FRED LEBOW was responsible for a lot of happy pain on Sunday at the 40th New York City Marathon. Lebow founded the marathon in 1970 and the event started in Central Park with 55 people. It is now one of the biggest in the world, with more than 35,000 people participating each year.
On the way to the subway the night before – Halloween – a girl in our group (of two runners and one supporter) was having a bit of trouble. She told the subway man the ticket dispenser wouldn’t work, could he help fix it? He looked at her. “You gonna run the marathaaawn?” he asked.
Yep. “You gonna finish?” Of course. “Then this one’s on me”. He signalled all three of us through the gate for a free ride. It’s hard to imagine a Luas inspector having the same sentiment.
We sat on the train among the polar bears, a US mail- box man and some scantily clad girls dressed as a cross between Dorothy and Little Bow Peep. Our blue team hoodies had the same affect on them as their costumes did on us.
On Sunday as I watched the elite, the average, and Superman, from the sidelines, it was hard not to be dumbfounded by the supportive spirit in the air. One girl who ran told me that it wasn’t her legs feeling sore by mile 16 but her face from all the smiling. People screamed the names of people they didn’t know as the crowd picked up the competitors at every mile.
We Irish often joke about a certain type of Americans whose well-toothed Colgate smiles and manic determination can drive us bonkers, but the way that New York City embraces the international visitors for the marathon is something to be admired.
Along the marathon route a band played, a DJ spun, people danced and screamed with happiness when they saw the person they were supporting run by, before hopping the subways to chase them to the next mile.
The search for green, white and gold at mile 16 got difficult in the third hour: supporting is an endurance sport. Supporters who didn’t fancy losing their voices rang cow bells to cheer the runners-on.
One man said later they were one of the best things to hear because they kept him going in the last few miles. They kept us blurry-eyed spectators awake too, albeit with a sensation of ear damage. At mile 16 a 78-year-old French woman elbowed me in the gut in an attempt to get to the front of the barrier to see her son. As soon as he was spotted, she was off to the finish line to greet him there.
The elite runners were serious and focused, whizzing past early on in the race, some twirling their fingers in the air to signal us mere mortals to spur them on.
When the rest of the not-so-mere mortals journeyed down Queensboro Bridge they whooped and hollered and the crowd roared back. Some roared “Give me more, more, more!” One man stopped to pose
on the bales of hay separating the course from the road. His wife snapped away happily as he flexed his muscles and threw some shapes for the camera and the crowd, before back-flipping and then picking up the pace to rejoin the group.
French supporters hollered " Allez, allez allez!" and a group of pushy Italians screamed "Italiaaa" as they watched their country compete. The international presence cemented the atmosphere as flags of every colour were draped over railings and waved furiously in the air. The hand-made signs egged the runners further. "If Your Legs Hurt – it's because you're kicking ass", one said, or "Hurry Home Eileen And We'll Eat The Chicken Wings". That's what it's all about, a community kicking ass against the situation it finds itself, one woman affirmed.
“More people taking up running in the recession makes sense,” said a cabaret singer from Brooklyn on the subway. “It’s nice to see all you guys coming from all around. It gives us great pride. It makes everything less gloomy.”
There were over two million spectators. But then, everything’s bigger in New York City, from the pretzels and the shoe size, to the sense of pride and community.