“I tried to soak in as much as I could. In fact, the fear of forgetting this very moment was something that motivated me to write this article. I know sometime in future this memory will get muddled with other things in life, and though my brain would tell me that it has done a good job remembering the day, I would just know that it hasn’t. A detail, a memory, precious to me today, will be forgotten without me even realizing it. Preserving those memories into these pages, to one day show my brain of its imperfections, and together finding a piece that has been forgotten over years, probably propelling a pure smile, is the only reason I am writing this.”
Days before the Marathon
Driving back extremely tired out of the Waveny Park in New Canaan, Connecticut, I had many salt lines on my t-shirt but a faint smile on my face. It was two weeks before the New York City Marathon and I had just finished my last long run. I had managed to run 22 miles in 3:17, and unlike the previous long run I did not massively dehydrate myself. Today, I crossed the dreaded mile 20 mark with a certain amount of spring left in my legs and this gave me a serious hope of finishing the Marathon within my targeted time of 4 hours.
I had run two marathons before this, The Brooklyn Marathon (4:35) and the Chicago Marathon (4:15) both in 2022. For the Brooklyn marathon, which was my first ever, I had a single goal in mind — to finish — so the time did not bother me much. But when it came to Chicago, I went in with a better sense of what a good marathon time is and hoped to do it in sub-4. With Chicago’s flat course, and my enhanced level of experience after a grand total of one marathon, I thought this should be doable and within reasonable level of pain.
But I was clearly wrong.
Back In Chicago, I completed 20 miles in about 3 hours and from a solely statistical perspective was well on track of finishing the race within 4 hours. Little did I know that my physical and mental state were about to go into absolute nosedive at about mile 22. I practically stopped after 3:15 hours of running and walked most of the last 4 miles and took about an hour to do so.
That night I laid down with my medal and bunch of congratulatory messages on my phone, I felt grateful for the astonishing experience of Chicago Marathon and how the last four miles marred it all.
So, the one goal I had in mind for my next marathon was to not walk. I knew if I could do that sub-4 will be very achievable.
That is why, the relatively comfortable 22 mile run at the Waveny today was the source of that subtle smile. It didn’t last long though.
I had watched the whole Chicago Course on YouTube multiple times but was never able run on it before the race. This was not an excuse for New York as I live 40 mins away from the actual course and have done more that 10 races in and around the city over last 2 years. So was generally aware of the area and its feel. Still, I wanted to run on the exact course, and that was my plan for the two weekends a month before the marathon. Doing about 10 miles a weekend.
During one of these runs, on the sidewalks of new York, I started feeling an annoying pain running along the shin of my left leg. With every impact there was a new wave of pain. It was not unbearable but to my greater concern it was new and unfamiliar. I finished my remaining run with a very slow jog, tried to store every elevation and twists of the central park in my head, and ran till the point where the finish line would be.
That pain however, lingered around while I drove back home and during the night. Next morning however to my great pleasure there was no pain. I was able to walk without feeling anything, I decided to give myself two days of rest anyways just to put a bow on the recovery. Two days passed, recovery happened, and that pain was forgotten, only to return after my 22-mile-long run at the Waveny park today. After the run although I was happy that I managed to stay hydrated and in good spirits, this returning pain made me question my call of doing the long run only two weeks before the marathon.
I tried staying positive, but this time the pain was sharp, still bearable, but stubborn. I went home, reduced time on feet, slept, and next morning, the pain was still there. I decided to give myself two days of recovery time again, which this time did not work. Although the pain was reducing, but there was a small wave running through my shin even while walking. So, I dared not to run, thinking that it might make it worse. It was anyways taper time, so during the following days I was kind of able to stick to my training schedule despite the pain looming in the background. This was my biggest worry going into the marathon though.
The Day of the Marathon
I woke up at 3:49AM, picked my phone up, stared at it for few seconds before hitting stop to turn off the 3:50 alarm. Got out of the bed, put a potato to boil in the pressure cooked brushed my teeth and used the restroom. The morning I have been thinking about for weeks was here.
