 |
| Cool Medal with my middling pumpkin beer at Baker Street |
Race: New York City Marathon
Goal Time: 3:12:00
Actual Time: 3:29: something
prelude
Upon the
black asphalt road we huddled,
As first elite women ran t’ward Brooklyn.
We waited in
the rain for our turn in,
Dressed in
matching yellow, me and Tuttle.
i
Then
camouflage clad sent a cannon boom,
While Frank
aloud sang: “Start spreading the news,”
And up the
Verrazano Bridge we flew
Finding our
own area, pace and room.
ii
Descending
America’s longest bridge
I was
running easy but way too fast;
This pace
could not continue nor long last,
Down the
easy steep pitch into Bay Ridge.
iii
Into the
borough of trolley dodgers
I ran first
into high fives from Declan
Then further
on those of papa Brendan.
Someone was
flying the Jolly Roger.
iv
And now us Or-ange
joined with Green and Blue
The first
hill we would climb was here on Third
Unhuman
crowd like a wildebeest herd
Migrating en masse up Fourth Avenue.
v
My pace was
still keeping an even keel
No trouble
yet from the humidity
My stomach
had yet shown acidity
Indeed this
may have been the best I’d feel.
vi
Somewhere in
Brooklyn was lost in the mix
Another
sixteen hundred meters flat
Where there
was either or both this and that
But I cannot
recall mile number six.
vii
Suddenly I
heard someone yell my name
Then to the
left I was forced to swervey
For there
was Kathy and my wife – Urvi
For a moment
I was the Run of Fame.
viii
I slid
across the road from Left to Right
But on the
left I heard some cheers: Who Dat?
Jumping up
and down were Megan and Matt,
Raised arms as
if victory was in sight.
 |
| Tuttle and I at the start |
ix
In Flatbush
a band played a song catchy
With its
bongo break it had made hip hop
Carrying me
briefly from start to stop
Ran with my
mind thinking of “Apache.”
x
Up the road as
narrow as Tourmalet
Thru wild
crowds to left turn in Clinton Hill
With another
look and shout ‘nother thrill
Seeing Jason
cheer where Jeremy stays.
xi
These cheers
took and lifted my spirits high
This may
have led me to run too quickly
For my
stomach turned and I felt sickly
There in
Williamsburg I puked on the side.
xii
Cheers
dulled to quiet in Hasidic ‘hood
Ignoring race
going about the day
They allowed
the runners on their own way
Ne’er
looking up from their phones tho they could
xiii
And into the
last section of Brooklyn
Before the
Newtown Creek that makes the joint
We ran by
the cheers of Poles in Greenpoint
Past the
flags toward Queens I kept pushing.
xiv
Over the
Creek to Long Island City
Is carried
by the bridge named Pulaski
(Not as
famous as Dave’s New Jersey)
But upon the
halfway point is pretty.
 |
| Mile 7 in Brooklyn |
xv
Off the
Pulaski another borough
Down into the
town of Shea and Bunker
For only a
mile in Queens we hunker
Another trip
must to be more thorough
xvi
Over
Roosevelt on the Bridge of Sighs
Quiet as
church mice alone and desert
The day’s humidity
had soaked my shirt
I felt that
tell tale burn within my thighs.
xvii
Off the
quiet of Queensboro’s skid
And onto
First in the center of town.
The Bronx is
up and the Battery’s down.
As if:
“Springfield’s that away!” “Thanks kid!”
xviii
Into the East
Eighties, First carried me.
I had to
keep working and not relax
But then I
heard a roar behind from Max
Sadly wife
was there but I did not see.
xix
When I
thought it was time to run faster
It was exhaustion
I began to know
Thru the
cheers of East Harlem barrio
Alas of
marathons, I’m no master.
xx
Over the
Willis Ave into the Bronx
I heard my
name, just like cherry cola
It was SRR’s
first chair viola
That dragged
me through an early round of bonks
xxi
Once away the
djs sounds faded
My queasy stomach
turned and growled again
I hurled on
the side finding no trash bin
And onward I
continued unaided
xxii
Back into
Manhattan on Fifth I ran,
Circumnavigating
the Garvey Square
Developing dreaded
hundred-yard stare
Hoping I
could stop as soon as I can.
 |
| At Mile 17 with point of approval from Max |
xxiii
The park was
lovely and fearful sight
I cannot say
that I was not forewarned
That this
hill is a bull and I’d be horned
But I tried
to put up a mighty fight
xxiv
But farther
South into the Ninety streets
Was the
mountain I had not been apprised
Its steepness
and length became my demise
I had been
bullied and I had been beat.
xxv
The next to
last mile to myself I talked
Per Mark
whom I had not seen nor heard.
Of what
rabble I know not what the words
But ‘round
the boat house I began to walk.
xxvi
Out on fifty
ninth and cutting back in
To Central Park
I fought myself to run
It was not
fast and no it was not fun
That final
mile I took on the chin.
.2
So, Three
and a half hours was my mark,
Have to walk
miles out of Central Park.
