26.2 Quatrains of Doggerel: NYC Marathon (11/5/17)

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.