I woke my wife up, ate a banana, packed the oats and pasta I prepared last night along with the potato I just boiled in three different boxes. Made myself a rather salty lemonade, did check of all the essentials and at around 4:40 we started our drive to the New York City.
While driving, there were very few cars on the road, and it was still a black sky with a hint of crimson red starting to appear at the horizon.
I finally got a chance to evaluate how I was feeling. I had slept well and woke up with no hint of tardiness. I had enough butterflies just to make this day memorable but not cause any nausea. As I started thinking how my body felt, the pain in left shin called out almost like answering to a roll call, letting me know that it was still there. I acknowledged it but ignored its request for attention, I just kept on going through my mental checklist.
Time, whether, stomach, mind all was looking good for now.
We had to catch the famous Staten Island ferry from the southmost point of Manhattan. Our targeted time was 6:30, but due to the marathon traffic near the ferry terminal we could only take the 6:45 one.
The ferry terminal had long big banners of the marathon and every screen at the terminal had something motivating to say. There were volunteers all around ringing bells and welcoming the runners. My eyes already started to glitter in awe. I knew that this was going to happen but wasn’t expecting to it to start so early.
We boarded the ferry at 6:45AM and was impressed by the size of it. It was three-story tall with many restrooms, a snack bar, and a seating capacity of 4500 passengers.
There were bunch of race volunteers on the boat, gleamingly announcing to look left to see the Statue of Liberty. There were many foreign runners, visiting New York city for the first time. There was a resounding wave of applausive gasps and many camaras started pointing through the left window. Though me and my wife had seen the Status many times from the borders of Brooklyn, Manhattan and Jersey but we never got a chance to go the Liberty Island to watch it up-close. So, this was the closest encounter for us too.
The 30 mins ferry ride was very smooth, and the collective excitement inside was slowly taking shape, almost like building into something bigger. As the start line approached closer, all the brains around slowly started to think about the same thing. The start.
There were all sorts of people sitting around us wearing their throw-away cloths. There were guys in pink bathrobes, ladies with furry slippers, someone wearing pants with paint spots, and they all looked like a bunch of happy homeless people. These were temporary pieces of clothing to protect us from the cold and wind before the marathon start. I looked no better, I was wearing a pajama from my 12th class, an over-sized full sleeve t-shirt over a torn thermal vest, with a monkey cap and a pair for worn out gloves I didn’t know I had till last week. Also, I was wearing the shoes from my very first marathon, which I was going to replace with new shoes at the start village. All this was going to get thrown away at the start line, and I didn’t know yet how I felt about it.
I took my oats and some of the pasta and potato. And was already going through my third water bottle of the day while we were sitting in the ferry.
The ferry parked itself at the Staten Island terminal. As we slowly started to walk out of the ferry we heard the loudest roar of the morning yet. The terminal was jam packed with the volunteers shouting at the top of their voices, blowing horns, and ringing bells. There were sirens blaring. All this was quite enough to make few of the people around to start dancing and grooving in happiness. It was a kind of moment where you feel an involuntary urge to pull the phone out of your pocket and start recording. And that’s what my wife did.
There were lines of buses outside the ferry terminal ready to take us to the start village. Every couple of minutes a streak of buses was departing and a new empty ones will line themselves up for more runners to board up. There were many points that day when I was impressed by the logistical grandeur of this things, and this was one of them.
Before boarding the bus, I handed over the things I was not going to carry to the start line to my wife, and this was the point from where she was to return to Manhattan. We bod each other farewell, I boarded the bus to the start, and she took the ferry back.
I was not carrying my phone, so the hope was that she’ll track me through the race and meet outside the central park at a pre-decided stop after the race. The hope was also that she will track me through the race, and we will be able to see each other during the race at couple of points. We had decided where we were going to meet but honestly, I was very skeptical to see her during the run as there were about 2 million people on street that day, and for any of us to spot the other was almost as probable as hitting the bull’s eye in dark.
It was another 30 mins bus ride to the start village and the final one for the morning. I deboarded the bus, went through the security check and finally enter Fort Wordsworth — the start village of the TCS NYC Marathon.
