeds on the downhill
side. For that problem guides are
essential.
Motown
Detroit provided bicyclists to guide the wheelers as they maneuver
in the field of runners. Many of
the guides came from the legendary Wolverine
Sports Club. The club has
trained more than 100 National Champions, 300 National medalists, and several
Olympic and Pan Am athletes. Certainly
my Detroit guides would be able to cover me at any speed I could muster.
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| Ambassador Bridge: Detroit Marathon |
Unfortunately for my ego, the other quad I expected to race
was recuperating from an injury. I
was the only quad in the field of approximately 30 wheelers. The guides were crucial to my completion.
The two longest downhill
stretches, the Ambassador Bridge and the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel were extremely
crowded. My finish time of 4:35 was
only two minutes off the self-proclaimed “quad course record” set two years
prior by my absent counterpart.
Marine Corps: paying it forward
The Marine Corps Marathon is my favorite marathon. It is tough for a wheeler, particularly
for a slower quad. The fall
colors, the national monuments, and the unique spirit Marines impart to the
race provide an unending motivation throughout the course. The first two and a half miles,
however, are uphill. For slower
wheelers, that means falling behind a thick group of runners early in the race,
making the downhills more difficult.
That day, my goal was to beat the popular benchmark of Oprah
Winfrey’s time of 4:29. On the
initial climb I was doing better than previous years. Even with a few minutes earlier start than the runners, I fell
well back into the thick of the runners by mile two.
The Marine Corps Marathon doesn’t provide guides for
wheelers. I find passing runners
who are deafened with their mp3 players blasting to be frustrating. As I wheeled down Rock Creek Parkway I
shouted at the top of my lungs to warn runners I was passing from behind. Then runners along my path started
their own impromptu guiding. Some
would run in front to clear a path, others would shout forward to runners ahead
of me.
I was amazed at what I experienced. Even in some of the most congested
areas, runners moved over. But at
about mile eight, I started hearing some confusing shouts from runners. When I started downhill and shouted
"wheels on the right," runners started shouting "wheels
left." After about a mile of
this I saw the reason.
I was close to another wheeler, AJ, who was on the left. I knew AJ from my first Marine Corps
Marathon in 2008. AJ and another
amputee, Zach, both had been “Warrior” team members in our Team Hope For The
Warriors. He wasn't being too
aggressive about moving forward through the runners. I transitioned over to the left and asked him if he wanted
to move right and work the crowd together. He said he was doing pretty well on the left. I went in front and pretty soon noticed
he was having trouble keeping up, particularly on the climbs. I would lose him and stop for him to
catch up.
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| "Guiding" for AJ |
I knew in that 2008, AJ and Zach had trouble with crowds.
A runner named Kip had spontaneously
guided the two to help them get to the finish.
I felt AJ could use some guiding this year and maybe I could
help.
From about mile nine until the
final grueling hill affectionately known to Marine Marathoners as “Iwo,” I got
in front of AJ and he followed in my ‘wake.’
Guiding for AJ was a unique experience. I was unknowingly paying it forward for
what I would receive in my next race.
I finished in 5:08, far better than any previous Marine Corps Marathon
time. Oprah's time stands
unopposed, but I felt better about this race than any previous.
The Big Apple: Getting
to the start
Four and a half hours was my goal for New York. Some basic high school physics told me that
if I wanted to do well in New York, I would need fast guides. As luck would have it, this year I was
given the opportunity to invite my own guides. It was not the last time that luck, or maybe divine intervention would play a role in
my New York experience.
In August, I contacted Heidi Tucker from Morehead City and Anne Wheatly from Beaufort to see if they
were interested in guiding in New York.
I know several others equally capable of guiding me at a fast pace. However, those that could be ready for
a November marathon were already registered and training for a specific event.
I had spoken to both the previous year about guiding but neither were available at that time. This
year, luck was again on my side.
