Ready, Set, Gu

Monday, November 06, 2006

2006 New York City Marathon

Exhausted and nearly walking, Armstrong crossed the finish line in 2 hours 59 minutes 36 seconds. He was 869th, with a pace of 6:51 a mile.

“I can tell you, 20 years of pro sports, endurance sports, from triathlons to cycling, all of the Tours--even the worst days on the Tours--nothing was as hard as that, and nothing left me feeling the way I feel now, in terms of just sheer fatigue and soreness,” he said, looking spent, at a news conference.

I've gotta say, after reading last month's RW in which Lance was the feature story, I sort of (I'm awful) wanted his performance to fall short of extraordinary. It's just that he sounded so nonchalant about the whole thing, about running 26 miles when his longest run to date had been like 12 (after the issue went to print, he logged a 16-miler pre-race) and his daily runs rarely exceeded 45 minutes. Like he was above the whole 'training thing' or something. And anyway, his goal of beating three hours (or 3:15, at least) seemed pretty far-reaching, even considering his top-notch cycling form. (Two different sports, different muscle groups utilized, different mental challenges...) Plus, at 180 pounds, he doesn't exactly have a runner's physique. So you know, I guess I sorta wanted to see him humbled, to have to acknowledge that, damn, you runners are really something else. I guess it's not so easy after all--even for me.

Ha! Fat chance. From the looks of it/him, it was far from easy, but the man triumphed in the end, earning every last high-five/rump-slap/"beer's on me." He left 99 percent of himself out there on the course, and I don't care who you are or what kind of game you talk, if you can swing that, you're my new favorite person--at least until the next one comes along. He's an amazing athlete, pure and simple.

But man, watching on TV his last mile through Central Park--stony expression, feet that barely cleared the ground, a rare glance at his watch--you knew he'd butt right up against the three-hour mark. Hopefully on the right side of it, but it wasn't certain. God though, to see him slow to a walk a few feet before crossing the line, completely spent, head lowered and hands on knees... Awesome.

Then again, maybe it was all a publicity stunt. Maybe he actually had six months of training under his belt, running 18-20-23 several times over. Haha, but no.

Guess who else did swimmingly? Ol' Pops, that's who. Sure, his time wasn't exactly up to snuff, but the toll of this past month paired w/ a surprise nosebleed (you know, versus the planned kind) halfway into the race meant that the odds were kinda stacked against him. At any rate, he was able to take in/appreciate the diverse scenery the course has to offer, and well, there's no better way to tour the area. I think he'd agree that the lowpoint of the race was the five hour wait between arrival at Fort Wadsworth (Staten Is.) and the sound of the gun. Geez, I realize 37,000 is a lot of people to account for, and I know the logic of erring on the side of too-early, but come on race planners, check the math.

From my perch along Fourth Avenue at 16th Street--exactly two blocks from home (remind me to relay a most pleasant apartment story)--I caught the fast (women frontrunners are above), the not-as, and the in-between'ers. At ten o'clock it was still pretty quiet, but by 10:30 the block was crawling w/ spectators--four deep in some places. I can't tell you how (cliche coming) 'bursting w/ pride' I felt. Since I usually participate rather than spectate, it's not often I get to watch it all unfold from outside the race. It was a really cool experience, and I felt just as aligned w/ the sport and its adherents as I do when I'm in the thick of the pack. There was this 'I understand, I get it, I know what you're going through' component, and it was very affirming. I cheered 'em on for a good two hours (Pea joining up halfway in), unable to lose the goofy smile. Of course, a certain furry someone is partly to thank...

Haha. While I saw Lance and his small army (which included a video camera pointed at his face the entire way) approaching, I didn't have enough notice to steal a decent picture. Just imagine, if you will, that in the center of this group is a dark-green technical shirt. That's him--he really is in there.

At the last minute, Pea had the genius-idea to screw the boring posterboard in favor of an actual being. W/ those fantastically long arms, Petey was a real showstopper, dishing out the finest high-fives in town. You wouldn't believe how many runners went out of their way to slap hands w/ The Dude, some crossing the entire lane just to get a piece of that monkey-luck. The tabby on my head (a few meanies insisted on referring to her as a 'blender cozy'--the nerve), while she lacked Petey's wild animation, got plenty of attention, too. (Thanks Chad!)

Pea was a tireless supporter--of both Petey and the runners.

One downside: As popular as he was, Petey likely stole dozens of hand-slaps from the pair of ten-year-old girls to our left. "That's the way the cookie crumbles," he said.

I had the hardest time snapping the Petey-pics. I couldn't stop cracking up long enough to do so.

Yea!

"Ouch!" yelped Petey.

"Daddy, can we do this every Sunday??"

All sorts of costumery to laugh at. This guy, while dressed plainly enough, acted like a costume. So much for tackling the marathon challenge head-on. (Ohhhh...)

Why not?

Wigs were the least of it. Let's see, there was a guy non-stop juggling (not a slow runner, either!), a guy in a tux running w/ a martini glass ('here's to you, Manhattan'--the idea), several lephrechans, tons more...