I knew in about an hour I will fully be engrossed in my running, thinking about the miles and timing and the legs and the heart. So, I decided to take couple of minutes to just stop and look around and take in as much as I could.
I could not do it, as I am just a human, but if I were a bird, or a drone, or one of the thousand autumn fall leaves flying that day, capable of zooming out and looking at all this from a distant height. I am sure I would see a sea of people in colorful clothes, each executing their own carefully crafted morning plans which they had been thinking about for months. Finding way to their corrals, lining up for restrooms and drink stations, eating breakfast, lying down on the grass, sleeping on garbage bags, sitting on the curb, reading newspapers, stretching, jumping, talking, laughing, breathing, living.
I felt grateful to be capable of doing this, and then went off to start executing my own plan.
It was 8:30 and my start time was 9:45. I found the shortest restroom line and joined that. There were loudspeaker announcements in English and for some reason German blaring across the park, adding to the festivities and parting general information like reminding runners about their start times, directions etc.
The elite runners were about to start their race and there was a particular interesting announcement that caught everybody’s ears.
“Athletes are about to start their race, in some time you will hear a cannon fire, please don’t be alarmed”.
Few minutes later we heard the fire sound, coming from the open sky, equivalent to large wooden plank falling on the ground, to which people clapped and cheered.
In about 30 mins I was in my start corral, waiting to hear my own wave’s cannon fire. Which I did, smiled, applauded, and cheered again. This time with little more nerves. Please understand, this is a marathon so starting fire does not mean some dramatic take off by people, rather they just slowly start to jog ahead, and this one being the New Your city marathon there were thousands of people in a wave, and I could not even see the start line when my wave’s cannon fired.
Slowly the line started to move and me and people around me started shedding their layers of clothing and started meta-morphing into marathoners.
The crowd took a right turn and that was when I was able to get my first glimpse of the start line and the grand Verrazano bridge. At the last left U turn before the start line, people again started applauding and the sense of “it is about to start” started propagated through the whole crowd. A woman in the crowd shouted.
“26.2 miles guys, 26.2 miles!”
To which others resonated and the whole crowd started to jog saying goodbye to walking for next 26.2 miles. In couple of minutes, I crossed the start line and could see the mammoth uphill of the bridge rising into the sky in front of me. People cheered themselves and an unceasing supply of energy from the atmosphere started from that point.
Although the first 0.5mile is the steepest uphill of the course. It did not feel much, for the legs were fresh and spirits were high. There were helicopters flying over and around the bridge. More than I have ever seen flying at once in my life. Some were just suspended on the sides of the bridge as if giving a guard of honor to the runners. The scene was so surreal that few people just stopped running for a while and started taking selfies with the helicopters with the backdrop of Verrazano arch.
Before I knew it I reached the first mile mark. I checked my pace band and was at my target pace.
Finishing that mile, I thought this will certainly be the most memorable mile of my life. But that is the thing with this Marathon, it starts with a surreal high and manages to maintain that till the very end.
At mile 2 we entered Brooklyn, where we started to see the support crowd for the first time. The famous, incessant, enthusiastic, dancing, singing, shouting support crowd.
We were going to stay in Brooklyn for next about 10 miles, since I had already run these roads last month, I had my expectations straight and just focused on maintaining pace without getting too carried away with all the cheering.
I had a hydration plan this time. Take water and Gatorade sips alternatively from every hydration station and take a hydration gel every ~40–60 mins, making sure to fuel those uphills.
As we started to penetrate into Brooklyn, crowd started to increase steadily from high to very high, until it peaked around the Brooklyn Academy of Music (or BAM). Numerous bands with very talented musicians were playing on the sidewalk to which everybody was dancing, swinging, and singing. This was one of the spots where me and my wife had decided to meet. But looking around, it became clear to me that we underestimated the number of people that’ll be on street. I was in middle of hundreds of runners and could see many hundreds of people around just bouncing on their feet and shouting at the top of their voices over the exhilarating music. Spotting one person in all this was next to impossible. So, I crossed the BAM area still maintaining my pace but without getting a chance to see my wife. I wanted to see her less for my morale but more to just ensure that she was able to make back to Manhattan safely from Staten Island, and that minor anxiety just lingered with me.
