Marthon Sunday

I did not grow up an athlete. Or athletic. Or doing much anything that required running, sweating, ugly sneakers, or ponytails. I preferred the indoors to the outdoors. At a swim meet when I was quite young I was pleased when I got the sixth place ribbon. It was pink. I loved the backstroke and found it relaxing to make large circles with my arms, my shoulders rotating backward in there sockets. Pushing the water aside, my eight-year old body propelled down the lane and I counted the banners hanging from the ceiling. I was not in a hurry. For me this was mere pleasure, not a race.

I disliked bike riding, tree climbing and all things YMCA- but I did participate from time to time. In high school I discovered show choir and musical theater and never thought much about exercise. Really. And in college- yikes! I gained my freshman fifteen and my roommates too. (Her size 0's hung loosely around her bony hips.) It's only been in the past three years that I have gotten into an exercise routine (sort of).

I enjoy working out. Cardio was my first love- walking, then jogging, elliptical, and spin class. The first time I took a spin class was the closest I've come to thinking that I was going to surely die from over exhaustion. But I was addicted. Endorphins have changed my life! Then I discovered weightlifting, and after I stuck it out for some time- I noticed differences in body. So, I figured "they" must be right when comes to toning and resistance and the importance of incorporating BOTH fat burning cardio & muscle building weightlifting.

But I have never been a true runner. And I am fine with that. This summer I jogged alot around Central Park and up and down the East River. BUT, I don't consider myself a runner. It feels good though- the runners high. Like the time I did run almost seven miles. And I loved running The Loop in Central Park because everyone runs: old, young, fat, skinny, moms with strollers, guys with dogs, people in $300 shoes they ordered online and people in sweat pants with the legs cut off.

This Sunday was The 40th Annual ING New York City Marathon.

The marathon was like nothing else I've ever experienced. Over 40,000 runners filled the streets of NYC. If you are a New Yorker you can easily get trapped on the "wrong side" of First Avenue. Well, we live on First Avenue, so we were 100% effected by road closers, alternate routes, and bus delays. Sunday, after church, Chris and I headed over to the Queensboro bridge to see runners crossing over the East River and begin their run up First Avenue. This is about mile 17. It was so amazing to watch these people.

And the spectators lined the streets. Miles and miles of spectators. People handing out orange slices and pretzel rods. People yelling and cheering and clapping for complete strangers.

There were people running together. People running alone. We saw a guy in a wheelchair accompanied by two runners- all three wearing matching red t-shirts. There was a guy running with an Eiffel Tower the twice the size of himself. (This photo was taken in Paris, but I'm pretty sure it's the same guy.) There was a couple holding hands beginning the 19th mile together. And the cheering continued.

I just stood and watched how people encouraged and supported and rallied for other people they didn't even know. People who weren't their race, or religion, or nationality. It didn't matter.

Upstairs in our 32nd floor apartment I opened the windows. I loved the sound. The cow bells and air horns and whooping that echoed off buildings for miles along First Avenue. It was the sound of the human spirit. Of oneness. The sound that rang out "We all love what you are doing- this impossible, crazy, life altering thing- and we want you to succeed." Never before have I felt that people were genuinely good or caring. Where else do we see this kind of genuine support for one another? As the cheering continued- for hours and hours- I couldn't get enough of it and I couldn't get over it.

A woman participating in the marathon had been joined by two friends- who were spectators. They had crossed over the pedestrian barricade and had joined in the race with her. - I know this because the two ladies who were linked arm-in-arm with the bibbed runner, were in jeans and toting oversized handbags. They were like, "Listen, you can do this thing. Don't quit. We'll run along side you. YOU CAN DO THIS my friend." They were friends, just doing what friends do. I want, so deeply, to be a friend like that.

Hebrews 12:1 "and run with endurance the race that lies before us..."