Reflections on the New York Marathon

As a lifelong New Yorker, the marathon can be a disorienting experience. It’s not the closed streets and travel disruptions. Those are just a typical weekend around these parts. No, it’s the festive atmosphere, the general feeling of goodwill in the air, and all the encouragement that are so jarring to one’s jaded sensibility.

Last year was my first time covering the race. I went to Long Island City and realized that the marathon isn’t really a race. How many of the thousands of spectators care who wins? How many leave and go home once the winners reach Central Park just two hours into the festivities? None. There was a live band, funny signs, constant cheering in a steady rain. This went on for hours, and well after I was worn down by the cheer, everyone else’s spirits remained high.

This year, I went to the Upper East Side’s portion of the route. I looked for a good spot on First Avenue at 60^th Street to catch the leading women and men as they passed.

I got there early by my standards for a Sunday morning, but apparently not by anyone else’s, because it was packed. As the trams to Roosevelt Island steadily passed overhead next to the 59^th Street Bridge, I realized I would need to cross First Avenue for one of those sweet empty spots up against the railing on the other side.

A cop told me to cross at 59^th Street. As I started my trek, I did my best to not let all the extra walking around barricades and amid throngs of people get to me.

The walking was slow. I like to walk fast. But I made it across and found an open spot near 61^st Street, next to a woman who had fastened a Spanish flag to the barricade. Its bright yellow sections popped out and matched the leaves on the rows of trees going along First Avenue.

People stood on steps and benches, any spot they could get. But there was no pushing or jostling. Everyone was polite, and friendly. What was going on?

Cheers rippled up to us as a wheelchair participant approached and passed. People were coming out onto their fire escapes for good views. I didn’t see any funny signs, but a marching band could be heard a block away, adding to the party. 

There was no mention of politics anywhere. It was a nice break, even as the midterms were days away.

There was one familiar comfort: the occasional cigarette smoker, standing near me for the sole purpose of infuriating me and making sure I couldn’t comfortably breathe. And to smoke near marathon runners? Come on.

Soon enough, a small group of the leading women came and went, then the leading men passed by shortly after. It was exciting as each group approached, but it lasted just a minute, then it was done, and it was again clear that winning wasn’t what this was all about.

After the leaders passed shortly after 11 a.m., I decided to head west on 59^th to join the route near its end at the bottom of Central Park.

Crossing First Avenue, I marveled at the blocked off street. No cars! I could walk down the middle if I wanted.

Call it a kind of instant karma, but I then got into the biggest pedestrian traffic jam I’ve ever experienced as I tried to walk on 59^th Street. Some were trying to get away from the route, others were trying to come to it, as the sidewalk narrowed and too many were just standing and spectating, not interested in moving.

Few things infuriate me more than traffic, but I had to smile because of how silly the whole thing was. I was standing on a sidewalk and couldn’t move, surrounded in every direction by blocked off streets. Don’t worry, I thought, this is part of the experience. Of course, next time I’ll be sure to go up another block and walk across 58^th Street. 

 (Runners entering Manhattan from the 59th Street Bridge)

It was easier to find a good spot along 59^th Street at the base of the park. I missed the leading women but saw the winning man, Lelisa Desisa, pass by just minutes before his victory. 

That was pretty cool. But again, hardly the point. New York City loves a winner, loves the biggest and the best. But those words don’t matter as much for this particular New York spectacle.

My dad ran the marathon in 1979 and ’80, so I’ve heard tales of doing it for the challenge and sense of accomplishment. Back then, there were just over 11,000 participants, while these days there are over 50,000 every year. Now there are corporate sponsors, as would be expected.

And yes, it is the biggest and perhaps most famous marathon in the world, just the way New York would want it. But only when I finally went in person, to hear the joyful cheers for people who wouldn’t win and would never be famous, did I understand why it’s special.