After 10 miles of Brooklyn, came 1.5 miles of Queens, which essentially carries you on to the infamous Queensboro bridge for its mile long climb. This was the part I had never run before, so I was just going with the flow preparing myself for the big climb, and then descend into Manhattan to witness a site which I had heard was every runner’s dream. But I was not thinking too much of future, just looking around, trying to gauge how many turns before the bridge and checking my pace.
While all this, my eyes were just purposelessly gazing through the crowd, looking at random placards and quirky slogans. When out of the blue I saw an Indian flag being pointed at me from the front row, and at the very next moment I heard a loud familiar scream yelling “ANAND, ANAND!” and a moment after that I saw my wife’s face above the flag.
I quickly, spontaneously, and in a pretty unprofessional jerky way weaved to the right and started frantically waving back at her. I could not give her a high-five or a hug because I wanted to still maintain my pace and didn’t want to get carried away with this, but I am sure the pleasant astonishment was evident in my eyes, and I knew she saw it. All this happened so quickly, that by this point I had already passed her. I looked back with a gleaming face, gave her a flying kiss, made sure she knew how thankful I was by looking at her face, and continued the run. Good that she made back to Manhattan safely.
This was the morale boost which I didn’t know I needed, and it could not have come at a better time, as I was slightly worried the boredom of unfamiliar Queens might slow me down. But that boredom was taken over by this shot of euphoria and before I knew it, I was at the foot of the Queensboro.
No spectators were allowed on the bridge. Only runners, with the sound of their breathing and footsteps.
As we started ascending, a very visual elevation began to bluntly challenging us. As I was just starting to doubt myself, I heard a runner shouting.
“Let’s do it runners!!”, and another one yelling in a loud but helpless voice,
“I HATE BRIDGES!!”.
A wave of giggle passed through and reverberated within the lowers level of the bridge amongst its irons.
After few minutes of climb I stated to see the Roosevelt Island passing by slowing under us. Mile 15 marker was found at the top of the climb waiting for us alone, without the company of spectators, away from all the hassle just telling us calmly “you have done a good job”. We all heard it. There was almost a new vigor in our legs after knowing that we have ran a mile uphill at mile 15 without breaking.
The descend into Manhattan started and what awaited us was probably my favorite part of the race.
You descend the bridge, take a left U turn, and then another sharp 90deg left to go from under the bridge to enter the 6-mile-long 1st avenue in Manhattan.
When making this left U turn the crowd’s sound gradually starts to go up, as if someone was slowly increasing the volume of a roar, and by the time you make that left- that famous, I-am-never-going-to-forget-in-my-life left — that sound is almost deafening!
You see 6 miles of 1st avenue in front of you going down and then up again, reveling the stream of runners and sea of spectators at least 6–7 rows deep on both the sides of the road. All screaming at the top of their voices.
I wanted to almost fly through that part but decided to remain in check and just follow the old and boring plan.
This was the point where the more easily excitable runners would spread their arms, beat their chests, punch the air, and do the ‘let it keep coming’ gesture at the crowd. It was the moment we felt like gladiators entering the arena full of people starving to get entertained.
I tried to soak in as much as I could. In fact, the fear of forgetting this very moment was something that motivated me to write this article. I know sometime in future this memory will get muddled with other things in life, and though my brain would tell me that it has done a good job remembering the day, I would just know that it hasn’t. A detail, a memory, precious to me today, will be forgotten without me even realizing it. Preserving those memories into these pages, to one day show my brain of its imperfections, and together finding a piece that has been forgotten over years, probably propelling a pure smile, is the only reason I am writing this.
This electric atmosphere stayed for almost the rest of the race.
After 6 miles of 1st Avenue, again came a bridge to take us into the short 1-mile Bronx with 9 turns, then another bridge to take us out of the Bronx and back into Manhattan running south into the central park via the 5th avenue.
