The Wall Street Run

Four days ago, I ran my first (ever) race. The running group that I joined has now been meeting for about 7 weeks. S, one of my running mates, suggested we try a 3-mile race to see how we would do. So on Tuesday night, three of us, S and S and me are standing among thousands of runners and walkers waiting to begin. Our coach had advised us to come up with three goals for ourselves, one that's easy to attain, one that's slightly more difficult and one that would be a real challenge. With this in mind, my goals are:
1. Don't die.
2. Try to continuously run for the first mile and a half, then walk for one minute before running again. And don't die.
3. Continuously run for 2 miles, take a 30 second walk and then run again until reaching the finish line. And don't die.

About a minute before the race starts, S says "I think once we do this, we are runners." The crowd starts to inch forward and the race begins. The running route will take us from the World Financial Center, down past the World Trade Center site, then east through the Financial District before looping around Battery Park and back up the west side to the finish line.

When I hit the starting point and start to run, I get swept up along with the crowd and become enthralled with the sights of downtown Manhattan. There are small pockets of people standing in various places on the sidewalks. Most are cheering and encouraging the runners. Others are just trying to go home after a day's work, annoyed at being delayed by these extra 17,000 people who are suddenly blocking their path. Some, most likely tourists, hold up cameras and snap pictures. The WTC is on my right for a few seconds and then it's behind me. Wall Street comes and goes in a moment's blur. I am not thinking about my legs or my breathing. I am simply moving ahead and enjoying every moment.

In what seems an amazingly short period of time, I come up on the one mile mark. I'm not tired. I don't feel the need to slow down so I just watch my pace and keep going. Luckily, I have something helping with my pacing. There's a good looking guy in a body hugging pair of shorts that's moved in just ahead of me. He has one of those really nice round asses that make you believe God was feeling a little randy when he designed the human posterior. It's a perfectly sculpted behind, moving along at a pace I can sustain. I wonder for a moment if this is how the greyhounds feel as they run around a track chasing that fake rabbit that's sent out ahead of them. When you're following something that looks so good, it doesn't occur to you to even think about slowing down.

About another half mile and Coach J is there, shouting out some encouragement. My feet keep moving, and just as Battery Park is coming into view, Mr. Perfect Ass picks up his pace and disappears and I hit the 2 mile mark. I'm still running, still feeling fine. For the first time it occurs to me that I might, just might, be able to run the whole 3 miles. My legs don't feel like the 46 year old limbs that occasionally suffer from early morning stiffness. Instead, they're moving along, carrying me around the park, towards the Hudson River and up the west side. Crossing the finish line is a joyous sense of accomplishment.

I made it. S made it. The other S made it. We all finished our first race. S was right on target when she said that finishing meant we were runners. That's exactly how I felt.