New York 2022: the post-pandemic marathon

• Every runner should participate in this event at least once in his life.
• It is my third here and the first for my wife, who completed it satisfactorily.

It seems that these two years between 2020 and today have been stolen from us. The pandemic and all its consequences have been erased from the map those more than 700 days. We have stopped doing so many things, living moments and situations, and sharing time with people who are no longer with us, that we all seek to return to normality, to be as we were before. They were days of worries and hours lost fighting against anxiety. We made it little by little. We came out of the dark zone scaring away the bad omens and making the glass half full.

Among hundreds of things we have missed, there are the large-scale competitions, those we can qualify as dreams, being its maximum exponent of the marathon. For some people, the fact of having the goal of putting on a race bib and dreaming of completing a marathon (beating up a 42-kilometer race), training for it, and maintaining a spartan discipline for months, may seem silly to them. I can understand that. But it's a dream for many others (there were 50,000 of us ready to start on Staten Island). Dreams are not fulfilled, as someone said. Dreams are made early in the morning, they are worked on day by day and then they are achieved. More than 200 Spaniards set off for the Big Apple. Some novice runners, others more experienced but with their illusions intact and the respect that is assumed to the long distance.

New York looks like Almeria judging by the temperature (23 degrees) and humidity (80%). The locals can't believe the weather. They are delighted frolicking in Central Park as if it were spring. Marathon runners, on the other hand, are worried about the sun and the sensation of heat, enemies of long-distance running. As my friend Manuel Villanueva used to say: "We are going to have a hard time".

The organization is perfect. From the bib pick-up at the Javits Center to the runner's fair, they make you feel important. Americans know exactly how to sell a product, they are the best at it and the New York Marathon is no exception.

When activating the bib to confirm the runner's identity, the operator asks us:

-Is this your first time running the New York Marathon?

-"It's my third. But it's her first", I point to Ana, who is standing next to me.

Suddenly she screams and says:

-You know what?

The rest of the operators respond like a military chorus without looking up, coordinated and symmetrical:

-What?

-I've got someone here who's going to run for the first time in New York!

There is silence, but after a second everyone started clapping and howling as if they were possessed. We were stunned at first but then we could greet the whole troop, died laughing, and red as a tomato. These Americans...

The Friday before the race we went out early to loosen our legs. It consists of checking that with the trip and the time change we haven't forgotten to run or lost our form. I'm not running this marathon alone. Ana, my wife, wants to complete her fourth marathon and is worried about the eternal doubt that we all have when the time comes, no matter how many marathons we have completed: "Will I be able to finish, will I have the legs and head to reach the finish line?

Comparisons are inevitable and always for the worse.

The atmosphere is magical, with pure nerve, tachycardia, and good vibes. Runners from many countries have come to Central Park to do the same as us. In this and other things, New York is the best marathon in the world. France, Germany, England, Japan... Groups of runners vying for a piece of asphalt where they can exercise. The feeling is a mixture of fraternization and respect: "Wow, those guys have great bodies, you can't see how fast they go, I'm sure they can fly, but I'm not sure I can". The inevitable comparisons and always for the worse.

The previous days fly by and at 5:00 in the morning the alarm clock rings. I slept great. Everything has been prepared since the night before. Ana and I have breakfast (the usual with oatmeal, nuts, raisins, and honey). Vaseline, gels, salts, and off to the bus. The hotel looks like the T4 of Madrid on a long weekend in August. People from one side to the other, but in shorts. Mentally checking that nothing is missing, down to the last detail, to see how the sun rises in New York while you cross the mythical bridges is another unique experience that can only be lived in the Big Apple. Just over 50 minutes separate Manhattan Island from Staten Island, but on the bus, it seems like 5 minutes. After getting off and passing the usual security, we head to our departure area. We will do it at 9:10 am and in the green-colored area. There are also blue and orange.

The wait is the worst. Almost two hours, some standing, some sitting. Some people come in their robes or old pajamas so as not to get cold (clothes that will be discarded at the exit and will be used for charity). I accompany Ana to her exit "corral" (that's what it's called). I give her a hug and a kiss and she can't hold back the tears. Tears of nerves, fear, uncertainty, and doubt. "You've had plenty of training and you're going to do great. Enjoy the day. Your homework is done, you just have to go pick up your medal. It's waiting for you," I tell her.

My corral is motley. Lots of pros judging by the attire, though next to me was a guy dressed as Captain America and another in a golf shirt and a Rolex. New York Mayor, Erick Adams, harangues us: "Thank you for being an inspiration to all of us. Best of luck to all of you and enjoy yourselves." Cannon fire and off we run to the sound of Frank Sinatra. It's my turn to go out under the Verrazano Bridge, one of the longest suspension bridges in the world. Almost two kilometers, the first one uphill, and the second one downhill.

Manhattan can be seen in the distance, far in the distance. We enter Brooklyn. There is no asphalt, it is a mixture of concrete and cement, which means that it does not absorb any of the impacts, but returns it directly to the knees and quadriceps of the runner.

The atmosphere is already important. Cowbells, shouts, and shouts of encouragement flood the entire course. Uphills and downhills without flat kilometers. The signs that people carry are very ingenious: "Cheer up, at least you are not in Staten Island". The legs are going great and I'm drinking at every refreshment station. This part of Brooklyn is made up of low houses, what we would call duplexes here. There are no skyscrapers to block the sun, so it's hot and I break a sweat. I check to see if it's just me but no, there are people already shirtless and others soaking wet.

The streets wind through Green Point and narrow as if it were the Tour de France. You can't even hear your thoughts because of the liveliness, except in the Jewish quarter, Williamsburg. There, silence reigns. The Orthodox Jews, in their characteristic dress, ignore the race. There is no one watching the runners.

Almost without realizing it, I arrive at the Pulaski Bridge. It is the one that connects Brooklyn with Queens, kilometer 21. I nail the time I want to make. Queens as a residential neighborhood generates a brutal good vibe. Kids, old people, firemen, and marching bands. Unbelievable.

We quickly cross another bridge: Queensboro. It is a covered and lonely bridge because there are only the runners with their thoughts. Back up and back down. We enter Manhattan through First Avenue. A continuously uphill street for more than 10 kilometers in a straight line. I begin to notice that despite the gels and salts, I am not fresh, neither in my legs nor in my mind. Maybe it's the heat, the slopes... The fact is that I know myself and I'm going to suffer today.

IT IS THE ONLY DAY OF THE YEAR THAT YOU CAN WALK AROUND THE BRONX WITHOUT FEAR OF BEING ROBBED

Flags of all countries and I scream like a madman when I see the Spanish flag. It is the only day of the year that you can walk through this neighborhood without fear of being robbed (so they say). Kilometer 33 and I slow down. I'm aware that I'm going to make worse time than expected, so I see how the seconds fall like stones in a pond.

Finally, we head down Fifth Avenue and reach Central Park. Just for the atmosphere, it's worth running and suffering here. A runner feels important, feels the center of attention and despite going uphill, we get strength from where there is none. My quads hurt, my back is heavy and I'm drenched in sweat, but I know I'm going to finish. I owe the medal to someone and I have promised to take it to him.

On the finishing straight, with 400 meters to go, I noticed a runner walking, seemingly defeated but nothing further. I passed by him, grabbed his elbow, and nodded to him, "Come on!". He looked at me and started running beside me, limping, but running.

We crossed the finish line together in 3 hours 35 minutes and he thanked me with a hug. Ana also completed the marathon, her fourth, and in a spectacular time.

Normality returns.

New York is the marathon that every runner should consider running at least once in his life.