There are none...or are there?  Childbirth hurts, but then you have a baby, and that’s fantastic.  Well worth the pain.  But in the delivery room, if I had nickel for every time I heard someone say they would never THAT again, and then they come back for more, well, I could probably retire.

      Which is why, after saying a few very bad curse words to my friend Megan as we  crept through the finish chute of the New York City Marathon in Central Park yesterday, I said I would NEVER do THAT again, she wished she had a tape recorder.  Because THAT was one of the most amazing experiences, one I will never forget.

       If anyone who is reading this has friends and connections in New York City, please forward this to them, because if there were some way for me to thank all those people who came out to cheer us on, I would love to do it.  I had a sticker with my name on it taped to my chest, as I had been advised to do, and as I ran by, people jeered “go Joyce!” “lookin’ good Joyce!” “Brooklyn loves you, Joyce!”  I am not kidding, these people showed us the LOVE.  And it really helped. 

     In Brooklyn, during the first half of the race, when everything is looking rosy, its just darn fun.  Kids are high-fiving you, music is playing, the crowds are thick and large, and I literally smiled for the first 2 hours of that race.

     Then you go over the Queensboro Bridge, and there are no fans there, and its eerily quiet.  Some people were walking up the bridge, but Megan and I powered up it, though we almost plugged in our headphones, because it was long, and quiet, and it’s mile 16, and things are starting to feel a little tenuous.  

     Then you round the corner coming out of the bridge and there is this enormous crowd waiting-enormous, and you head down 1st Avenue, a huge New York boulevard, lined with people and taken over by runners, and you can see all the way down, all the runners in front of you, and the fans, those amazing fans.  I have never seen or been part of anything like that in my whole life.

      But you know what’s coming.  I had read an article that the last 6.2 miles is a whole other race.  We had done a few 20 milers in training, and although they were long, they were certainly doable and at the end, I always felt, if necessary, I could keep running.  So, I don’t know if its just a self-protective denial or what, but I just figured that last 6.2 would be tiring, but doable, not “a whole other race.”

     Wrong, and by the way, welcome to the Bronx.  I won’t ever think of the Bronx the same way again.  Actually, I’m not really sure I remember the Bronx, but that's when the race became a triumph of pride over pain.  We were walking the water stops, and when I stopped running, I really had some serious trouble walking, and there was nothing, and I mean nothing, that I could tell myself that justified running again. 

     Except that I was going to finish.  I was going to finish.  Finish.  FINISH.  FINISH.  That was my mantra.  I didn’t know it until I was out there, but that is what it turned out to be.  Finish, finish, finish.  FINISH.

     Central Park is beautiful, or so they say, I’ll never know, because I could hardly look around.  But I could hear those fans.  “you can do it, Joyce,” “keep going, you got this, Joyce.”  Occasionally, I would turn my head and someone would look me square in the eyes and say “GO, Joyce,” and I would go.  Thank you.

     And then, at about mile 23, there was my family, my beautiful kids, my encouraging and handsome husband, my parents, and cousin Rachel, and they took a picture of me.  I tried to smile.  And I don’t look as miserable as I feel.  Seeing them was a true boost, they were just at the right place at the right time.

     Finish, finish, finish.

     Pain, pain, pain.

     We turn a corner, no finish line, I can’t do it.  Finish, finish, finish.

     We turn another corner, I can see the finish line, its too far away. Finish, finish, finish.

     And then we cross it, its done.  I can hardly walk, but its done.  My first marathon, in New York City.     Maybe my last, maybe not....

     Now a word about Megan.  If she was in pain, I couldn’t tell, she just kept going. When I thought I couldn’t do it, she said, just take it slow.  I could never have done this without such a steadfast training partner, she pulled me through.  May you all have a Megan in your life who helps you go the distance.

     So yes, it was painful, but it was totally worth it.  A BIG thank you to the City of New York for the support and encouragement and energy, you are amazing!!!

     And by the way, I got to meet Meb in the elevator of our hotel, he was super friendly and kind enough to allow a photo of him with 2 of my kids.  It was such an honor to see him in real life.  He didn’t win this year, but he finished in less than half my time, a close race...