I reach my destination and explore an equestrian trail, evident from the amount of hoof prints and brown patties strategically deposited in the center of the trail. At times I feel like I’m running on the loose white sand of a beach and other times I’m running in a forest, shielded from the sun. The vegetation is a tall as I. I hear a rustle and catch of glimpse of a white long tail disappear.

Growing tried of running on the side of the road, I reduce myself to a walk. Ahead there’s a baggy figure running like a bat out of hell on the road in my direction. A few cars pass and the next time I look up, the figure is sprawled face up on someones driveway. The arms of a gray sweatshirt move.

Looking down at the uneven ground moving beneath my feet, I think, “I should ask if they are okay.”

The person in a gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants is back on their feet the next time I look at them. They fumble around with an iPod in their hands.

They must be okay.

I look behind me, and I see them blast off down the road at top speed.

I tell myself, “It’s all in your head” and put one leg in front of the other.

So:

• Don’t run for two weeks.
• Don’t eat like crap for those two weeks.

The Miami marathon seems like a no-go at this point.

So, I do the only sensible thing that I can think off:  peel it off.

Eww… gross…

“Someone should go up to the front and ask for some for toilet paper,” the guy in the stall says.

No one really does anything.  A guy finishes and I move up one position closer to the urinal, a civilized alternative to using a portalet.  I do my thing and leave, walking past a growing line of women inching closer towards the front cash register.

The start line is rather barren compared to last year’s 30th running of this race.  There’s no string of balloons arched over the start line.  There’s no music.  The digital clock facing eager runners merely displays a “C:” in yellow.  A helicopter mistakenly flies by instead of hovering overhead.  7 a.m. comes and passes.  Looking at the time on my watch, I’d figure that I’d be at the first mile by now if we started on time.  Someone in front of me asks me about my rather large GPS watch.  No, it’s not that heavy.  Yes, it displays more information than I need.

Another groups fathoms marathons.  This is her first half-marathon, but she can’t imagine running twice as far.  You have to run for four hours?  Who has time for that?

I hold my tongue.

… and finally, we’re off.

The course turns north this year as I pass someone discussing on how their friend lost their job.  Someone confirms a 9:10 pace to their running buddy.  I think that I should slow down just a tad.

After the first mile, my right leg begins to tighten up–in my lower calf somewhere.  It first happened three days ago on a Wednesday night.  As I approached a grocery store the same leg tightened up, and I opted to cut that run short.  I thought that not running for two days would make the leg happy, but that doesn’t seem to be the case right now.  It may have been a combination of excessive running, eating and drinking during the Thanksgiving holidays.  I’m not sure.

I adjust my gait and continue onward.  I still feel it.  It feels tight.

The uncomfortably increases as the trees, building and intersecting streets move by me.  The uncomfortably begins turning into pain.  I can’t thinking of doing this much longer.

Shortly after the road turns to brick, there’s a turn in the road that I can only see.  It goes against the flow of people, returning me to the start line.  That turn if I choose to take it would lead to my first ever DNF (Did Not Finish).

That possibility enters my mind.

To be continued…

Unlike the Cady Way Trail, the south-most terminus of the Seminole Trail prefers benches to water fountains as I don’t recall seeing a single water fountain on its path. The Seminole Trail extends approximately 3 miles into an unfinished portion of the trail as the ground turns from asphalt to dirt and gravel. Apparently, there are multiple segments of the Seminole trail that will eventually be connected.

I change my running route to head towards the light, 250,000 small strategically placed lights to be exact. I never head down this path as there’s a quarter mile of darkness. A wave of car highlights unveils uneven grass on the ground. Suddenly, everything turns dark and I slow down to a walk waiting for the next wave.

There’s not one but five trees in the circular plaza of shops. The tallest stands in the center, inching above the two-story Forever XXI store, with two smaller trees symmetrically positioned on either side. Each tree is crowned with a star.

