Mishka's NYC Marathon Report (Read 1013 times)

We signed up for a race. A race that took us though 26.2 miles of city roads, parks and bridges and was more difficult than any of us imagined, even the veteran marathoners among us. We knew one year ago that we had to do it, that it had to be a marathon. Regardless of our degrees of fitness, young families, challenging jobs, etc. We knew it was a challenge, and most of us knew we could get there, but for some, it seemed an impossibility. But it was never in question. From the first suggestion, to the moment we all packed together at the foot of the Verrazano-Narrows bridge in Staten Island, we knew we had to do it. We lost our friend, and teammate from Notre Dame, Ryan Shay one year ago in the US Marathon Olympic Trials, here in New York city. A number of us were in attendance that day, cheering for our friend, who was considered an outside shot at actually making the Olympic Team. Ryan represented the true and pure runner in each of us. He was the one who was willing to sacrifice, to give every moment to this single pursuit in life. To becoming the best. To wringing out every last ounce of talent. He had the COURAGE to lay it out there and see where it took him. The destination, in his mind, was nothing other than the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. To the rest of us, moving on to other paths in life, Ryan was our link between what we were and what we wanted to (could have?) been. We followed his results. Sometimes he wrote us his accounts of races from here to Kenya. Sometimes we ran into him as he traveled across the country. Sometimes he stayed with those of us that lived in good training locations. But most of us followed him from a distance…saw him only a handful of times in the years since we graduated. There were always plans to get together that rarely seemed to materialize into more than 5 or 6 of us at a time. But on that starting line, on November 3, 2007, all of our attention was focused on Ryan. Ryan was a front runner…the aggressor, always pushing the pace. It was always that way with Ryan. And it served him well. He had his fair share of big victories. But on this day, it was about finishing at least 3rd. He and his coach changed up his strategy. They decided he would run with Brian Sell. Sell’s tactics were generally the opposite of Ryan’s. He usually hung back, and surged late in a race. As the day unfolded, it turned out that they picked the perfect strategy. Sell, true to form, surged late, and went on to finish 3rd, and make the Olympic Team. But that was the afterthought of afterthoughts. It was something that occurred to those that knew Ryan’s strategy days after the race. The performance of Sell, and the jaw-dropping performance of the winner, Ryan Hall, was completely overshadowed by the fact that Ryan Shay collapsed at about 5.5 miles into the race. His heart had gone into an arrhythmia, and ultimate arrest and he could not be revived. One year later we stood on the starting line of the New York City Marathon. Ryan’s brother, Case, and fifteen of Ryan’s former teammates. It meant many things to each one of us. Central among those were honoring our friend and celebrating the community we still had…celebrating each other. But mostly, it was about Ryan. …You wanna do a tribute to Shay? Run a fucking marathon… There we were. Shivering on a chilly, but marathon-perfect, November morning. Someone started a chant that would have otherwise been corny, but today, seemed almost scripted. RYAN SHAY!!! RYAN SHAY!!! RYAN SHAY!!! RYAN SHAY!!! The gun went off and we inched our way to the start. We were seeded at the back of the orange corral, wave one. Once we started, it was a bob-and-weave fest. Even with our varying ranges of fitness, the plan was to stick together until around Mile 2, where an NBC camera was going to film our group and get a few words. Sticking together would be too slow for the fast guys, but too fast for the slow guys…just about right for the middle guys (me). Running easy, uphill, darting left, darting right, through small gaps excuse me, bumping elbows sorry, up on curbs, surging, slowing. Apex of the bridge, and 8:28 through the mile. Good enough. Downhill…more of the same…thinning a bit…2 mile: 7:11, a little quick Brian’s gonna be pissed, but the