Around at about 23rd mile, we touch the northeastern corner and the central park and then comes about another mile of climb which breaks runners more than any other part of the race. Although I was 3 minutes ahead of my targeted time of 03:58, when I crossed mile 21, I realized that this is the part of the race where I have been bitten twice in the past, and now entering that part again with a climb was a real test of character.
So, I decided to keep my game face on, and recognized not to push too hard during at the climb because there were still 2 mile to go after that, and if I hit a wall and had to walk, it will ruin the race. So, I just thought of that 3 minutes lead as a buffer I could use during this climb, and not empty the tank just yet.
The central park came on the side, and the climb came with it. It was not as visually apparent as the Queensboro or the Verrazano bridge but was felt by the legs. This was also the part where the crowd roar again started to become deafening, and I decided to focus on that. My legs had been doing this pace for 3.5hrs and where just mindlessly treading now, so I tried not to distract them into doing anything else and let all the energy carry me.
After the climb — during which I was able to actually increase my lead to 4 minutes — we entered the central park. I had entered the park through here many times before but was still surprised by how stunningly electrifying it looked that day. I could only imagine what those who were here for the first time must be feeling. The entrance had a big screen showing the runners, where I looked at myself amongst hundreds of others, before making the right into the park.
I looked at the watch. I was on schedule to finish the race in 03:54 with two more miles to go.
There were two ways to go about it now. Maintain your pace, which will maximize my chances of finishing under 4, or start to empty the tank from now itself and try a shot at sub 03:50. The latter seemed greedy, but perhaps due to the oxygen acuteness in my brain I decided to go with it anyways. So, I popped in my fourth and last energy gel of the race and gassed it! Not fully, but gradually.
Around mile 25 I started sort-of hyperventilating and started to feel the muscle stiffness. I looked at the watch, 3:53 was looking in reach, I seriously didn’t want to hit a wall and walk even if I could finish it in 4 hours despite of walking, so thought about reducing or at least maintaining the 8:30min/mi pace but did the exact opposite. This time I fully gassed it.
At about mile 25.5 we again come out of the central park to run along the southern edge of it, called the billionaire’s street only to enter again from the Columbus circle (south-west corner) and finish next to the famous tavern on the green.
As I was entering the billionaire’s street trying to run as fast as possible now, I again heard that loud and familiar voice. A stream of breathless “ANAND! ANAND! ANAND!”, I looked to the left, there was no flag this time, just her, fighting others for the front row spot. This time I punched in the air, decided against going to her and hugging her, hoping the gleam on face and the continuous maniacal air-punching was enough to thank her.
I felt like Usain Bolt! Though I was running 20 times slower than him, but at every step my legs were lifting mountains. I entered the central park again. There was a huge concert stage at the Columbus circle with hard rock guitarists and drummers, just hitting the climax of a song, and stopping to introduce the members and advertise the band as I approached. I cursed internally, my legs could have really used some heavy metal right now, but not everything could go perfectly.
Last right turn from the band, then a subtle left and I could see the finish line right in front of me, atop a little hill. I thought of looking at the watch but decided against it and to put every last ounce of energy into the finish, which I did and finished. My watch showed 03:52:10 when I stopped. My official time was 03:51:59.
And just like that the race was over!
You cross a rubber matt, smile, turn your head towards the sky with closed eyes, just to quickly open them to avoid hitting one of hundreds of runners.
So, I had to stop running almost immediately after crossing the finish line, because everyone had stopped to collect medals, catch their breath, and absorb the moment. I did the same. My body had almost developed a muscle memory of running over the last 4 hours, so I felt a bit dizzy on stopping like that, but eventually collected myself.
The 2 mile walk after the run is probably the worst part of the marathon. After crossing the finishing line you’d expect to get a boost of recovery and imagine somehow all the pain will be over. But it is actually the opposite. You suddenly become aware of all the bones in you back and legs and start finding a place to sit which is of course not there. You can always sit on the road, but you want the ultimate rest to be sweet, not some transient stop where people keep passing you. So, I kept walking.
