With the New York City Marathon just a few days away, my life seems filled with unknowns.
I don’t know what I’m wearing yet. The top I bought months ago is surely too small.
I don’t know if I want to run in compression socks or legwarmers.
I don’t know what I’m going to eat the night before the race.
I don’t know what I’m going to eat the morning of the race.
I don’t really know what time I should be getting on the ferry.
I don’t have throw-away clothes to bring to the start line.
I don’t know if I’ll know anyone in my start corral.
I have no idea what to do about snacking during the race. Nothing agrees with me. Everything is the worst.
I don’t know where Brian will be spectating.
I definitely don’t know where I’m going to find him afterward. Or how I’m going to get home.
I don’t even know what I’ll want for my post-race meal.
And I don’t know if there will be a post-race celebration or a post-race…something else.
But what I do know is this: I’m taking a cab from the Upper East Side down to South Ferry on Sunday morning. I’m getting on the Staten Island Ferry, and then I’ll get on a bus that’ll take me to the Start Village.
I’ll wait around in the cold, I’ll go to the bathroom at least 39 times and I’ll try to make some friends.
Then, some number of hours later, I’ll get into my corral.
I’ll hear Frank Sinatra’s voice singing “New York, New York.”
And then I’ll start to run.