The Marathon Before the Marathon

It was the morning of the New York Marathon. Everything was going according to schedule, but sometimes even the best laid plans can have pitfalls. I woke up energized and refreshed in Staten Island. A friend recommended I stay in a hotel there to avoid the hassle of getting up super early to scramble to the start line with the other 50,000 runners. It seemed to have paid off because I awoke refreshed at 8:00 and I didn’t have to be there until 10:30.

After my traditional race day morning bagel with peanut butter and banana, and a soothing shower, I went to my luggage to put on my running gear—and almost immediately went into shock.
The bib (the paper number that gets pinned to the front of the runner’s shirt and serves as his/her ID to get into the race) wasn’t in my bag! No bib means no race, and with less than two hours to the start, my options were few. I called my wife, Sandra, and she confirmed that I left it home, and we spent the next 30 seconds or so agreeing that I should have double checked to make sure that I had everything I needed. I guess we couldn’t begin to plan without that fact being shared.

“Sandra please! You have to help me!” I pleaded, and she started to rattle off all the reasons she couldn’t. My youngest son had a friend sleeping over, my daughter had to be driven to drivers ed, and my other son had a bar mitzvah. Her morning was full of errands.

She must have sensed the desperation in my voice, and asked me to find out if one of the levels of the Verrazano was still open. I put her on hold and called the front desk but was told that it had been closed since 11:00 the previous night. After some sweating and pacing, and more talk about how irresponsible and forgetful I am, came the following plan.

Sandra would get in a taxi within the next 10 minutes and head to Manhattan. She would take the Staten Island ferry and I’d meet her on the other side. Once again she reminded me of the obligations facing her at home, but ended with, “let me see what I can do.”

I spent the next 10 minutes making calls to see if there was a way I could possibly get a replacement bib, but no one knew the answer. Then I checked in with Sandra and asked her progress. She was already in a taxi—amazing. I looked at my watch, and knew it was a shot in the dark, but I wasn’t going to go down without trying.

It was a marathon within itself, but Sandra finally arrived. I kissed her, thanked her, and didn’t expect much enthusiasm in return after what I had just put her through. I took my bib and hustled to one of the last remaining shuttles that would take me to the start line.

I found my way to my coral and within minutes, they announced that the corals were closed. I actually made it with only seconds to spare, thanks to my wife.

Soon after, the cannons fired to signal our start. What followed was an amazing course full of electricity and an incredible energy. I was treated to the sights, sounds, and smells of our great diverse city, over massive sweeping bridges, touring all five boroughs, with a dramatic finish in Central Park.

All the while, what fueled me and kept me strong—even more than the bananas and Gatorade—was the test and display of love and devotion that transpired a few hours earlier.

My family met me at the finish line, and showered me with praise and congratulations. Not a word was spoken about the bib. To Sandra, it was just another day of doing what she does best—being kind and great.

I’ve learned that true love is not letting your other half fail. My wife’s actions prove that love is stepping up and facing a crisis head on, and not expecting anything in return. It’s moments like these that remind me how very lucky I am.

I may be a middle of the pack runner who came in 27,266th place in the marathon, but as far as I’m concerned—it is I who won the race.

Brian Marcus is a community member who likes to write.