Both were already training at distances that were compatible with an early-November
marathon schedule. Both had
expressed interest in the New York City Marathon in the past. Most importantly, both women were
sub-three hour marathoners. In
fact, all three of us held a marathon personal record time within five minutes
of each other.
I knew that I could not complete New York at their pace. But their speed would not be wasted on
me. Heidi’s and Anne’s quickness
would enable me to attain better speeds on the descents, especially in the
thick of 50,000 runners.
During the weeks leading up to New York, the two women often
trained together. As close friends
and training partners, they also solidified personal bonds that were to benefit
our run in New York. On several
occasions we coordinated training runs that gave them the opportunity to learn
how my speeds would vary with the terrain. They shifted the focus of their training to interval and
speed workouts as opposed to endurance building. In New York, there would be ample opportunities for rest as
we walked up the hills. But as
they sprinted downhill, they would not be avoiding runners; they would be moving runners to clear a path.
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| For the first time I had an opportunity to train with NYC Marathon guides2 |
We discussed logistics of the race by email and in
particular the AWDs (athletes with disabilities) divisions. I wanted Heidi and Anne to understand
unique issues associated with transportation to start. Sally
would meet us at several locations along the course and she could assist us by positioning
clothing, drinks, and energy foods.
Bruce Gentry, at Crystal Coast Bicycles, had helped get my
handbike as ready as possible. I
had new tires and new cables on the shifters. With spare tires and tools, Sally and I prepared for our two
and a half week, three-marathon trip in mid-October. By race day in New York, it was a relief to have all of those
preparations behind us. I have always
said of a marathon, “The 26.2 miles in front of me is not the hard part. It’s the 1000 miles behind me that were
difficult” (in this case the 1000 preparations too).
Some things you can’t
prepare for
The New York City Marathon is a point-to-point race renown
for a course that takes runners through all five of the city’s boroughs. On the day of the race, 50,000 runners
were transported to the start, mostly by bus or the Staten Island Ferry. At just before 5 AM I met Heidi and
Anne at the “AWD loading zone,” in mid-town Manhattan. The pre-dawn light of Fifth Avenue street
lamps and bus headlights cast a criss-crossing maze of shadows over the growing
gaggle of wheelchairs, racing chairs, crutches, and canes as the congregation
of AWDs grew.
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| An exercise in logistics |
We were all buzzing with the excitement of race day as I was
loaded onto one of the first busses.
Seated in my crank chair, I was picked up by the transportation workers who
loaded me onto the bus alongside half a dozen or so amputees. Heidi and Anne were getting settled in
one of the passenger seats as were other guides. In the well-lit interior of the bus, it was then that I saw
“the look” on their faces. In all our discussions of the AWD division
of the race, the abbreviation “AWD” had become a euphemism for the very stark
spectacle now before their eyes.
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| Athletes with disabilities on the bus to the start. |
Though fleeting, the look that flashed across their faces
was that same “oh my gosh” look of disbelief that I saw on the faces of my
friends 35 years ago.
Then they
first looked on
my disabled body
after I had broken my neck.
It was
the same look I had seen on the faces of previous guides when they first laid
eyes on the multitude of AWDs in one place.
Nothing these ladies had imagined had prepared them for the
hodgepodge clutter of prosthetic devices, missing limbs, scars, and every
conceivable form of adaptive conveyance that was scattered in front of them.
As we bounced along FDR Drive, the sky clung to the last
remnants of darkness like a gray backdrop to the Brooklyn skyline reflecting
off the East River. The scene was
accentuated by the lights of the Williamsburg and Manhattan Bridges. All the while the chatter and
conversation grew amongst the athletes and guides. One Marine amputee took an interest in Anne’s stories of extreme
trail runs while another shared with us stories of rehab at Bethesda and the
“frat house” lifestyle they enjoyed during their convalescence. The ice was broken.
Only 26.2 miles left
to go
We arrived at Staten Island around six AM and made our way
through the growing sea of runners assembling throughout the east end of the
island.