motorcycle would be here soon. I see Brian…“this is gonna suck big time.” “You knew it would.” Mile 3: 7:07…where’s the fucking motorcycle? These guys aren’t all gonna hang for long. “Here it comes! Group up!” Good, we’re all still here. It pulls around in front…slows us to over 8:00 pace. They get a few words from 2 of us…well spoken Sean and Sean! We’re all in the picture. The motorcycle pulls off. It’s our own games now. Group 1 surges ahead. Group 3 falls back. I’m in group 2, with Conway. What the hell? Conway’s running group 1. No man’s land? Screw it…hold pace. And what’s the hell’s going on with my legs? Mile 4…where’s mile 4? I hope I missed the marker. I must have missed the marker. Mile 4&5: 14:16. 7:08 pace…perfect. Why do my legs feel like I just passed 15? Moose is dropping back. Company! “They keep surging…I can’t hang with that.” “Good, I thought I was gonna run in no man’s land.” “How’re ya feeling?” “My legs are telling me this is insane. Shouldn’t feel like this so early. You?” “Same thing.” “Screw it, let’s just keep at it.” “Was there another option?” “Yeah, that Dunkin Doghnuts we just passed.” “Shut up dude.” Here comes Conway, and a few minutes later, Lennon. A group of 4. Still in Brooklyn. “GO IRISH!” “RYAN SHAY!” Sweet, a few of them know. “GO IRISH!” 3 steps later “YEAH IRISH!” This is nuts! “GO IRISH!” “RYAN SHAY!” “RYAN SHAY!” That’s right…Ryan Shay. 6:58…a little quick 6:33…shit. And my knee is getting tight 6:51…this is going to end badly 6:54…6:42…at least we’re banking time <veteranmarathoner>WTF are you doing?</veteranmarathoner> The bridge to Queens…was this on the elevation profile? Steep, slow, silent. Halfway split at 1:32:23. That would be quick if I felt good. Why am I leading the group? Why am I feeling this in my hamstrings? Over the bridge. “That sucked” “Hrrrmmph” Downhill. Oh, yeah…there’s the quads. Silence for a few minutes. “Moose, how ya feeling?” “Pretty good.” “You always say that, Moose. How are you really feeling?” “Pretty good.” “Bullshit.” He does look good though. I think he really means it. Conway…Lennon? Not looking as good…not saying anything. Mile 14&15 in 14:07. Still hanging, but too early to be fighting…and I’m definitely fighting. Did we just pass Tim?!?!? He was in the fast group! Left turn…Queensboro Bridge. Shit. This is steep. Heads as far as I can see. Look at the trusses…where does the angle change? It doesn’t. At least I can’t see it from here. This is gonna be a long haul. No fans here. Then where is the yelling coming from? And who just pulled my shorts down? Goddammit Z! Always the clown! Z, Mac and Case go flying by on the right. They stopped for a pee break. Moose tells me not to try to stay with them. Don’t worry about that, Moose. Conway cramps up…out the back door. 3 of us now. Finally at the top. That was purgatory. Do we wait for Conway? No, use the downhill…we’ll look for him at the bottom. Mile 16: 7:36…not too bad with that uphill, but the end is coming quick for me. Glance back off the bridge…no sign of Conway…lets go. The turn onto First Avenue. WTF! This is a hill too?!?!?!? I don’t remember a truly flat part on this whole course! Great, the hamstrings again. I’m not getting the reach at the front the part of my stride. Just hang. Mile 17: 7:13. This feels like a 5k! How long is this hill? Fuck! 9 miles to go? I can’t hang. Where’s Conway? I pull off to the side to stretch the hamstrings and look for Conway. Jesus, he’s over a minute back already. Run with Conway. ¼ mile…½ mile…still gradually uphill. Fucking hamstrings! This feels like the last mile of every other marathon I’ve done. 8.5 to go. I can’t stay with Conway either. I pull off to the side and stretch out the hamstrings. We’ve banked so much time…what do I need for 3:10? Quick math…something a little under 8:00 pace (7:40 in reality). I don’t think I can even run 9’s. I don’t have the training miles in my legs. I gave it a shot, but it’s ending up the way my legs were telling me it would (and I didn’t have the COURAGE to try). I decide the time goal is out. The rest of First Avenue is a mix between a defeated shuffle and pulling off to the side to stretch…always looking for Tim and the other guys. All the way up First this way. This is embarrassing. I wish I could take off this jersey. Where are they? Did I miss them? Into the Bronx. Still no sign. The bridge back into Manhattan. That railing looks like a nice high perch. I climb up and sit. And wait. 5 minutes? 