I ran the NYC marathon!

I ran the New York City Marathon!

It was, without a doubt, the hardest physical feat of my life — harder than my first marathon last year and harder than the triathlon earlier this year.

This is my marathon story. What went well, some highlights of the race, and what I could improve next time.

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The day began way too early. My bus to the start line was leaving Bryant Park at 5 AM. Before that, I needed to eat, get all my gear and GU energy gels ready, put my Body Glide on, and get to the bus, so I had to wake up at 3:30 AM. The line for the bus was the longest line I'd ever been in, and it was eerily quiet. I don't know if people were tired, scared, or cold, but it was all very intense. The only noise came from the volunteers ringing bells to get us excited for the day, but I was already just a ball of nerves.

After about thirty minutes, I got onto a bus and sat beside a fellow named Bob. He was super friendly and, having done the marathon before, offered to answer any questions I might have about the race. My mind was swarming with questions, so I took him up on his offer. Talking to Bob helped calm my nerves. After a while, we stopped talking, and I just looked out the window. New York is beautiful at night, the long bus ride made me realize how big it really is. I would have to run through all of that?!

Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at the marathon village on Staten Island. I got off the bus, and that's when I realized I was ill-prepared for the temperature. Before I left home, I had checked the day's weather. It would be the perfect temperature for running, not too cold, not too hot, just right. I had therefore opted for what I always wear on days like these: shorts and a T-shirt, nothing fancy. What I failed to account for was that at 5 AM, it would not yet be that warm. Most people around me had on a few layers they planned to shed before the race started. I had to resort to jumping in place to warm up.

My corral started at 10:45, so I had four hours to kill. I needed to warm up, so I decided to walk around the marathon village and see what it had to offer. The Dunkin coffee was much appreciated, as well as the plain untoasted bagels. After a long hour and a half of standing around in the cold, trying in vain to warm up, the sun was starting to rise, and with it, finally, the temperature. Brigid arrived off the ferry, which meant I finally had a buddy to distract me from the cold air and the creeping nerves.

Brigid would be starting a little earlier than me. We sat near her corral, which happened to be right below the Verrezano Bridge. This bridge would be the start of our race. We watched the elite runners as they went off. The sound of the cannon and the cheers made me nervous and excited for what lay ahead.

Soon, it was Brigid's turn to go, so we said our farewells and our good lucks, and I went back to my corral. I cheered when the cannon went off, marking her departure. Now I was alone.

I had about an hour to go, so I had more coffee and another bagel and used the facilities one last time. A few minutes before entering my corral, I turned on my Apple Watch. I had left it off to conserve battery after it almost died on me during my first marathon last year. I checked that I had everything I needed in my running belt: GUs? Check. Phone and battery pack (courtesy of Brigid)? Check. Keys to my house? Check. Two small bottles filled with water? Check. The sole purpose of the checklist was to calm my nerves. It would have been too late to get anything if it was missing anyway.

I entered my corral and we walked up to the start line. It was hard to comprehend how they managed to get 50,000 people to the start of the race. It felt like I was part of something huge because, well, I was. By the time we got to the start line, I had been awake so long that I had to remind myself why I was even here. It felt unbelievable that after so much time waiting around and being cold, I would now run for hours on end, over 26 miles, through all the New York boroughs.

No time to think. The cannon goes off. It's time to go.

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The first few miles are a blur. I drop my water bottle at the top of the bridge and almost take out another runner when I stop to grab it, but other than that, it's pretty uneventful. As soon as we get off the bridge, I get a sense of how loud the day is going to be. Non-stop crowds for miles and miles, cheering, laughing, happy to see their friends run by.

At mile six, I run past Charlotte, Andrei, Lila, and Adobo. Well, actually, I stop and chat for two minutes. It’s only after two minutes that Charlotte reminds me I have to keep going. I’m 10K in, and the reality is settling in. The enormity of what is left is daunting. But at least I know I’ve done it before, and the crowds are so fun that I feel like I can do anything.

Stopping for a chat

Andrei and Charlotte

Lila’s sign

It’s at the 10-mile mark that things take a turn—my first cramp of the day. The excitement of the crowds made me run faster than I should've been, and I’m starting to regret it. When I ran my first marathon a year ago, it took until mile 19 for me to get my first cramp. This is not great, but at least this time, I know what to do. I down my water bottles and drink a lot more at every aid station. Although I still have cramps and my quads are very stiff, they never get as bad as they did last year. It’s painful but manageable—it's time to keep going.

Downtown Brooklyn feels electric. As I turn onto Lafayette Ave, the massive road we had been running on suddenly becomes one lane only about six feet wide between two massive herds of onlookers. It feels like we’re running through a tunnel of cheers. The excitement is palpable, and the pain fades.

As I approach the second bridge, I’m worried that I passed my other friends. I was supposed to meet them around the 13-mile mark before the second bridge. After the cramps, I had been looking forward to seeing some friendly faces to push me along. It looks like there’s no one on the bridge except for a small group of people about 100 yards away. But as I get closer, I realize it’s them! Cesar, Francesco, and Freddie, equipped with signs and words of encouragement, were just what I needed to get past this hump at the halfway mark.

(Cesar behind the camera)

The Queens part of the race is really short. I have to get from one bridge to the next, and they’re only a mile or two apart. But the next bridge is the dreaded Queensboro Bridge. This mile-long bridge leads us into Manhattan, and I had been warned before the race: there would be no spectators on the bridge. At this point, I've seen all the friends who’ve come to watch. I know Charlotte will be at the finish line but until then, it's just me and the city.