The weather was falling
short of the promised temperatures in the upper 40s to lower 50s and abundant
sunshine.
The 15-20 mph winds
would be bitter while we crossed the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, but we hoped for
comfort from the sun as New York’s tall buildings blocked the wind.
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| Organized chaos |
We waited in a tent in an assembly area for the AWDs. I had brought a breakfast with me
consisting of boiled eggs, Fig Newtons, and milk. Anne and Heidi were taking in the strange spectacle around
them. They asked if the other
guides met their athlete before the race.
“It seems like there is not a lot of mingling between the guides and
their athletes,” Heidi observed.
At about that moment, Adam, one of my guide runners from a 2011, stopped
by. We embraced and chatted for a
few moments before he had to depart to locate his athlete. I explained to Heidi that our
opportunity train together was truly a blessing. Many of the guides were from the New York area but the
athletes come from around the world.
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| My former guide, Adam and I reunited |
"I always took the time to try to get acquainted with my
guides in advance via email,” I explained. “But it has always been the weekend of the race that we met
face-to-face. Usually I arranged
to meet for a warm-up run in Central Park.” But the race always solidified our friendship. “The bonds of friendship forged in the
fires of a difficult endeavor are strong enough to endure a lifetime,” I later
explained. Indeed, the bonds
between these two friends were growing as they were amongst the three of us. Later in the day I would appreciate the
value of those bonds to the endeavor that lay before us.
At 8 AM the AWDs and guides were called to stage short of
the starting line. The trip was
probably about a half mile from our area.
Nearly entire trip was uphill.
We got our first taste of the warm New York reception in for us. Runners awaiting their turn to start
stood as we passed and welcomed us with applause. At the approach to the starting line, we were personally welcomed
by Mary Wittenberg, the President and CEO of the New York Road Runners, the
host organization for the marathon.
We were also greeted by an NYPD Police Chief and numerous other
dignitaries. It seemed as if we
had just stepped out of the celebrity tent.
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| Like everything else about the NYC Marathon, the first bridge is overwhelming |
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|
The view from the starting line was intimidating. There was nowhere to look but up. The Verrazzano Narrows Bridge in front rose to a height of
250 feet. The towers rise to a
height of nearly 800 feet. It was
a mile to the top of the roadway. Even
higher overhead two NYPD helicopters circled the bridge to protect us from the
unthinkable.
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| Windy, raw weather for the slow climb |
The starting horn sounded, but the start was anti-climatic.
It was a slow uphill roll off the line
and a long climb to the top.
The
weather reports were right about the winds and the temperature but there was no
sun to be seen.
The wind on the
bridge was raw.
I got a good
workout on the climb but Heidi and Anne were freezing.
They were dressed to run.
Their work would begin in a few
minutes.
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| New York harbor |
The Verrazano Narrows Bridge is normally off limits to
pedestrians.
This event is the
only time one can enjoy the views of the New York Harbor, Statue of Liberty,
the lower Manhattan skyline, and the majesty of the bridge itself as a
pedestrian.
And even during this
event, only the guides and the slower AWDs are able to linger over the
unfettered views.
For other
runners, the roadways are too congested to stop and sightsee.
The three of us took it all in as I
ground my way up the first mile.
As we neared the top of the span, a stir of activity behind signaled
that the race was getting underway for the professional women.
Before we started our first downhill run, I asked Heidi and
Anne to run ahead to warn the other athletes and guides in front to move to the
left as I passed them. The professional
women had just started. The elites
were about to pass us on the right side of the bridge. Heidi and Anne were about to have the
rare chance to run alongside some of the fastest professional marathoners in
the world on the left side of the bridge.
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| On the downhill side. Anne and Heidi are behind me in the bright green shirts. Elite women are on the left. |
The two women took off and sprinted down the bridge.
Professionals Deba Buzunesh and her
training partner, Tigist Demisse, had already stepped out in front of the lead
women.
It looked as if Heidi and
Anne were the only women who dared to give chase.
