Each year, the NYC marathon runs right past my apartment. It’s very exciting, not only because the streets are filled with a more diverse crowd of onlookers, but also because it’s Sunday and it’s November and that means there is another sport to get excited about besides football. I’ll get up early, get some coffee, and stand on the sidelines watching people run 26.2 miles while I nurse my hangover and take pictures of their agony accomplishments. My apartment is around the 12 mile marker, so it was pretty early when the frontrunners came by. I watch them on televeision until I see them about 5 blocks away, then I dash downstairs hoping I’m faster than them in order to snap a picture.
Last year, I was not. I didn’t make it in time so I snapped a shot from the bedroom window:
>
That’s Paula Radcliffe in the front, with the white gloves. She ended up winning the marathon last year.
I almost missed them again this year, but was happy to snap Mrs. Radcliffe at the same moment a year later:
(That’s her in front, again, with the white gloves.)
She ran the last half of the marathon like a machine, pulling far enough ahead of this group to have no threat whatsoever to the victory. I felt excited to have shared such a miniscule moment in time with her, and felt proud to be able to witness it live.
The guys came a little while after the ladies, so I was able to get a more decent shot of them:
The frontrunner here is from the U S and A, but if you look at the guy in the back of the pack in the yellow jersey? He wins. Pretty awesome, right?
They are running so much faster than you could ever imagine if you are watching the race on television. It’s almost like there is a blur behind them they are gone so quickly.
As exciting as it is to watch the fastest runners pass by, it really gets exciting when the rest of the crew catches up. 39,000 runners pass my house during the course of about 3 hours, and the cheers and applause and excitement is enough to make anybody crazy inspire anyone. Seriously.
Congratulations to all of you that may have run in this race, or knew anyone who ran in this race. It is truly a feat and the ultimate test of endurance, and I applaud anyone who can achieve a goal that large.
I feel disappointed in myself. Not because I feel like I need to get in shape and train for a marathon, but because I didn’t have the patience to play paparazzi and sit outside scoping out Ryan Reynolds.
To celebrate them, I’m going to drink a lot of beer, eat until I burst, and watch some football. After all, that’s what Sundays are made for, right?