Was handed a medal by a man whose face I cannot remember no matter how hard I try. I grabbed the medal absent mindedly, gave a good look at it and put it around my neck. A few steps later other very forgettable volunteer put an orange poncho around me, then another one gave me a recovery bag with few pretzels, a Gatorade bottle, and an apple inside it. I took the pretzel bag out and put a few of them in my mouth.
Then began the awful 1.5 mile walk to the family reunion area. I walked 0.5 miles north before exiting the central park then another about a mile back south. The sums of people besides the road were now reduced to bunch of volunteers, clamping and congratulating hundreds of runners walking in an orange poncho with a single goal, to be able to finally rest.
There were occasional sights of people being pushed on wheelchairs by volunteers and more occasional sight of people not being able to walk and just sitting down. There were photographers sprinkled across that section, I mustered the strength to stand in a short line to get my photo clicked in front of the banner.
I realized it has already been about 15–20 mins since I finished my race, and wanted to let my wife know that all was fine. So, I turned to a guy walking as slowly next to me and requested to use his phone and he happily obliged.
I called my phone number, my wife being a kind of person who almost never picks up a call in first try and has immunity against ringtones, picked it up before the first ring could finish. I could hear the same excitement in her voice with which she was screaming from the crowd. She confirmed she was at the place we decided to meet yesterday, and I ensured her I was well and about to reach her in 10 mins, which I did.
She was proud of me and congratulated me for doing it within 4 and handed me the Indian flag. We clicked a few pictures around the area, sat in a Starbucks filled with runners and charged our phones. After that we walked to the subway station, took the train to Staten Island ferry station where we had parked our car. My wife took the wheel, and I sat next looking out of the window seeing the skyline pass by.
We passed from under the Queensboro bridge where I could see a stream of runners still passing over it, wished them all the luck, bode farewell to the falling leaves and the skyline of the New York City, and continued the drive back.
I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go away from a place where every other stranger was congratulating me. Where every Indian was smiling proudly on seeing the flag, but I had to.
Days after the Marathon
I woke up next day with all the right muscles hurting. It was 4:30 AM and I decided not to stay in the bed because I wanted to live all the memories from last day while they were crystal clear. Continued with my daily morning routine of making tea and drinking it while reading a book for 20 minutes. Then a short 15-minute stretch and a breakfast of oats.
During all this, the satisfaction from the previous day was flowing through my bones.
A natural human response after getting something good is to ask for more of it, but I wanted to give break to that spiral. Even if that was for one day. I just wanted to pause and not think about if the achievement was big enough or not and feel satisfied. I wanted to feel content, and just empty my brain for a day.
In future, I might look back at these pages and think how silly it was to write a 6000 words article on a 03:52 marathon, on that day I would know how far I have come. I have not travelled that distance yet and there is no way for me to know if I would ever travel that. But today, a milestone that I had set for myself was achieved and I want to be vocally celebrative about it, without worrying about any external reactions.
This made me feel very easy. This felt like one of those days we all live for. Not yesterday, when I achieved the feat in front of millions, when I crossed the finish line or ran between helicopters, but today, when I spent some time to be content about it all and find true satisfaction in this chaos. My favorite day from the whole marathon journey was not yesterday, it was today. And of course, today can’t happen without yesterday, and yesterday can’t happen without months of grueling trainings, but after every tough yesterday, comes a worthy today that adds a puzzle piece to the answer of the question — what happiness really means? Today, I got a slightly better sense of what happiness meant, still quite far from the complete picture but the fog cleared just a bit and allowed an additional ray of sunshine to pass through.
A day after that I decided to go for a 30-minute recovery run on the treadmill. I was alone in the gym. It was 5:30 in the morning and golden light from the rising sun mixed with the November fall colors had just started to come in through the glass panels.
I started my slow-paced run, and two minutes into it, I was once again accosted by the same pain in my left shin. Still, bearable but stubborn. I felt it last time on Marathon morning, while driving to Manhattan but not after that. Somehow that problem that seemed to be a deal-breaker before the marathon was simply forgotten during the high. That thought made me smile and I continued with my run for another 30-minutes.