I topped the crest of the bridge and was buffeted badly by
the wind down the second mile.
I
passed Heidi and Anne near the bottom of the span and rolled into Brooklyn at
the bottom of the bridge.
Crowds already
lined the streets.
It seemed the
AWDs and guides were getting as much attention as the professionals.
A handmade sign read, “We love
you!”
A spectator shouted at the
top of her voice, “Welcome to Brooklyn!”
The intensity of the welcome never diminished throughout the day.
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| Brooklyn loves you! |
Brooklyn
Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn comprises about six miles of the
course. The street is lined with
homes, shops, apartments, and on Marathon day, spectators. Heidi and Anne caught me about mile
three. They were emotionally
pumped up after running alongside the elites. We were also sheltered from the raw wind biting at us on the
bridge. I crawled up the hills and
flew down the hills. We, the other
AWDs, and guides had the course to ourselves. Our pace was good; we were well ahead of my position for
this time in my previous NY races.
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| NYC Marathon icon Sister Mary Gladys |
We caught up with my favorite NYC Marathon icons, Sister
Mary Gladys.
I slowed to chat with
her and her guides as she cranked her way up one of the hills of 4
th
Avenue.
Sister Mary has completed
29 New York City Marathons and is still going strong at the age of 81.
She once participated on foot, but now,
as she puts it, “My knees aren’t doing so well.”
The crank wheelchair has become a blessing for Sister Mary
as it has for me.
Farther up 4th Avenue we passed the 10K timing
station. I recall our time being
around 1:15. My GPS was not
charged up so I did not record my timing.
The time was good since it included the time it took to cross the first
bridge in a nasty headwind.
At mile eight we paused briefly to meet Sally. We also met Geeta and her new son, Avi,
who is the same age as Heidi’s younger son. Geeta had been my guide two previous years. This was my
first opportunity to meet Avi. Geeta
expressed her admiration of Heidi’s return to the marathon.
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| Molecular biochemist, marathoner, former guide, and dear friend Geeta and Avi |
The girls handed off their jackets to Sally. I took in some quick energy food and we
launched quickly hoping to retain our pace. I told Heidi and Anne that we were about to share the road
with fifty thousand runners. “Keep
an eye open behind for the elite men,” I told them.
New York uses three separate courses for the first eight
miles of the Marathon. We were
just a few blocks short of the spot where the courses converge. In previous years, the elite men had
passed me around mile seven. This
year it was around mile nine. It was
another sign we were doing well.
The men came flying by as I was bogged down on a slight incline. Heidi and Anne used the opportunity to
release some of their pent up energy.
Once again, they sprinted ahead alongside the pros. When we rejoined, they were unanimous,
“That opportunity, by itself, was worth the trip,” as Heidi put it!
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| Anne running beside the Pros |
Bad luck lay in wait for me around mile nine.
Heidi found a piece of paper stuck to my
left tire.
She removed the paper, sensing
it was annoying me.
Unbeknownst to
us, the paper had a staple attached. The staple was now embedded in my tire.
Our pace was about to pick up.
We took off up Bedford Avenue, and
finally Heidi and Anne had a chance to get in some running.
The elevation drops slightly; perfect
for me.
As more and more sub-elite
runners passed us, the congestion on the streets began to increase.
Occasionally, we got a long downhill
stretch clear of runners and a chance to take off.
Heidi and Anne would catch me on my next uphill climb.
We made good time through Williamsburg
until about mile 12.
Trouble in Queens
After one long downhill run, I began to hear a lot of noise
from my left tire. Heidi took a
look and said, “It’s flat.” She
found the staple from the piece of paper she found back at mile nine. I continued on the flat tire to mile 13
but I was being excessively cautious as I took corners. I didn’t want that tire to come off the
wheel.
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| Has the fun come to an end? |
The Pulaski Bridge joins Queens and Brooklyn.
It is also the halfway point in the
race.
Our time was a little over
two hours at that point.
