Run run run...as fast as you can....

The New York City marathon was last weekend and it was a really big deal. I knew it was going to be big when they started putting up fencing in the park five days early - which, incidentally, confused the heck out of my dog. He kept getting stuck between the fences. I would call for him 25 yards ahead only to find him stuck and frustrated.

Another sign that this marathon was rather colossal was when my boss from the upper east side gym I teach at Sunday mornings e-mailed me that she had found me a sub. "You won't make it across the park," she wrote simply. She was right.

I actually saw the marathon in Seattle one year. I was trying, unsuccessfully to get around South Lake Union and they had closed off some of the streets. I remember there were cops directing traffic. As I waited for them to give me the go ahead to pass through the course, I watched the smattering of runners make their way. They looked tired. There were very few people cheering them on - maybe 1/2 a dozen - and the runners outfits of white t-shirts and running shorts were muted and unassuming. It was actually a little quiet.

This is not the marathon scene in New York. The marathon scene in New York consists of waves of thousands upon thousands of runners from all over the world making their collective way through the city. They wear bright colors and costumes, they paint their faces and wave their flags. Marathon runners in New York write their names in bright, decisive strokes across their chest so when people cheer them on, it can be on a first name basis.

Along the path of the marathon, people bring water and snacks to distribute to the runners. Bands play upbeat, energizing music and the entire atmosphere is the unlikely combination of block party and torture chamber. I saw runners limping along the sidelines with pained expressions and runners with bright red, flushed cheeks that looked like they were in the middle of a good cry. Some runners made it look easy, but most, at mile 22, looked ready to give up.

Marathons in general seem a little insane. You don't run the full distance until the day of the race because of the toll it takes on your body. You have to grease down your chest to avoid chaffing of such severity you will bleed through your shirt. Blisters are guaranteed. No part of your body comes away from a marathon undamaged. Marathons are destructive. Yet in New York, the demand to get into the NYC Marathon is so great, there's a lottery. The "winners" get to participate in 26+ miles of hell.

Certainly it's a monumental achievement - a triumph of will. I suppose if forced to do one, New York wouldn't be a bad place to do it. I was talking to my brother about the city the other day and he said when you first leave the airport "the energy of New York City hits you right in the face." So it would be preferable to attempt a marathon in a city with such innate, pulsing energy as opposed to the sweet calm of a place like Seattle. But I don't know.

I think in the years to come my New York City Marathon participation won't involve pinning a number to my chest, but rather cheering on those who do.