...Continued...

11 12:20
12 12:16
13 12:03
14 12:19
15 12:52

Dirty hipsters (who cheered well, God bless 'em, even if they smoked a lot) led up Bedford Ave to a DJ rapping over Jay Z and Alicia Keys. This section was pretty cool; I get to the 'hood a little bit for my job, and I had no idea folks would come out and get their party on for the marathon, but they really got into it and pumped everybody up. Then in what seemed like extremely rapid succession we hit little-Poland-like Greenpoint.

The Greenpointians were pretty well informed, as far as spectators go, and pretty vocal about being halfway there. I was kind of amazed that 13 miles had blurred by so quickly, but the crowd support remained amazing and I felt fine. I was ready for the first big bridge, the Pulaski (excluding the start, of course.)

I eased up but was again kind of bothered by runners around me spreading disinformation (which is really their problem, not mine, but it still manages to bug me.) There was some charity group or other asking one another what mile this was and answering "15!". I kind of didn't want to interfere but I had to chime in that it was Pulaski, not Queensboro, and 13, not 15, but they rightfully ignored me because it wasn't my business. Then an older, dorky, sweetheart of a guy came running past, stopped next to me, and asked, "Did you know there was a bridge here? Who put a bridge here?" He laughed and moved on, doing the same routine with a group a little further ahead. A moment later I was treated to the horrible sight of a thong / Speedo clad runner's bare hairy buttocks. I think I actually said "Ew" out loud, but at least it motivated me to power over the hill!

It seemed like no time at all passed between here and the Queensboro, two miles later. As I said before, I ran this in training and it wasn't as bad as all that. However, I didn't account for how the pedestrian walkway isn't as bad of a slope as the actual road ramp is. Nevertheless, I think I ran it smart and passed a lot of people on the uphill, including one lady who I initially lost during the bathroom break at mile 4. It seemed like a lot of wave 3 people started walking here; the walkers would only increase exponentially as the race went on. A woman to my side asked me which bridge it was, and I told her; it made me wonder, is it a hometown advantage to actually know the course? Wouldn't you have prepared enough to know which bridge is which? Or maybe she was just exhausted, or expected worse, like Joan Benoit asking where the Heartbreak Hills were. Who knows. I passed her, though.

Once the bridge started to curve downward, I psyched myself up for the crowds on 1st Avenue. I tried to cut the tangent down the loop onto 59th Street but was blocked by a walker (I found that a lot of the walkers, in their efforts to stay to the side, wound up hogging all of the tangents. At the time I was kind of pissed, as in "you don't really need a tangent if you're just going to walk it anyway," but it didn't last.)

Sadly, 1st Avenue was crazy underwhelming. It gets built up so much in everything you hear about the race, especially when you watch on TV and see the elites pass there, but by the time the middle of the 3rd wave showed up, the crowd was kind of tired and just stood there. There were still a lot of people, certainly, but they just weren't making a whole lot of noise. I had kind of been counting on it, but in hindsight it's good because I didn't go too fast and blow up here. Rookie lesson #3: Wear a shirt with your name on it. The only cheers at all came for those with a name; otherwise the crowds stood kind of glumly lined up against the barricades.

16 11:57
17 11:43
18 11:55
19 12:03

Despite the lackluster cheering section, the blocks seemed to click off here, especially because I knew I'd be seeing my boo-boo's at 102nd Street. Note the quick mile at 17 - I was psyched for my own personal cheering section! After navigating through the Poland Spring sponges or whatever at mile 16 or 17 (whose idea was that? I was kind of cold the whole race anyway and feared breaking my neck, or worse an ankle, on the detritus) and the sticky gel packets at 18 (I was surprised they still had any; THAT is a good idea, although I stuck to my Clif Blocks) I could finally see Kiernan's big yellow sign blocks ahead, followed shortly by Mr. Duffy in his Ray-bans.

I started waving like a lunatic and heard Mr. D yell, "There she is! She's coming!" I planted a kiss on both their cheeks, yelled something about being on 12 minute pace and their having 48 minutes to the next checkpoint, and moved on. I had the Duffy men bring a longsleeved tech shirt in case I wanted it, but for some reason when Mr. Duffy offered it to me I declined. I guess I felt like it would be a pain in the ass if I overheated; the wind was still making me uncomfortable but not so much I needed to bundle up like that. As I ran away toward the Bronx I thought I was kind of a pain-in-the-ass for micromanaging my team on time, but we had a plan and that was one of the only things keeping me together for the week leading up to the race, and I wanted to make sure we stuck to it.

I kept ticking the blocks up to the Willis Avenue Bridge. The crowds were much thinner and quieter here, but those who were there were still enthusiastic - there was a lady who dragged a whole sound-system out of her apartment in a red flyer wagon and was doing some spoken word thing about being there to open our minds. I missed a lot on this stretch. I passed by Patsy's and didn't even notice; I fixated on some kids playing soccer in the park off the east side around 112th; the lack of new distractions was becoming distracting.

It was here that I noticed for probably the second or third time that the race was organized in such a way that I was constantly stimulated and distracted and had no chance to dwell on the discomfort I was felling. It occurred to me how freaking lonely a small marathon would feel at this point, and I was grateful. Again, for the second or third or even fifth or sixth time during that run, I was overcome by how it seemed like everyone in the city had come out to support us along, because it was our day, and we were rock stars. I kept thinking of the cheesy but true thing Bob Glover kept saying in the Competitive Runner's Handbook - we were conquering heroes.

It was also along here that I saw my favorite sign of the whole course -- "26.2 miles - Not as easy as your girl." I laughed out loud at that one.