Even on
the flat tire, we were doing better than I had hoped.
We stopped at the foot of the bridge where we could talk and
started to put together a plan.
I
felt I could drag the tire along for the rest of the race, but that was not a
very wise idea.
Sally had my spare
tire and was supposed to meet us
anyway at mile 16.
The originally planned spot was the Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge.
Anne called Sally and asked if she could
meet us on the
east end of the bridge instead.
If she did, then we only had to go about two miles further on the flat and I
would wheeling a good tire across the bridge.
Our little team drug our way through Queens, stopping
to check with race officials to see if any assistance was available.
No joy. We were on our own.
Our only hope was meeting Sally with the spare tire. We continued our progress, be it only a slow grind.
At the east end of Queensboro Bridge, our optimism was as deflated as my tire. There was no Sally.
Without a tire, this was potentially going to be either a very long day or a very short one. Regardless, forward motion was critical so we continued our way up
the bridge on the flat tire. We were heading in the direction I thought Sally would be coming from.
Confusion also played our mindset. The west end of the bridge is where we had originally planned to meet Sally. I assumed she would just walk over the bridge heading east. After the phone message from Anne, garbled by background noise and cell-phone-grade audio quality, Sally asked a New Yorker for directions to the east end of the bridge.
Cultural differences played into the confusion. Living in a rural environment most of my life, I would opt to walk anywhere I had to go if it were a mile or closer. The New Yorker, however, directed Sally to a subway to take her beneath the East River to The Queens end of the bridge. As Heidi, Anne, and I trekked upward and westward, Sally emerged from the subway behind us, waiting for us to arrive.
Most runners overlook the challenge posed by the Queensboro Bridge.
At a point in the race where the miles are beginning to take their toll,
this formidable beast rises high over the East River. Fifteen miles
beyond the excitement and adrenaline of the start lies one of the most
difficult challenges of the race. Runners climb to nearly the
height of the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge, but in only half the distance. On the
downhill side, bales of hay line the turn off the bridge into the
streets of Manhattan. Wheelers quickly recognize those hay
bales are there to mitigate the consequences failing to heed one's speed in a steep turn.
Crossing the bridge, high above the
screaming throngs that lined the streets below, runners find an eerie
quiet. The hauntingly muffled pitter-patter of thousands of sneakers on the steel grate is mind numbing. It is a time of introspection for many, when the aches, pains,
and stress of a marathon play their horrid tricks on the mind. Having drug a flat tire for five miles, the difficult climb and the raw conditions were wearing on my mind, too. Cold was sinking in again. Not only had the weatherman forecasted non-existent sunshine,
but it was now starting to sprinkle. Atop this steel pathway, the wind was bitter.
Certainly, my enthusiasm was at its nadir. Was this how the race going to end for us? Was months of training by myself and these two women going to be wasted? All because of a mere staple? I was trying to decide the best strategy. I also pondered ‘plan B.’ I told Heidi, “In the event I have to
DNF (do not finish), I will drop out and link up with Sally. You and Anne continue ahead and connect
up with the next AWD you meet and continue guiding with them.” These were not words I wanted to say
and not words Heidi wanted to hear.
High above Roosevelt Island, a few rays of sunshine seemed to signal that our bad luck had run its course. Heidi spotted Sally
behind us, jogging to catch us. From her vantage point on the ground, Sally had spotted us, specs about halfway up the bridge. Anne jogged back to meet her while Heidi and I continued upward across
the bridge. Sally and Anne caught up with us near
the top of the bridge.
I'll take Manhattan
Because of the bitter conditions up there, I made the
decision to continue on the flat and try to find a place out of the wind on the ground to do our work. I began to
coast downhill and rolled out ahead of Heidi, Anne, and Sally. At the bottom of the bridge, directly
in front of me was a sight that was so unbelievable, I had to stop and
stare. A policeman walked over to
see if I was OK. “Is that a bike
shop?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I
was hallucinating. The policeman assured me it was real.