Just as I turn onto the Queensboro Bridge, the cramp flares up again. My right quad becomes exceptionally stiff, and as I put more weight on my left leg, my left knee spasms. I stop to walk. After all, there's no one on the bridge to see me stop. While walking, I finally get to check in with my body. The crowds are great for getting you going, but make it difficult to listen to your body and pace yourself hard. My body is not happy. I went too fast, too soon, and now I’m paying the price. The Cape Cod marathon last year had been nothing but long, quiet, and windy—the perfect setting to be acutely in tune with your body. This was the opposite of that. It was loud. It was exciting. It was fun at times. It was New York.

I allow myself to walk over most of the bridge. I'm just over halfway done, and the worst is yet to come, so I might as well rest now. I finally have some time to observe my fellow runners around me. A guy passes me while solving a Rubik’s cube. One woman has no shoes on. Her feet are bare, and she’s running a marathon. I look around to see if anyone else is seeing what I’m seeing, but everyone is too focused on themselves, as I should be. I gotta get my head in the game.

Bob, my neighbor on the bus, had described entering Manhattan after the Queensboro Bridge as “being hit by a wall of sound.” Pretty accurate. After the quiet, it feels like a party welcoming me home. But there’s no time to party. I have to keep going.

I know I have to run all the way up to the Bronx along First Ave. I look at the street number: 59th St. I regret not knowing how high the street numbers go before the Bronx. All I know is it’s going to be a while. At this point, I’m fading fast. The streets feel very repetitive, the crowd maintaining its density and clamor.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, a bridge appears, and it's time to cross over into the fifth borough. The Bronx is super fun, with lots of loud music and dancing. It’s at this point that I have to stop. Something is wrong.

My thighs have been chafing for a while, but until now, I had ignored the pain and kept going. When I reach down to adjust my shorts, I realize for the first time that there are holes in the fabric between my thighs. I feel stupid. I'd chafed in the same spot the last few times I had worn these shorts. The holes must have already been there! Turns out I had just run 20 miles with my bare thighs rubbing together. My skin is raw. It's time to pay a visit to the medical tent. I ask the volunteer for a Band-Aid. “All we have is Vaseline,” he says. He then serves me up a big dollop of Vaseline on a popsicle stick. I spread it on the affected regions and go on my way.

The last bridge is in sight, and I thank God it's short. We're back in Manhattan, and there’s only 10K between me and the finish line!

I'm utterly exhausted. I've done an excellent job at hydrating throughout the race and eating GUs every half hour, but 26 miles is still 26 miles. The rest of the race becomes a blur. I walk, try to run some more, walk some more. All I long for is a glimpse of Central Park.

Eventually, I do see Central Park. But this race is no joke, and the final three miles are some of the toughest. Fifth Ave is just a slow, steady climb. The crowds are as thick as ever, but I struggle to absorb their energy. I repeat to myself to keep moving forward. Everything hurts. My knees hurt. My quads hurt. My chafed thighs hurt. At this point, it’s like I’m in the final scene of a movie where everything goes quiet, and all you can hear is your breath. The crowds cheer louder than ever, but they feel distant. I’m too busy fighting an internal battle against the pain and exhaustion. I close my eyes but force myself to reopen them for fear of falling. I know Charlotte is right around the corner at the finish line. That's what keeps me going.

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I crossed the finish line at five hours, 32 minutes, and 56 seconds. I thought I would feel relief, but honestly, at that point, all I felt was exhaustion. The relief wouldn't come until I was in a bath that evening. “You don't need to run ever again. You did it!” I tell myself.

It's been over a month since that day, and I haven't run since. After the race, I told myself I never wanted to do that again. I don't know what it is. Maybe I’ve let enough time go by, or perhaps it's just that I've lost it, but I can say this now: that will not be my last marathon.

The real question is, why was it so hard? I think the answer boils down to three things.

1. I had high expectations. I had run a marathon before and knew I could do it. And after training for the triathlon earlier this year, my body was as fit as ever. This caused me to underestimate what it takes to run a marathon.

2. The New York marathon is no joke. It's super hilly and not forgiving at all, and the crowds make it impossible to pace yourself. My experience in Cape Cod was a good learning experience, but it couldn’t really be applied here.

3. I hadn't trained enough. Duh, obviously. I thought the triathlon training and the somewhat regular running I had been doing for months would be enough to beat my previous time. But it takes more than that to do well in this race. It requires proper training, something I didn’t do.

The two major races I completed this year taught me so much about my capabilities and my work ethic regarding physical training. I trained as well as possible for the triathlon, hardly missing any training days and arriving on race day super confident in my ability. Somewhere along the line, I forgot that I had trained so well for the triathlon and took my fitness for granted when it came to the marathon.

At the same time, completing two major races like this in one calendar year is a huge accomplishment and probably more than I should have attempted. I follow multiple professional athletes on social media, and you see them putting in six-hour training sessions daily—it's easy to forget that that's their job.

So, I will do another marathon, but it'll be my one event for the year. And I'll train for it properly next time.

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Special congrats to Brigid for also completing this marathon and finishing it fast af.

We did it!

Thanks to all my friends for coming out and supporting me. And a special thanks to Charlotte for caring for me while I recovered.