20 12:36
21 12:47
22 12:22
23 12:40
24 13:39

The Willis Avenue Bridge. I drive this thing a few times a week; it's a sharp slope but very small. However, I stopped to walk because I wanted to chew on some Blocks and I was feeling tired. There was a lady wearing a Boricua cape who looked like a Puerto Rican superhero; she started to talk about how she was from the Bronx and this was her bridge, and a lot of other closet Bronx marathoners started speaking up. I didn't really have the energy to talk, but it made me feel good. Once the Blocks were swallowed, I jogged up the rest of the incline and took in some of the sparse but no less energetic cheers from the Bronx crowd. As I moved on through, and past the Jumbotron, I got a little lift and started to feel a bit better, but continued to walk a little off and on because I was really starting to feel the toll of the effort by now. The crowds here were fun, including more DJs and a lot of little kids with their hands out, which made me happy. A crew FDNY lined the right side of the course approaching the Madison Avenue Bridge, and one lady jumped in with them and had a picture taken, which made me laugh.

One thing I noticed throughout was that no matter how tired I felt, I always had a little left to smile or say thank you to a water volunteer or cheer when something great was going on. And usually when I realized I had that little bit, it kicked me in the butt to start running again, or to move with more energy, or whatever. Good stuff.

I was able to move a little faster coming down the hill from the Madison Avenue Bridge into Harlem, and ran into another DJ playing James Brown. This made me cheer and move it a bit faster; a Gospel choir soon thereafter had a similar effect. I got some high-five love from a guy in a three piece suit and realized how close I was as I circled around Mount Morris Park. I felt pretty good for having just run 22 miles.

Then, 5th Avenue laughed at me.

I noticed when I hit 110th and Central Park started, and I got all excited. Then it got HARD. Everything hurt and I just couldn't keep going. I guess that was the wall; it's tough to avoid when you're confronted with a relentless uphill after running 22 miles. I alternated running and walking and noticed how great the crowd was here - thicker and louder than a lot of points prior, with more signs and love for everyone. Still, I struggled. I was kept going knowing I'd see my people again at the 23 mile marker.

Rookie lesson #4: Don't put your family at the hardest part of the race, because you'll just want to stop and go home with them. When I saw the yellow sign a few blocks away, I tried to step it up and slog toward them. I kept thinking all I wanted was a hug from my husband (there was a guy in Brooklyn and another on 1st Avenue offering hugs to all the runners -- somehow this was not nearly as appealing as curling up with my dum dums).

When I finally got to them, I repeated the kiss on the cheek for Kiernan and then Mr. Duffy, then came in for the hug. I wanted to stay. I didn't say anything, but turned and tried to keep it going. It was SO hard, because the hill keeps going until 90th, at Engineer's Gate when the course enters Central Park. Next year I'm putting my crew in the park. That was too much. I was kind of heartened when I entered - I knew it was downhill, and the thought that these are my long run and race stomping grounds was comforting - but there were still definitely some rollers to come and I didn't feel like I could handle it at that point. I barely felt like I could even jog. I walked until I saw a Brightroom guy and tried to pick it up for a good picture, but just wound up walking past.

Finally, I converted my death march into a death jog when the downhill past the Met became more pronounced. I had my head down and was just concentrating on moving when I heard someone shout my name - "Kate!" I looked up and saw another coworker, a total surprise because she wasn't there for me, just watching the race, but I had run into her at NYRR finishes in the past and knew she was currently in the midst of her 9 + 1 for next year. I waved and she yelled "Congratulations!" That gave me a jolt -- as I was looking up I also finally saw the 24 mile marker, realized there were only 2 miles left to go, and finally started to kick it in again. She saved me. Thanks Suzanne!

25 11:59
26 11:38
.2 2:27

From Suzanne, it was a downhill (it was actually Cat Hill, which I didn't realize because I was looking the wrong way.) I had planned on my traditional "Meow Kitty!" greeting to the Cat (yes, I'm weird. That's a huge part of my appeal) but realized I missed it too late when I suddenly came up on the Boathouse. I managed to power up the hill immediately after and just kept going, passing the legions of death marchers slogging through the water stop at mile 25, which I skipped, knowing it wouldn't make any difference at this point. I started seeing clean, showered, well dressed finishers wearing their medals back in the park cheering the rest of us on. I was partly touched (that is seriously awesome that you would come back and cheer for the slow people after your finish) and partly jealous (Damn! That guy had time to go home, eat, shower, get a nice sweater and come back out? Well played!) I curved out and came onto Central Park South, not really knowing how far it would be to the finish.

On CPS, the crowds were, once again, loud and wonderful. I kept looking for the NYPD Captain with the bullhorn at 7th Avenue, but he apparently retired, because he wasn't there. I noticed a few signs dropped onto the course and it passed my mind what a tragedy it would be if someone were to slip and fall and break something on one of them before the finish. I passed a lot of people and kept trucking to Columbus Circle, which I recognized as the start to the Mini 10k. Then it was back into the park and a huge sign (which I mistakenly thought was the finish for a few seconds) announcing mile 26. I started to lose it again but just kept running.

The last .2, of course, is the terribly placed hill before Tavern on the Green. I ran toward it and accepted a high five from the volunteers stationed ten feet from the line for that express purpose (imagine that volunteer title - "High five Marshall.") I ran on through with my arms extended to the side. I tried to do something more heroic but really couldn't. I think some people blocked me from the Brightroom guys. I don't care. I moved to the right and received my medal - out of all the almost losing it moments, this was another one of the closest to actual tears, but they never came. I had a picture taken with a big "I love you" sign for my men (although I think my smile might have been more of a grimace, but we'll see when the pictures get here), moved on to my space blanket, food bag, and more death marching past the baggage trucks. I didn't drop baggage on purpose, but this apparently made no difference, and it took a good twenty minutes to get to the 77th Street exit on my sad, aching feet.