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| Never a more welcome sight |
I coasted over to the sidewalk in front of the bike shop
while the policeman stepped inside to ask if they could fix the flat. Sally, Heidi, and Anne caught me in a
few minutes. Now there were four
who were dumbfounded by our luck.
Not only was the tire about to be fixed, the buildings sheltered us from
the wind. To top off our good
fortune, the sun appeared with its overdue warmth. Anne attributed our good fortune to her best fans, her mom
and dad; now angels watching over us.
Indeed, in the warmth of that spot and amidst the reception of our new
neighbors, at that moment I felt as if I might be back in Beaufort.
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| Not exactly a NASCAR pit crew, but exactly what I needed |
|
The first attempt with a new inner tube was unsuccessful. Even though the bike shop guy checked my
tire carefully, when he inflated it, the new tube exploded with the crack of a
gunshot. Did I mention the nearby
policemen? As they walked over to
check us out, Sally thanked them for not drawing their side arms. On the second try, Sally's spare tire
and a new inner tube did the trick.
We were back on the road. We
had lost about an hour and a half by being slowed by the bad tire and the ensuing
stops.
A whole new game
At mile 16, the course runs northward up 1st Avenue in
Manhattan. It is one of the uniquely 'New York' aspects of this marathon. Runners are rousted from their quietude on the Queeensboro Bridge as they turn onto 1st Avenue. The contrast is electrifying. New Yorkers lining the streets screaming to cheer on the runners provide a jolt of energy that is non-stop through the end of the race.
As we rolled out with new rubber, our relative calm at
the bike shop was replaced by the deafening screams of millions of spectators packed
along the entire street. The tall
buildings reverberated the roar of the crowds and the bands. “Toto, I think we’re not in Kansas any
more,” I told myself. Just before they stepped onto the street, I reminded Heidi and Anne that their work was about
to begin in earnest. After our
delay, more and slower runners were going to be in front of us. Their job was about to become much
tougher. However, what I was about
to witness, was when the going got tough, the tough got tougher.
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| Finding room to roll amidst the crowds |
Almost immediately we hit a downhill stretch amidst a throng
of thousands of runners packed shoulder to shoulder. It was far too noisy to communicate by voice. I was having no problem keeping up with
the two. They sensed the downhill
grade and pushed forward. Heidi,
being taller, and hence, more visible, took point and raced up ahead. Anne ran just to the side of my front
wheel. The technique they
improvised worked amazingly well.
Heidi plowed through the crowds, I followed in her wake, and Anne screened
me with the ferocity of an offensive tackle, zealously guarding the space that
Heidi had opened.
All three of us shouted ahead to clear the runners. At water stations we moved to the center
of the street and slowed to a walk.
We used this technique for the rest of the course. On the uphill grades we slowed and
Heidi and Anne would catch their breath. On the downhill sections, they sprinted flat out. On a few spots where I caught a long
open stretch, I would pass them and crank flat-out.
It seemed like only minutes later that we left Harlem and started
up the Willis Avenue Bridge. I had
just witnessed an amazing transformation.
Before the flat tire these two ladies had not been challenged by our
race. They had enjoyed the sights
and the experience, but in terms of flexing their muscles, they were itching
for a run. Between mile 12 and 16,
we were held back by the flat. But
after mile 16, there was nothing holding us back except the crowds. New York is the world’s biggest stage for a marathoner. Both were eager
to make the most of their debut.
Anne is an accomplished runner and marathoner. She established her prowess on the
dominant NC State University Women Cross Country team. In 2009 she placed second in the women’s
open division at the Shamrock Marathon.
She finished that event in 2:52, only 48 seconds behind the first place winner. But injuries and the recent loss of
both her parents made her set aside marathon aspirations. The New York Marathon had been one of
those aspirations. Getting back onto
the course with a close friend like Heidi in a non-competitive role like
guiding turned out to be the perfect emotional boost. “It was so much more than a race for me, it was a way for me
to start placing the pieces of my life back together,” Anne reflected.
 |
| Marathoners Heidi and Anne |
Heidi, too, was ready for a comeback after a hiatus from the
marathon.
