Talking With Strangers

So, it’s 2010. I’m snowed in during a blizzard and realize my blog hasn’t been updated since… October? Alright, four months is where I draw the line (you may have been wondering where that line was exactly – now you know). I’m going to try and catch this up as efficiently as possible without sacrificing any details, so bear with me – and enjoy!


After a thoroughly soaked through Halloween parade and a late night rendezvous with friends in the village, I was eager to sleep through Sunday. My bed was cozy and warm, and a distinct chill had crept into the air, a chill that made the thought of leaving the house nightmarish at best. However, that Sunday happened to be the New York City Marathon, and I’d promised myself that I’d get to witness this awesome feat in the flesh. Somehow, I managed to get myself going (maybe the guilt in realizing that by the time I opened my eyes several thousand runners had already traversed 26 miles). I’d so glad I did.

I’d already scouted out the route during the week, so I hopped the A train with a specific spot in mind. I was headed for mile 23, a notoriously brutal part of the course that batters runners with the rolling hills of Central Park West. I figured any extra encouragement at this juncture would be much appreciated.

Instead of trying to get across town via subway (always a nightmare) I got off around the American Museum of Natural History (which I’ve yet to visit) at 81st, and decided to walk across the park itself. This was actually a strangely eerie experience. Other would-be-spectators started to appear and join in my journey, and eventually we began to resemble a sort of slow, east-west exodus, all moving silently towards the distant murmur of cheers. Or at least, we were mostly silent. I couldn't help but smile as I watched one anxious child bolt ahead from his father then wait a few hundred paces ahead until he caught up, only to start all over again. The boy seemed infinitely amused at this simple game, and shrieked with laughter every few steps. Once, as he began to sprint away, he slipped on some wet leaves and went down hard. He lay still for just a split second - a second in which the father's pulse visibly quickened - but then bounced back up again. The dad sighed as he watched the boy bound away, and I chuckled out loud. He smiled in return, and I told him I wished I had that kind of energy. By way of reply, he told me that they had to take the boy to the hospital again the night before, for breathing trouble - he was just glad he could run at all.

By the time we reached the actual course, our odd band of travelers was full of excitement, eager to join the raucous crowds cheering on the runners. I was amazed at the number of people already lining the sidelines. And they took their encouragement duties very seriously! They loved to yell “You can do it!” to those who were struggling and went wild each time they got someone to pick up the pace. There was no silent watching allowed either; you were scowled at if you weren’t cheering, and would soon be prodded to join in. That wasn’t difficult though – watching all of these amazing runners whizzing by made you want to jump in full force. A few were sporting some Halloween outfits (Winne the Pooh was my favorite) and many had written their names across their chests so people could call out personal encouragement. It was a wonderful time, inspiring and exhausting even to watch. But a great way to spend a Sunday morning.