Am I Real New Yorker Yet?

Cassandra G

Never in my life have the first 16 miles of a run gone by in the blink of an eye. Never in my life have I thought to myself  "Oh man, only 10 miles left?" with a tinge of disappointment. That all changed for me on Nov. 3, 2013 — my first NYC marathon. Of course, that disappointment of only having 10 miles left was quickly replaced by a remarkably strong desire to just get to the finish line already, but we'll get to that later. 

It all started back in May. I had only just gotten into running again, despite having completed two marathons (Pittsburgh and Buffalo) about three years ago. I didn't know any other runners when I moved to NYC, which led me to temporarily abandon the sport (don't worry, I promise that will never happen again). 

As a transplant, I'm chipping away at my "real New Yorker" points, and word on the street is that running the marathon is like a good 10 points. When the most recent spring arrived, I decided to lace up my shoes once again and get back out there. It was only a matter of days before I decided to enter the marathon lottery, believing fate would get me in if it were meant to be. I was heartbroken to learn that I didn't win a spot, but I didn't stop there — oh no, the ball was already in motion and I wasn't giving up that easily. By now, I had already decided that I will run the NYC Marathon, so, you know, that was that. 

I started exploring charity options and I was pleased to see the USO listed. I come from a long line of veterans, including my grandfather, father and both big brothers. I reached out the night I was rejected from the lottery, and by morning they called to say I was accepted off the waiting list and would have a spot in the marathon with them. It was an honor to run for an organization that benefits our troops, and I set up my personal fundraising page with information and photos to highlight why running for the USO resonates so deeply with me. I'm proud to say my generous family, friends and coworkers helped me reach my initial fundraising goal well before race day.

My Two Big Brothers and My Father

One thing I did differently this time around to prepare for my marathon was to join a structured training program. I enrolled in the New York Flyers Marathon Training Program (MTP) for the training plans, group speedwork sessions, and coaching provided by the Run S.M.A.R.T. Project. Signing up for MTP instantly proved to be worth it, both because of the workouts, which I was definitely not disciplined enough to do on my own, and because of the amazing people I met, whom I know will be training partners and friends for years to come. Joining the NY Flyers was a decision that continues to keep me involved in the running community and around a generally-sane, even-keeled group of people who remind me that there is more to life than work — there is running, after all. 

Flyers MTP at Our Last Group Work-Out
Before the NYC Marathon

Four months and a good 40-degree temperature drop later, it was race weekend —  the biggest indicator being the arrival of my little Italian ma, armed with granola bars and holy water. It was time to do this thing — and I felt ready. 

Coincidentally, my first New York City Marathon also meant my first trip to Staten Island. Two birds with one stone, right there.  On race day morning, I felt excited and bolted out the door with a smile on my face!

My Flyers MTP training pals —  Amanda Y. and Kimberly T. —  and I decided to run together, which meant them coming all the way back to me in corral 68 and running on the bottom part of the bridge (pleased to report that we were not struck by any falling urine, which was a big, big concern of mine). Suddenly, after hours of anticipation, we were off, dodging jackets, hats and scarves that littered the ground.

Mile 16

I knew my mom, aunt and cousin would be waiting for me at Mile 16. Perhaps that is why the first 16 miles seemed to fly by. Or maybe it was the live bands playing on the corners in Brooklyn and Queens, or the gospel choir on the steps of a church, or the hilarious signs like "If a marathon were easy, it would be called your mom," or the dozens of people reading my name on my shirt and yelling "Go Cassie!," and even the ones who yelled "Go Casey!" (hey, I got the point). 

When I saw my family at Mile 16, it was the highlight of the day, the moment I had been waiting for. Running over for a quick hug is definitely what got me through till Mile 19 without so much as a glance at my watch. Mile 19. 

HUGS!!

That's where it alllllll started to change. Suddenly, this marathon thing was hard. I actually was in pain. I really kind of wanted to just stop. 

But I didn't. 

The trudge (that's right, it was a trudge) down Fifth Avenue to Central Park was really the most grueling part of the day. It felt like this race would never end. People were walking left and right, seemingly letting the pain get the best of them. Don't get me wrong —  it's not that I didn't want to walk, too. I just knew that if I started walking, I might not be able to start running again. So onward I trudged. 

Finally, Mile 25. Knowing my family would by now also be at the finish line (I got them grandstand tickets) put a little extra pep in my step right at the last minute. As I rounded the bend past Columbus Circle, I was overcome with joy. I knew any second I would spot my family. And any second after that I would cross the finish line. Suddenly, I saw them cheering for me on the sidelines and the tears hit —  yep, I totally cried. Ain't no shame in my game. With a final burst of energy, I sprinted towards the finish line, so happy to be finished and see this incredible experience come to a glorious close. 

Minutes later, a heavenly angel placed a warm, armhole-less poncho over my shoulders, rubbed my back and said, "See now, isn't that better?" Yes, dear woman, angel of God, it was better. With a medal around my neck and an orange poncho on my back, I shuffled the 10 blocks to meet my family and went straight for a New York slice of pizza. 

Then I walked another 15 blocks home. If that doesn't make me a real New Yorker, I don't know what will. 

-Cassandra G.