10 minutes? Tim! “Want some company?” “Yeah, but I keep stopping.” “I don’t care at this point. It’s not about time anymore.” We stop at a med tent for Tim’s 4th massage. I go to the corner to look out for the others. Nick! Nate and Rob 30 seconds later! Tim’s back up 1 minute after that. I tell him to hang back and I’ll go let the other guys know he’s there. They aren’t going fast, but they’re a ways up. Now THIS feels like a 5k! I can’t hold this. Where are they? Uuuughhhh. There’s Nate! I finally catch them and Nate’s hamstring seizes up. Good (sorry Nate), Tim will catch up. 4 of us together now. One more stop at a medical station for Nate, then back at it…Mile 23. We’re all in sorry shape, but running. 5th Avenue is a hill too! We finally turn into Central Park. Up ahead, one more casualty…Nick is walking. We catch up to him and walk with him. Tim puts his arm around him. Nick tells us to go. But there’s no question…we run or walk together. And it hits me, and I fight back the tears. This couldn’t have been scripted any better. These 4 guys were Notre Dame to me. The only one missing is Brian (we keep looking for him, but he’s a long way back). Practice after practice, lap after lap, lift session after lift session, dinner after dinner, joke after joke, day after day, year after year, for 4 years. It was our routine and we were together for it…every day. This, right here, is the point of it all. We struggle on… And the cheers again. And I’m so glad I’m wearing my jersey. 5 of us together in ND jerseys…drawing cheers…for us…for Ryan. We stop and walk a lot in the last 2 miles, but we make sure we are running as we pass Ryan’s Rock. The very place where, one year before, his race, and his life, ended. We don’t stop, we don’t say anything, we don’t do anything. We just run. Like Ryan did. Everything seems to slow down in the last ½ mile. Nearing the finish of a marathon, being together with my teammates, remembering Ryan…all the questions from a year ago swirling back. Why is he gone and we’re not? Why are we here, running a marathon, while Ryan was the marathoner? All the Why’s and How’s that are the kind of questions that mostly cannot be answered. But of the ones that can be answered, was one we were obeying. There are certain events in life that make clichés ring true. Instead of bouncing off our skulls like nerf footballs, we hear them and they resonate. Live in the now. Live life to its fullest. Carpe Diem. Ryan’s passing illustrated the obvious to us, as the obvious sometimes needs illustrating. Tomorrow is not a guarantee. Neither are our friends and family. At Ryan’s funeral last year, even amidst the sadness of the moment, we were able to re-live Notre Dame for a weekend. We vowed to do that at least every year, and we were doing it now. I crossed the finish line of one in my all time worst marathon performances, but with 4 of my best friends and in honor of another. Not with an ounce of disappointment, but rather an immeasurable amount of pride that we created, and then followed through with this opportunity to experience one of life’s many extremes in a way that we never thought we would again. But in the very way that united in the first place…together, in our jerseys, just like we did over 10 years ago. For Ryan Shay.

Awesome, Mishka. Just. Awesome. Thank you for sharing this. Q

Mishka, thanks for that beautiful RR. I'm so glad that you guys were able to do this in honor of Ryan, his family, and to heal your own hearts. Friendship + sport...good stuff.

Well done Mishka. Excellent recap on many levels.

Wow.Just.Wow. Mishka. The irony of your report is that I had just re-read mine and was recalling what an invaluable help you were to me on that day when I came back here and saw your report just posted. Thanks for your presence the day of my first marathon, of which I will never forget and... thanks for this, your report and story of honoring your friend and teamates. Remarkable, much like the man that wrote it. Thanks.

That was beautiful.

Thanks for sharing this race report with us, it is very inspirational to me.

just awesome. congratulations Mishka and thank you for sharing.