In her first marathon
attempt 10 years ago, she surprised herself by qualifying for Boston.
After Boston she ran 12 more marathons
with a personal record of 2:57.
Bringing
two baby boys into the world changed her lifestyle completely.
Like Anne, marathon training and
aspirations took a back seat in 2009 to the commitments of her family.
“When Paul offered this opportunity, it
was just the push I needed to get back into the marathon,” Heidi shared.
Bronx: Get ‘er done!
 |
| Finally things were going well. |
At mile 20 we crossed the Willis Avenue Bridge into The
Bronx.
The two women running before
me were on a mission.
They had
transformed into a people-moving machine that tore through the streets of New
York at a breathtaking pace.
It
was amazing to see their responsiveness to each other as they found the path of
least resistance.
At times I was
hesitant to exert all-out in such a heavy crowd, but the two never once let me
down.
It seemed the faster I went,
the faster they would clear the path.
“I think Anne and I surprised ourselves with the way we were able to
plow folks out of the way and with how much of a thrill we got doing it,” Heidi
later reflected.
I never guessed
how much of a role their close friendship would play in the success of our team,
but as Heidi put it, “…whatever it is we do, we want to do it the best we
possibly can!”
 |
| The final mile |
Of my four trips down Fifth Avenue, the last few miles of
the race, I have never felt such a boost of energy.
I enjoyed the race so much at that point I was tempted to
slow down and savor the last few miles.
But on the heels of Heidi and Anne, with millions of screaming New
Yorkers lining the streets, our trio entered Central Park and cruised through
the crowds to the finish line.
Success?
In retrospect, I could not have asked for more out of this
marathon. If I had not succumbed
to the flat tire, at the speeds we tore through Manhattan, we would have beaten
the 4:30 goal I set for myself.
But absent the added challenge, I don’t know that that I would have
pushed myself as hard. Or if Heidi
and Anne would have either. Once
we hit the streets after our delay, there was new purpose in their steps and a
more focused, shared determination in our hearts.
It was not the New York personal record I had hoped
for. Our time was 5:41. Either of my guides could have easily
run this race almost two hours quicker.
But their speed had its effect. After significant delays, we made up enough time in the most
congested miles of the course that our time was within six minutes of my PR for the course!
Both Heidi and Anne were moved by the experience working
with AWDs. Heidi credits the
experience with, “opening my eyes to what it takes for an AWD to not only get
to the starting line but also what it takes just to get through the course. It was incredibly humbling and
motivating to be around such an upbeat and determined group of people.” For Anne, the experience was spiritual;
she drew on an inner strength derived from the memory of her parents. “From
this experience I now stand tall on my own two feet; for the first time as a
true adult and I'm facing the sunshine. I know that my family extends so much further past its
physical characteristics. I know
that I will never truly be alone.”
 |
| After the race the two gals savor a hard-earned accomplishment |
For me, the experience was an undeniable success.
If I had to recap the sum of the
experience that day, I would have to recant Anne’s insightful words:
“When God gives you a flat tire, just
keep peddling until you find the bike shop at the end of the bridge.”
Words we can all live by.
2008 Miles of Hope
With the help of my beloved wife, Sally, and support from hundreds of great people like Anne and Heidi I have been fortunate enough to complete 77 marathons and half marathons. This is my way of raising money for and awareness of a great cause,
Hope for The Warriors. Hope looks out for our Nation's wounded service members, their families, and the families of the fallen.
The
world in which we live and the freedoms we enjoy would be vastly
different without the dedication and sacrifice of our nation’s service
men and women. We owe them so much. Freedom is not free.
Please help with a donation to my fundraising campaign. All the money we raise goes to
Hope For The Warriors. Learn about the great things they do.
Please make a secure online donation at my donation page:
2008 Miles of Hope donations page.
