Miracle Miles

“A ship is always safe at the shore, but that is not what it is built for.” – Albert Einstein

Oh, the humanity.

The 50th New York Marathon ran right through my neighborhood this morning and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed it more.

The five-borough, 26-mile race returned after a two-year hiatus when the 2020 event was scrapped due to Covid-19—along with just about everything else we know and love in this town.

The first New York City Marathon took place on Sept. 13, 1970 and was held entirely in Central Park. Of the 127 registered runners, there were 55 finishers.

The first five-borough New York City Marathon took place in 1976 with about 2,000 runners.

This year’s event had about 30,000 participants, but there have been more than 50,000 competitors in previous races.

The marathon starts in Staten Island, goes over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and comes right through my neighborhood of Bay Ridge.

My sister and I have been standing on Fourth Avenue for years and cheering as runners from all over the world came charging through our hometown.

But I wasn’t feeling much enthusiasm this year. I was concerned about being in a crowd in these Delta variant days, of course, but honestly, I haven’t been feeling much excitement about anything for entirely too long.

Fortunately, my sister, who couldn’t make it this year, called me just as I was finishing up at the gym and told me the marathon was starting early this year.

I was all set to blow it off and go the hell home. I was tired, I was hungry, and I’ve seen this show plenty of times already.

I’m a New Yorker, for God’s sake, I can’t waste time watching a bunch of nut bags running down the street in their skivvies.

'Is it Safe?'

Of course, that was just camouflage covering up the fact that I didn’t want to deviate from my Sunday schedule, aka the comfort zone.

And then it occurred to me that I was only one block away from the action.

Surely my precious routine could handle a brief walk up the street.

I decided to delay breakfast, snagged a spot on Ovington Avenue, and a got much-needed emotional jolt.

I didn’t realize how much I had missed this event—or any other event for that matter.

I haven’t been on vacation in years, I haven’t gone to any museums or theaters since this plague started, so seeing this wonderful people giving it their all was the kind of inspiration I sorely needed.

For just a little while I was able to forget the awful political situation, the devastating impact of climate change, supply chain woes, inflation fears and those loons in Texas who were waiting for JFK Jr. to make an appearance in Dealey Plaza. (Spoiler alert—he didn’t.)

I suddenly remembered all the things I loved about the marathon: the helicopters flying overhead, the camera crews, the crowds, and the first appearance of the runners that gradually grows into human river.

The crowd looked a little sparse this year, but that might have had more to do with the early starting time than any Covid fears. Still, I wore a mask, kept my social distance and enjoyed the hell of myself.

I didn’t notice any of the outlandish outfits that I’ve seen in previous years, but they might have been farther back in the field.

Hunger finally got to me and I bailed on the marathon to go home and have breakfast.

But this little detour is an important reminder that I have get out into society.

The pandemic isn’t over by any stretch, and I suspect this winter could be very challenging, but it’s time for me to get back into the race.