"Uphill, horse shit and the finish line is no where in sight...great."
-Thought on the final mile of the run
DID SHE FINISH THE RACE?: You damn right she did.
DID SHE STOP ...ONCE?: Nope!
COME ON, TELL THE TRUTH..: I did not stop...I did not. I wanted to ...
I wanted to.
Especially when I thought...(see above quote).
So...how did it go?
Here's how it went.
9AM
So I'm there...and I'm feeling the love. Part of a huge club where nobody speaks to each other...they just all smile...because you're one of them. Your matching shirt and bib number proves this. Aside from the fact that you are all "10+ Mile'rs".
I made sure to find this crowd, my group..the 10+ Mile'rs, and right behind us, pressed against those metal parade side-line gates, were the "walkers", anxious to get their easy-step on.
Yep. I could glass half-empty this...but I'm not. I was IN FRONT of the walkers...which meant, I was a RUNNER.
Yes..the slowest in the category...but STILL ...a runner. I had a BIB. (That's runner speak for that tag with the number on it.) I was number "20941".
And I pinned this number right below the "Race For The Cure" logo on my shirt.
Yes, it's real Jr. High of me.
Like... wanting to wear your work badge on you every single day when you get your first job...Jr. High.
But am not ashamed, because I was proud of myself. Damn proud. And as I beamed...excited and doubting I'd be able to finish...a small woman asked,
"Excuse me? Can you pin my number to the front?"
Sure.
Her name is Marcella. (My aunt's name. This is FATE!) But call her "Marcy". (My aunt's nickname! It really is fate!) She's from Venezuela, and her family is no stranger to pink ribbons. Most of the women in her family have been afflicted and she's serious about this run.
She's rocking pink eyeshadow...that kind of serious.
She offers me an energy bar, and I accept. She asks if I'd like to be her running buddy. SURE! We smile, joke..and anxiously await the race.
9:22AM
And then somebody starts wailing the national anthem...we get all patriotic and the horn blasts!! AND.....
We wait.
Because there's a stupid amount of runners ahead of us and we can't even get a slow jog on till they get some yards on us.
But finally, Marcy and I are able to get a nice slow ...slow jog going.
"Is this your pace?" she asks.
My pace? Oh no. She's serious.
"Yes, for now. I'll pick it up later." I say, slightly embarrassed, but not stupid enough start bookin' like a roach in a newly lit kitchen. Slow and steady...
Thirty seconds later...I begin to feel bad. REALLY bad. People are passing me. Lots of people. Um...EVERYONE...is passing me.
Marcy isn't doing so well. She's breathing heavy. Like...already-did-2-miles heavy.
This is not good.
"Is your back pack too heavy?" I ask.
"No...(gasp ..gasp...) I'm fine..."
But she's not fine. Don't lie to me Marcy...tell me the truth! We can get through this!
But she didn't. Now when her posture began to resemble a person with lower back pain...I knew I'd have a decision to make. Either stick with her (she gave a energy bar for goodness sakes...) or leave her.
By the time we get to the first mile (marked by a sign, cheerleaders from some high school somewhere and a water table,) Marcy is a memory. She'd huffed that she was going to walk and drink a bit of water...that was the last time I saw her.
Because I wasn't fucking stopping.
I didn't blog all this for nothing. Gotta keep going.
So I do. And right around mile two, I see the people on the side line that everyone told me about. Thank GOD! They were there to cheer me on and keep me going, right?
Wrong. This is New York.
They were there to check us out. To stare. NOBODY was cheering. They just...stared.
If you need encouragement, get your own. Tough city.
Right then, some twenty-something jocks are holding a normal conversation, laughing and running backwards. They pass me...with a stride that says "We do more before 9AM than most people do all day..." and I don't hate. I just laugh at their jokes..and keep going. OK. I'm jealous. A little.
There is no marker that says you're at mile three. I just know. Not because there are signs that say "72nd Street" is ahead. But because that's when my body tells me I'm crazy. I'm tired and I should stop. But nobody else around me is stopping. So I shouldn't. I can't. I want to but...
"Do or do not. There is no try."
I don't.
And then, the hill of death.
THIS the part of the movie...where the hero falls, or may not make the jump...or land the ending...whatever.
And I know I'm doomed...because it's uphill and the hill is mostly covered with horse shit.
For a second, I wonder why it's there, then I see the horse-drawn buggy on my right.
Gotcha.
The smell is unavoidable. It's the kind you taste. And you DO taste it, as you're gasping for air.
I would have stopped, but stopping meant walking AMONGST the shit smell...and that just wasn't going to happen.
Just when my eyes teared and I thought...there's no end...I hear house music.
THE FINISH LINE...
I can't see it, but I know it's there. It's coming up. I can hear the music.
Then I hear the crowd...but I can't see it...and I can't see it..and I...
turn the corner..WOW. It's right THERE.
And I start running like a bat out of hell.
I jump up...slap the "FINISH" sign...and start the walk.
Petey was there to greet my tired ass and I was so glad somebody was.
I said, "Wow...I just ran a 5K".
Petey smiled and said "Yes...you did. Congratulations.."
After grabbing as many freebies as we could...time to go.
And I walked around with that BIB on all day. ALL DAY.
Yes...very Jr. High of me. But I was proud of myself.
And from all of your phone calls and emails, you guys were proud of me too.
Thanks for reading!!! Thanks for the encouragement, jokes, smiles and support.
(Cue inspirational music...)
Love you all...
-NYE
(Will insert Pic Here...when I get home from Florida...)
OH..and remember when I said I hated pink? I take that back.
Pink has never been a more powerful color for me.
Thanks for reading.
...and roll credits...
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