Perhaps I’m slower than I thought, maybe I underestimated the distance to reach the trees, or it doesn’t begin exactly on the hour as the main song finishes and another begins. Small clusters of people gather around the trees as if they’re waiting for something.

Another song begins, digitized without lyrics, and I like everyone else direct my attention upward.

Earlier this week, I revisited an offroad walking trail near my usual turn-around point behind the clubhouse.  I shifted my work schedule several hours earlier, giving me an hour or two of daylight in the evening to run.  I am reminded that the Earth isn’t flat and composed entirely of asphalt.  The walking trail seems mysteriously devoid of people minus the few deer that I caught a glimpse of before they high-tail (or white-tail it…he-he) into to the woods.

I wonder what the new walking trail is like.  What twists and turns, inclines and declines, and how many wooden footbridges will it have?  Running alongside the white picketed fence, I reach the beginning of the trail.  It’s smooth which is a sharp contrast to the other one when it originally opened as it was packed with large, loose chunks of pine bark; everything wasn’t settled in.

I see a gazebo with a table and benches making a nice picnic area.  The trail bears right and the floor turns to green grass.  I enter a large open field.  A few trees stand tall at the far end.  I run towards them searching to where the trail leads, but there nothing to be found.

Disappointing.

I pass someone looking like Rocky Balboa.  He’s wearing boxing gloves, shorts and no shirt where the temperatures are in the upper forties.

A random picture at mile 25.

I thought I heard someone calling my name.

“Joe!  Hey Joe!  Joe!”

Two people around mile 25 recognized me.  I wasn’t expecting to see them but here they were.  My parents waved at me.  All that I could do was wave back.

“Let’s see your race numbers!” someone shouts.

One interesting aspect of this race, although I was unaware of it at the time, is that there several crews of people known as bandit catchers dedicated to removing those trying to finish the race who don’t belong.  According to the article that I read, they’ll remove up to 100 people ranging from those innocently wanting to help their friend finish to others who will stealthy jump the fence at mile 25 wearing last year’s race number.

To my left, I pass someone who is missing his left leg.  He’s running it using forearm crutches.  I think to myself, “Wow.”

A sign ahead has a purple dot with a “1/2″ printed in white letters.  Below read the words, “miles to go.”

Two ladies are running long side of me.  I overhear one say, “Marathons are like having babies.  I said that I’ll never do another one ever again, but here I am.”

A sign head reads 400 yards to go.

A another sign reads 300 yards to go.

Flags from various countries line both sides of the fence separating runners from the spectators.

200 yards.

100 yards.

There’s a dozen people dressed in black forming doorways into the three finisher shoots.  In hindsight I wonder if they are more bandit catchers.

Crossing the finish line, I felt good.  There was no leg cramping, no walking the last 10 miles of it.  Maybe consistently run/walking the race worked.  Although it requires a certain amount of self-control to slow down and walk when a part of you wants you to run entire distance.  There was guy with the following quote on the back of his shirt that I noticed on a long, covered bridge:

Run with patience the race that is set before us

-Hebrews 12:1

Perhaps it was the cold weather.  I don’t know, but I finally felt like I was starting to get a hang of running these things called marathons after all.

Walking beyond the finish line, I get my finisher’s medal and some thin aluminum foil heat sheet.

A lady with hair white as snow takes the thin sheet of aluminum foil that I have in my hands, wraps it around me and places a sticker on it to hold it in place.

“Is this your first marathon?” she asks.

“No, this is my fourth.”

She says something that sounds like a compliment.

My brain isn’t processing information as well as it did five hours ago. “Uh, thanks.”

* * *

Down the hall of the thirty-fourth floor of the hotel, a guy walks towards me with a slight limp.  He must have run the marathon too.

11/2/08 - New York City Marathon

Miscellaneous Information

Total number of finishers:  38,267
Finisher information based on the unofficial race results from the ING NYC Marathon website on 11/10/2008.

Weather: Low - 38^oF; High - 50^oF
Weather information from AccuWeather archived weather forecast.