The day of the marathon dawned and we were up super early and bussed out to Staten Island.
The atmosphere on the coach was a mixture of anticipation and heightened nerves: people feeding off each other, offering encouragement and reassurance and swapping stories about their training, their previous runs and their various injuries. I found the constant chatter quite difficult to manage, preferring a quieter approach, and was happy to sit - somewhat unsociably - pensively and silently in my seat.
I needed time to prepare mentally for the day ahead. Throughout training, I hadn't allowed myself to entertain the prospect of not being able to finish the race, I hadn't let myself think about what a serious problem the knee injury could be or what I would do if it totally gave way.
Now, I allowed myself time to think through those issues and plan what I would do in each situation, thinking about how I would start the race, how I would finish it and how I would approach the water stops, the cameras and the "dreaded" bridges.
Lining up at the start, I had a sudden rush of energy and the realisation that I COULD DO IT.
Somewhere deep down I knew it was going to be fine. This was it: one final push.
All that stood between me and glory were 26.2 measly miles and around five hours. A stereo pumped out the Jay-Z and Alicia Keys song Empire State Of Mind
In New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There's nothing you can’t do,
Now you’re in New York,
These streets will make you feel brand new,
The lights will inspire you,
Let's here it for New York, New York, New York
And then we were off.
The first two miles were "bitty": I wasn't comfortable, in a sort of nervous frenzy, I couldn't visualise finishing, I wanted to run as fast as I could but was unsure of my pace, worried about my knee. On top of that I felt claustrophobic as other runners wove around in front of me on the bridge, each looking for his own space in the shoal. Thoughts of other things going on in my life turned over and over in my head: work, love, life, death.
I needed better focus.
Coming off the bridge, we wound around a slip road and caught sight of the first supporters. One of them held a banner: "You're About To Do Something Totally Amazing, SMILE!"
And so I did.
I kept it together and smiled all the way up 4th Avenue in Brooklyn, cruising past the 10K mark in 55 minutes. The crowds were incredible, 20 people deep, clapping, shouting, whooping, offering up tissues, energy bars, drinks, donuts and sponges. A women wearing gold trainers sped past me in a blur, yelling "C'mon Brooklyn, I can't hear ya." Brooklyn yelled back riotously.
At the halfway point, 13.1 miles, on the Pulaski Bridge, which connects Greenpoint in Brooklyn to Long Island City in Queens over Newtown Creek, I felt invincible. I knew my time was fast, just shy of 1 hr 59 mins and I thought I could keep it up. I imagined myself crossing the finish line in under 4 hours!
Darkness hit me around the 15 mile mark in Queens. The bank of supporters was at its thinnest and the horrendous Queensboro Bridge loomed large. The acute pain from my knee had transferred itself to my left bum cheek and was making itself very evident. I thought I might not make it over the bridge, which connects Queens with Manhattan, passing over Roosevelt Island in the East River. It's the star of the poster for Woody Allen's film Manhattan, where Woody and Diane Keaton sit on a bench, looking out at the bridge.
I took an energy gel, a dextrose tablet, an ibuprofen and gave myself a pep talk. I remembered my mum's endless refrain when teaching me to swim: "Keep kicking, keep kicking." What came next is a blur, up 1st Avenue in Manhattan. I remember miles 16, 17 and 18 being particularly bleak: long, hard, slow, heavy-legged.
Somewhere between miles 19 and 20 I regained my stride. We crossed in to The Bronx over the Willis Avenue Bridge and a man with a portable mic was beat boxing using a mic and a portable stereo. "You can do it, put your back into it." A woman held a banner, "Run the last six miles with your heart." A second banner read "If your feet hurt it's because you're kicking ass." A third: "Pain is temporary, pride is forever."
Coming off the Madison Avenue Bridge and back in to Manhattan, an Australian woman shouted, "What's five miles?"
What indeed.
The end of the race was very emotional: I knew I was running well and was set for a good time. Suddenly I found myself transported back to the Bois de la Cambre in Brussels, where I'd first began training for this marathon. I remembered in particular one gorgeous early morning run of about four miles I'd done in May, where - after a very difficult relocation from London - I'd been able to see for the first time the benefits of my move, the wider view of what was happening in my life, and that my reasons for moving and all my hard work were coming to fruition. They were all culminated in that one run, with the sun coming up over the man-made lake in the park.
I became very circumspect and a bit teary, thinking about how and why life picks us up and drops us off at different, funny places without reason. I felt very lucky now to be dropped here, in Central Park, in this, the most glorious, sweet and perfect moment.
Crossing the line I was ecstatic, much happier than I'd been when I finished the Edinburgh marathon and with a much greater sense of achievement. I felt I could have gone further, I didn't want this fantastic feeling to come to an end.
It was - without doubt - one of the most wonderful moments of my life, something I will remember forever, I only wish I had the depth of memory to encapsulate and preserve every detail, every supporter who willed me on, every banner that made me smile and each and every runner who crossed the line alongside me.
Total Time: 4 hrs 15 mins 5 secs
Average per mile: 09:45
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