I sprinted the last 1/2 mile, uphill to the Iwo Jima Memorial and almost threw up on a Marine.
5:22:33
(So then you collapsed)
So then I sat on the curb for a quick celebration with my friends.
(You made your friends sit on the curb?)
Howie is marine and Jennifer is a Gulf War vet. They weren’t complaining. Then it was back on the Amtrak home.
(How late did you sleep the next morning?)
I was in the pool at 5 a.m.; I was at work at 7:30.
(Pool, not bed?)
Best way to recover is to stretch out my limbs with a swim.
(But, work the next day?)
It was a marathon, not an Ironman.
(You showed up at work the next day after your last Ironman.)
Good point, never mind.
(But, how did you go to work?)
Let’s just say that stairs were not my friend that week.
Speaking of that week, I had bib pick up for the New York City Marathon. That required me showing up on a Thursday afternoon in Manhattan.
(Your “bib”?)
The piece of paper runner pin to their shirts to identify them by number. I parked around the corner from the Javits Center and hoped no cops found my vehicle so I didn’t get a ticket. I ran in and picked up my bib.
(Ran? How were you still walking four days after a marathon???)
See my above comments about swimming.
Anyway, I grabbed my free “New York City Marathon” shirt and left.
(Then you rested?)
No, then it was time for carbo loading.
(A bowl of pasta?)
Sushi boat.
(But I heard that runners are suppose to…)
I will address race nutrition another time.
Sunday, 6 a.m.- transport bus from Meadowlands parking lot. To me, this will always be Brendan Byrne Area and Giants Stadium.
We arrived in Staten Island at 8:15 a.m. Straight to the minyan tent. Then straight to the porta potty.
(They have bathrooms at the start?)
This marathon has 50,000 participants.
Now It was now 9 a.m. and my start time was 10:40.
With over an hour to kill, I wandered around the area. I walked over to Channel 2 News. “So Ironman…” the interview began.
(Why do you run in the costume?)
Little kids love it and keeps me energized. Have to admit, it’s kinda cool when the cops call me “Tony” or “Mr. Stark.”
The start of the NYC Marathon has always felt like something out of a sci-fi novel. A large field is ringed with gates. Each gate has a color, letter and number. You are assigned a gate based on your fastest mile time. My best mile was 9:09, so I was assigned to portal…
(You mean gate.)
…3F. Like cattle in a shoot, we walked. Never able to see where we were headed due to all crowd in front of us. As you turn a corner, you are standing at the foot of the Verrazano Bridge.
The NYC Marathon starts with a cannon shot and a run across the Verazanno Bridge. Through Brooklyn, then Queens. Over the 59th street Bridge to Manhattan’s First Ave. By mile 17, I started to feel fatigued, but then a pedestrian offered me a chocolate.
(So you said no.)
So I took a Snickers mini.
(And felt sick.)
And felt reinvigorated.
(You didn’t get sick?)
It was an unopened package.
(No, the candy didn’t make you sick?)
After three hours of water and Gatorade, solid food was a welcome change.
Straight up to 135th and into the Bronx. There at mile 18 my knees started to hurt.
(So you ran faster.)
No, I ran the same pace. Once again I was on track for a sub 5 hour 24 minute finish, but the pain and fatigue kicked in earlier this time.
Back into Manhattan with four miles to go…and we are running up hill.
(You must have loved that.)
By mile 24 we were running downhill. I was no longer slapping kids hands or even acknowledging, “Hey, Tony Stark!” I was close to breaking my best NYC Marathon time of 5:24:06 and I was hurting. Mile 25 and my watch said: five hours, 10 minutes.
(You still had 13 minutes…at a 12 minute pace.)
Yutz, the race is 26.2 miles! I ran as hard as I could. Now my watch said 8.5 minute pace.
Breathing became difficult. 800 meters. People in front were walking & I’m trying to yell,
“MOVE!”
400 meters. I can hear the crowd, but I can’t see the finish.
200 meters. I see the finish. Knees are screaming. Lungs gasping.
100 meters…
FINISH LINE. I grab a baracade railing and try not to vomit on the spectators sitting in the front row.
5 hours, 24 minutes, 30 seconds.
My second best finish at the NYC Marathon and I’m happy with that.
First call is my wife telling me how proud she is of me.
She still thinks I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have…
(Trust me, you have)
But sometimes you have to take on insanely difficult challenges to remind yourself that you are capable of more than you thought you could do.
Kinda like what I tell my students every day.
By David Roher
David Roher is a USAT certified triathlon and marathon coach. He is a multi Ironman finisher and a veteran educator.
