Project Gold: Race 3: New York City 2022 (Part 2)

Staten Island: The Race start:

I pushed the start button of my new Garmin watch (a gift to myself for Project Gold) and we were off- running the 51st TCS NY Marathon, over Verrazano Narrows bridge. It was a colourful sea of shoes on the road, and a plethora of phones in the blue sky, as the runners captured this historic moment -with selfies and videos, including some dramatic bird’s-eye-view shots as several adventurous runners climbed on top of the median. 

The party had begun!

Once we crested the bridge, the downhill with its light breeze was like a soothing balm. Don’t get too excited, I calmed myself, it is only the start. The 30 min 5km felt controlled. As we entered Brooklyn, the party picked up. The streets were lined with supporters – house parties were on in every block, with Djs, live bands and beer. Oh yeah-we had warmed up well, or had we heated up too much? 

Exercising caution, I controlled the effort and soldiered on, over the rolling roads- all streets of New York either sloped up or gently down- what a way to discover this! Around mile 8/9, I kept my eyes peeled for my cousin Sonal and her family along Bedford Ave in the riot of faces. And there they were- I had missed them, a little behind me so I had to double back.  We did a group hug, sharing gratitude and love, took 2 photos- (the second angle was better than the first, she said) and I carried on. 

Soon, the high become a low. 

By 10 miles I was fully drenched in sweat and fatigued by the cruel heat of the sharp sun. This is when the walking began, under the guise of a crowded water station. I consoled myself, that it was alright to take these walking breaks as long as they were ONLY at every alternate water station.  It was going to be a long road ahead- and not a very pleasant one. 

2.06 at the halfway mark, not bad I thought,  I could manage a sub 4.15 at this rate. 

We left Brooklyn to enter the dreaded Queensboro Bridge. 

Literally and figuratively the death zone. 

There were no supporters. 

An eerie silence prevailed. 

The hollowness was broken only by the rhythmic pounding of the runners’ feet, a dull heartbeat.

No one was talking.

It was a long steady climb, a struggle to barely survive it until the other end. 

My spirit was sinking to an all-time low and by chance, I glanced to my left and saw a splash of sunlight on the pavement. I stopped. Climbed up. Looked left to see the Brooklyn that I had left behind and turned to admire the iconic Manhattan skyline ready to welcome me, on my right. 

A few deep breaths and I climbed down-clumsily-yet smiling. Something had shifted and suddenly all was right with the world.

Gratitude re-entered my heart. I cheered on the runners and myself, and ran the rest of the dreadful tunnel with a spring in my step (it was also downhill!).

This brief positivity was sucked out by the short but steep 59^th street bridge. 

Misery settled in and that’s when the walking on the uphill began. Then I saw the sign that was probably the most important one of the entire race, “Last Damned Bridge!” it said and I laughed out loud, high-fived the guy holding it, felt a wave of relief pass over me. They say a million people come out to cheer the NYC marathon, making it the largest event in the world. At that moment it seemed that they were all around us. The screams of the crowds, just as we entered 1^st Ave was unbelievable. Yes, I had read about it, anticipated, but not prepared for the reality of it. I felt like a star! This euphoria, with the slight downhill gave me a sense(false) of power.  Feeling invincible, I shook out my shoulders and opened my stride. Don’t get carried away- I had read in all the blogs, but I was in Manhattan, living the dream! We flew along 1^st Ave, from 120^th St all the way to 65^th St, turning at onto 5^th Ave to approach the dreaded uphill of the Museum Mile. We would pass all the famous museums and landmarks – the end was near and I had gone “phoos” again. This race had gotten the better of me. After each walk I would decide to run either a full km or at least until the next water break- but I just could not keep up. My friends surprised me when they showed up at this late stage. 

I was thrilled. 

And in tears. 

The waterworks had started. 

The crowd was deafening, packed along the streets- 5 deep. Bells, whistles, screams, shouts, clapping, chanting, and music- the crowd was giving us all that they could. 

By then my brain was dead. I had lost track of which lap I was in – gel time or date time? It really didn’t matter. Nothing could save me.

In my dejected state, as I walked, a (very sweet!) man, I guess he thought that he was comforting me said, “Koi baat nahin beta, thoda sa chal lo!” Oh man, I lost my head, shot him a dirty look and broke into a run, smack in the middle of the uphill, in retaliation. But of course, this bravado was short-lived. 

Minutes and miles went by interminably. 

On the last stretch, the fag end, last 2km, in Central Park, with supporters in either side calling out my name, cheering me on, I trudged along. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice saying, “Parul, you can do this!” I looked up and it was my oldest friend, Amee waiting to give me a hug and ask me, “How are you?”

More tears. 

“I’m dead,” I replied.

The people surrounding us saw the exchange, heard us and encouraged me by clapping and calling out my name (there was a reason I had it printed on my t-shirt!). The crowd support was just electric.

After a short burst of renewed energy, my pace dropped again. I knew I wanted to complete this race running. It took all my resolve to do so. And I did it. 

Crossing this finish lane I felt a curious jumble of emotions- disbelief, relief and elation. 

It was over.

Project Gold was fulfilled. 

Tears. 

As the medal was put around my neck, I felt its weight and fingered the undulations of the cold metal representing this amazing city. How I had longed for this moment. (Of course, I had never imagined that I would be so finished finishing it!)

This race reminded me of how difficult marathons can be, reminiscent of all the Mumbai Marathons that I had run. Each one harder than the previous. 

That’s why we run marathons.

This is a race that humbles you. 

The person at the start line is never the same as the one who crosses the finish line. 

(…to be continued)