5:22:16.

Oh, and Meb. Amazing.

Interestingly, although the hill up 5th Avenue caused quite a wall, I was actually exactly on my goal - 5:15 - but spent 7 minutes waiting in a port-o-potty line after the 4 mile mark. Silly rookie. Don't you know there's a huge bank of toilets without a line around mile 8? Now you do.

I guess this is race report, part 1. I don't normally do these things, but it's kind of a special event. In celebration of my Frankenstein walk, I give you a race report in multiple parts.

Pre-Start

As noted in my 5am post on race day, I was kind of, um, restless. However, all of that taper madness obsessing and planning and list making really paid off, because everything went off beautifully. I boarded the 7:30 ferry exactly as planned, freaked when I saw the Verrazano off the side of the boat, got a seat in the front of the bus, and quietly began to freak some more as we passed the marathon banners in the streets of Staten Island. It finally paid off to be a local, as I knew you exit on the opposite end of where you board the ferry; a lot of people didn't seem to get that.

Fort Wadsworth was a maddening swirl of humanity, to put it mildly. I chose to block it out and promptly found a spot on the pavement against a fence, huddled up in my 4 layers of throwaway (thank you, Mr. Duffy, for being a closet pack rat and keeping so many layers of snowboarding gear you never, ever use anymore). I spread out one of the many fleece Mets blankets we got from Shea back in the day and hunkered down to try to distractedly pretend to read the paper.

Okay, let's get this out of the way now: I didn't actually cry at any point during the day, but damn if I didn't tear up at every random interval of time. Some of the first were clearly as I approached the staging area and realized it was all real, but one of the worst was after I had decamped and started to hang some of my throwaways neatly on the fence. The first wave had started - I missed it in a port-a-john - and when I came out, I started to remove some more layers just below the bridge on the Green camp side. I could just see the mass start moving over
the bridge, and people started to applaud and wave to the runners. Some of the guys (they were invariably guys, in the very first corrals of the first wave) ran all the way to the right side of the bridge, looking down into camp Green, and waved down to the rest of us, and I was seriously overcome by how everyone here was working together and had the same goal and wanted nothing short of everyone achieving what they were here for, and would support one another to that end. Choked-up-city.

So by this point, the third wave has been called and is moving into the corrals. Having just peed, it didn't occur to me that I should subject myself to that dirty, smelly, no toilet-paper experience again so soon, but sadly that was a poor move on my part. I also didn't realize exactly how far the corral waiting areas extended, and wound up starting way far back of where I could have (I was a D). It seemed like everyone was all screwed up, anyway - it was a mishmosh of every corral letter and some lost looking second wavers. There were actually some uppity second wave ladies who insisted that I was wrong that this was the third wave. They pointed to some guy in front of them and said, "He's in wave 2. This is wave 2." I knew I was right, so it was all good, and I ended the lame ass exchange with, "Well, we all start eventually," but I kind of hated that they were all snotty when they missed their own start time. Oh well. Anyway, I should have moved up farther, but I didn't know that at the time. Lesson #1 of the first marathon.

After waiting in the corral for what seemed like hours but was actually probably around 45 minutes (I was surprisingly un-cold, due to the sardine like conditions) we finally got moving. See above re: failure to use part-a-john. I had no sense of time at this point, but the last time I had used one was probably an hour and a half before I started. Bad call! Lesson #2.

Then, the start and the bridge. Brrrr! I wore a sleeveless tech shirt for the race, and still had an old NYRR long sleeve for my final layer, and that was NOT DOING IT against the ridiculous wind on the Verrazanno. I can't imagine how windy it must have been on the upper level if it was that cold on the lower. Sadly, it was somewhat underwhelming due to the lack of view and freaking freezing uncomfortable conditions. I found myself trying to get as far to the right as possible to hide behind people against the wind. I managed to hold back on my first mile, but not as much as my pace band suggested, and ran it in 12:28.

The first several miles were more of the same, trying to hold back against the initial excitement while getting used to the cool conditions (which improved a lot off the bridge, but remained pretty goddam windy.)

Splits here:
2 10:45 (whoa nelly! No more of that!)
3 12:12
4 11:34

The green route is the redheaded stepchild that veers off into no-man's land. However, there were a few intrepid Brooklynites calling down to us from pedestrian overpasses, standing by the closed highway to cheer (all alone) and so on. Thank you, Bay Ridge! By miles 3 and four, we finally moved into the residential neighborhoods (so no more peeing on the walls of the overpasses, MEN. You know who you are. All 25,000 of you.) and I got my first taste of the hospitality and lovely, breathtaking generosity and unity of the NYC crowds. People were hanging out, handing out napkins, oranges, Halloween candy - whatever they had and thought the runners would enjoy. There were block parties and dogs hanging out on stoops with their owners and kids doling out high-fives. Good times, and only the first taste of the goodness to come.

By mile 4, I had to pee. I mean PEE. I passed the port-a-johns at mile 3 because of the line, but by 4 I figured it was only going to get worse, not better, so I got in line. A couple of ladies behind me observed that there were some more toilets across the street (on the Blue / Orange side - most of those runners had already passed by the time we got there) with no line, but we made the communal decision that by the time we got there there would, in fact, be a line and we would have been better off staying. Wrong. Someone behind us ran over there (eventually) and was done before me. I lost 7 minutes. Damn!

By the time I got back out, I was a little panicky about making up the time, but then realized I should just say fuck it and move on.

5 17:23 (including potty wait time)
6 10:58
7 11:37
8 11:52
9 11:43
10 11:55

4th Avenue has already blurred together for me into impressions of the crowd, funny signs (including the, "Do your feet hurt from kicking so much ass?" theme, for which I saw at least one sign for each borough) and passing the Eiffel Tower at some point. I remember the crowd going from good to fantastic as we turned onto Atlantic and then Lafayette, thicker and louder and just more fun, especially with the high school band kicking out the Rocky theme right before the gospel choir up the road. I passed my friend S from work, who had said he might come out to check things out, and had even made a little sign for me. That was a huge lift - my first personal spectator! I waved, called out, and hauled it a little faster up the incline before the turn onto Bedford Ave. Onto the Hasidim! And quiet disapproval.

When the dirty hipsters finally started sowing up in North Williamsburg - approaching mile 11 - I'd never been happier to see those damn skinny jeans. I actually thought the phrase in my head multiple times, "Aw, you dirty hipsters! Good to see you! The dirty hipsters are really representing! Nice tunes!" Needless to say, my opinion of hipsters has improved. A bit.

More to come...