Going For the World Record

When I was a kid, we would actually read the Guinness Book of World Records. There was always a copy around the house and I seem to recall we’d actually buy a new one now and then, expecting to see new and interesting factoids, yet it seemed each version had the same creepy picture of the guy with several-feet-long fingernails (which, with the birth of the Internet, is no longer shocking of course). Sis may recall all of this differently, but it matters not since this paragraph is, after all, just a set-up.

Because I’m going for what I figure must be a world record. I’m certain it’s not in the aforementioned book. But it has to be a record. And I’ll be very happy if I fail in my attempt.

People try for years to get into the New York City Marathon. Year after year they enter the lottery, they get turned down, they try again, they get dinged again. I, on the other hand, have had a different sort of New York problem: I keep getting in, but I’ve still never run the race. Not Did-Not-Finish, mind you. Did-Not Start. Did-Not-Show-Up.

Four times. How many people can say that? And now I’m going for a fifth.

I’m in again, and if I don’t run, well, seriously, can you think of anyone who’s been registered to run New York five times and has never run the race? That’s gotta’ make the Fred Lebow edition of the Guinness book. But as noted, I’ll be happy if I fail in this attempt because, hey, after all, it would be cool to finally run New York.

For the record, I’ve never had to deal with the lottery. My entries have always started as a qualifier – for which there aren’t all that many slots in New York, but they do exist. And from there they’ve all gone south in one way or another. First time, skipped due to an injury. Then came Hurricane Sandy, but I took the refund rather than the deferral (yet they still sent me shirts and medals – very sweet of them!). Third try, another one skipped due to another injury, though that time I took a deferral, which landed me in the next edition – my fourth try – which was body-slammed by COVID. For that one I took yet another deferral and, fighting injuries at the time, pushed it out a year to this year’s race. And whaddaya’ know, along comes the registration window and I am finally feeling like I might make it marathon distance by fall. Plus, as I was pondering whether it made sense to shell out another New-York-sized entry fee, it occurred to me that I’d opted not to take the refund the last time, so when the invitation came in, it rang up at zero dollars. Two words: Saw-weet! So here we go, attempt number five. I waltz into either Central Park or the record books at oh-for-life.

Now, I hear you saying, what’s all this talk about marathons? Didn’t you walk away from Boston just a few months ago? Haven’t your injuries of late pretty much hinted that marathons might not be the best idea for a frequent hobby? Yes, I hear you saying that. And yes, I did walk away from Boston, including my continuous streak, which means it’s now harder for me to get back into Boston. And yes, going back to the old days of three marathons a year are probably not the best medicine, but hey, now and then…

And besides, you’re missing the point. After a few years of struggling with all sorts of injuries – my last race was in the fall of nineteen and resulted in a torn meniscus, followed the next summer by more injury struggles that led to far more cycling than running (which, in the first year of COVID was just fine with me), and followed by yet another summer of barely running – well, after all that, I’m finally mostly back in one piece. I’ve put in a few consecutive months of decent training, and while I’m still sucking wind, I’m actually starting to feel like a runner again. In short, I’m a few years older but I’m not dead yet (and still looking in awe of our clubmate “TB76” who’s still running strong and inspiring us at yes, that age).

At this point, my perspective is entirely different. I might well compete again, but I don’t have to. Those “lost years” of injury fog – which, I note, weren’t lost at all, due to the cycling and lots of hiking which notched a few lifetime goals – notched me up a few years but also in the age grading tables, which have always been my measure of reality. You can’t just compare today’s pace to five years back and lament, because your tires have five more years on them. And using those beloved tables, even yesterday’s training run, had it been a race, would have ranked with some of my lower-end ten-miler races from years back. So my wind-sucking of today isn’t really that bad. And next year, when I hit a new age group, well, I’ll never say never, it could be fun to seriously toe the line again. Because Dearest Spouse thinks I don’t have enough award crap in my office already (not).

But as noted, I don’t have to compete, I can just enjoy. I’m loving just going for the runs. Our club runs have never been more fun, because as for pace, well, I just don’t care, it’s just great to be out with friends (COVID sort of taught us that, you think? …and it also taught us that if you didn’t run today, who really cares if you shower?). Really, as for the marathon thing, other than knowing I have to remind myself how I used to keep going for twenty miles, the rest doesn’t matter.

So, New York won’t be like the marathons of old, tweaking and tuning and fretting the training, the gear, the logistics, the everything just to get it all right for that great time. It won’t be a body-punishing death-warmed-over struggle to shave off a couple more minutes. I’m just going for a run. I’m going to soak up the five boroughs. I’m going to see a million New Yorkers. I might even, at the suggestion of my native New Yorker running buddy the Brooklyn Barrister, even do something as cheesy as putting my name on my shirt just to rile up the crowd and have a little – no, scratch that – a lotta’ fun. I’ll get there when I get there. And if I waltz into Central Park instead of the record books under the category of Non-Completion, it will in fact be a waltz.

Remind me of that so I remember to do a little dance step over the finish line.